On The Edge

by Daniel Cleaver

  “What the hell are you doing?” boomed a voice from behind me.

  I spun around, which turned out to be a bad move, as I wobbled, almost fell, then steadied myself and regained my balance and glared at the bald-headed man leaning from his window. “People are trying to sleep in –”

  I told him to “Ssh!” I lifted my shirt to show him my badge, which also had the bonus of showing him my gun, which was alongside. One or the other item affected his attitude and he slunk back through the window. I just hoped it hadn’t alerted the Hangman. I was by the bedroom window. It was going to have to do. I couldn’t risk the Hangman spotting my silhouette passing by. I crouched down and pressed a small amount of plastic explosive to the window, a gift from Perry – don’t ask. I was ready to blow out the window, which should have a secondary distraction factor. I signaled down to the captain that I was ready and waited to hear the apartment door smashed in. I strained to hear and could detect a person moving around. I tried another look, but it was too dark. I ascertained that there was no one in the bedroom. I heard the first bash on the door and the demand: “Open up, it’s the police!”

  They used a battering ram against the door and I set the small explosive on the window and flattened myself against the wall as the glass shattered. I used the butt of my gun to remove the rest of the glass and I was inside the bedroom in under a second, hoping that the element of surprise would overcome the Hangman. I heard the chaos from the other room and made my way over to stand behind the open door, mostly not to be shot by my colleagues. Although they were told of my presence, it was still a prudent idea. Besides, I was expecting the perp to run through the bedroom, which would be the basic maneuver when a stun grenade exploded.

  Both my eardrums burst at once; the pain was excruciating and almost indescribable – maybe having hot chopsticks rammed in your ears simultaneously. They rang as if I was in a tiny room and someone had bashed a nearby gong, or maybe up a bell tower when they started to peal. The concussion wave squeezed along the narrow hallway through the open door and knocked me over onto my back. I felt the blast wave pass right over me. It felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. Who the hell let off a grenade, for Christ’s sake? That wasn’t part of the plan. Or had they forgotten to tell me, again? After a moment, I stood, extremely disoriented, and then fell back down. I could feel liquid running from both ears and touched them to confirm it was blood. I fell forward so I was on my hands and knees as I regained my balance and composure and thought that someone might have passed me. I looked around, but my vision was temporarily impaired, too. I kept still and waited for my vision to stabilize and saw my blood drip onto the white carpet. I had lost all sense of sound, as smoke billowed into the room to add to the panic. A muzzle flash lit the room but I could not hear it. I stood groggily and made my way into the smoke-filled hallway. At least I still had the ability to smell and could tell it was from the grenade and not a fire, which would have hampered the operation no end. I recognized the outline of George, who pointed at his ears. I nodded and copied the gesture. We covered each other and entered the second bedroom. The lack of sound heightened the sense of danger. I looked in the closet and the bathroom: no one there and nowhere to hide. The hallway was long and narrow and again afforded no hiding place. We rejoined the others in the living room, where the other police stood dumbfounded. Milo made a ‘beats the hell out of me’ shrug. I noticed that his ears were bleeding, too.

  As we had no way to communicate, I quickly assimilated what I knew. The Hangman had been in the apartment because we knew he was expecting us and had the grenade ready for our standard procedure battering ram attack. This guy was unquestionably a badge. He’d prepared for our every move and I wondered if he’d lured us there on purpose to get us all at once. I quickly glanced at the stove but the gas taps weren’t on. An easy guerilla warfare tactic, the gunfire would have ignited the gas. The Hangman had been in the apartment and then he wasn’t. He didn’t have the power to disappear and couldn’t have made it past the four cops to the door, so that left the window as the only other possible option of escape. He walked right past me when I was down on my knees and I wondered darkly why he hadn’t shot me there and then when I was defenseless. It would have made perfect sense, but then I thought that was the point: he wanted me alive, while he taunted me and ridiculed me in public, but this time he’d gotten past me, out onto the ledge. I’d let him slip away on my watch.

  Then I smirked. He’d made his first mistake. There was no way down from the ledge. I tapped Milo and signaled as best I could that the Hangman was out on the ledge and that I would walk one way around the ledge and if he walked counterclockwise, we’d have him trapped. The only open window was the one I had used from the hallway and that was swarming with cops, if he’d managed to enter one of the apartments, he would still have to come out into the communal hallway eventually. Milo visibly paled at the prospect of meeting a killer on a ledge in the dark, hundreds of feet above the ground, but he nodded. I saw his lips tighten in grim determination as we crawled out onto the ledge. We were the maximum of a minute behind the Hangman and besides, where was he going to go?

  I slowly poked my head out from the window, half-expecting a kick or even a shot, but there was no one left or right. I brushed some of the glass from the ledge, crawled out onto it and slowly stood. It was strange that a one-foot-wide ledge would be ample at ground level but one hundred feet in the air and it suddenly felt as if I were on a tightrope and I didn’t like it. I realized that I must have a mild form of vertigo and I slowly shuffled to the right. I stopped to help Milo from the window and, if anything, he was suffering from the height worse than I was. He had taken on a green pallor and I wondered if he was going to be sick. We nodded to each other and shuffled away in opposite directions.

  I would have preferred to approach the blind corner of the building with my pistol held two-fisted in front of me, but the ledge did not allow for that. I also realized that I should have elected to go counterclockwise, as I was using my right hand to steady myself against the wall and had to hold the gun in my left, not ideal. I glanced down, big mistake, and the dizzying effect got hold of me again as I started to shake. I stood still, took a deep breath, and managed to control myself. In fact, I found a new sense of purpose and strolled towards the corner like a man on a mission. The Fire Department flooded the area with light, which helped, at least I could see where I was going, but soon as I rounded the corner, I would be back into the darkness. I tried to think like the Hangman and thought that the best place for an attack would be at the corner. I would expect to see a hand holding a gun stretched out in front, perfect for snatching away, or kicking into space, or even better grab the assailant’s wrist two-handed, tug hard and let the momentum, then gravity, take care of the rest.

  I slowed as I reached the corner and pulled the gun in close to my body. I swallowed hard, it was a grim thought, but better to be prepared for the attack. I made myself as small as possible and sneaked a look around the corner: there was no one there, which at first was a relief. Although it meant he must be at the back of the darkened building, or was he going to surprise me from one of the unlit windows? Maaan, I wish he’d shot me back in the bedroom, nice and easy. This was cruel, I knew how a mouse felt now when a cat would toy with it for ages before killing it. I felt sweat pouring down my face, the wind made it feel cold and clammy and the sweat added to the blood that was still trickling down my neck. I was aware of my hearing slowly returning but all I could detect was a general buzz, no one discernible thing, but I guessed that was a good sign. With trepidation I made it to the first window and pointed my gun at it, but it was firmly closed. I quickly shuffled to the next and then thought that he could be inside ready to pick me off with a gun as I passed or just trip me and have me sailing out into space, alone in mid-air with my thoughts and regrets as I took the long ten seconds to hit the ground.

  I had enough of that sort of thinking. Well, Elvis did. “The only way to wi
n in a game of cat and mouse is to be the cat.”

  Elvis was right; and if the Hangman wanted to shoot me there was nothing I could do about it. I marched firmly toward the next corner, no hesitation; the ledge was as wide as I decided it was. I pulled my gun in close and swung quickly around the corner, using the element of surprise once again, but he was not there. The ledge was empty. No Hangman and no Milo? I scratched my head, then I did the same fast march again and made it to the next corner. I swung around it fast but the Hangman was not there either. In the distance I could see Milo, which meant the Hangman had simply disappeared from the ledge?

  * * *

  I approached Milo who quivered against the wall. He’d only made it as far as the first corner and he didn’t see me until I was almost upon him. He shook with fright and raised his gun. I realized he couldn’t hear me and wondered if he was going to shoot me, then I guessed he recognized my profile and lowered the weapon. I got to him and he was trembling. I tried to move him back the way he had come but he froze in fear. I patted his back to assure him it was okay and I thought I detected the smell of urine. His shameful face confirmed it. I glanced down and saw a stain spreading across his lime-green pants. I tried to move him gently, but he froze to the spot. At least we were out of sight of the others on the ground. I tapped on the window with my pistol and eventually, a very confused, gray-haired old man opened it, but rather than being frightened by the sight of two bleeding armed men outside the window, he launched into a tirade of abuse. I couldn’t hear him, but over the years had learned to lip-read most of the unsavory words and he knew them all. When he paused for breath, I showed him my badge and he stopped. Milo grabbed my shoulders and waited until I looked him in the eye: he was desperately ashamed of himself and I smiled, winked and did the universal sign of my lips are sealed, and he let out a sigh of relief. The gray-haired man said something. I also pointed at my ears and he seemed to understand. He helped me ease Milo in through his window, then stood back to allow me in but I shook my head in the negative. I had things to do.

  I walked along the ledge and around to the front of the building where I signaled that we’d lost him and loved the idea of explaining that one to the captain. How do you lose someone from a ledge one hundred feet up in the air? We’d already lost him once down a blind alley; he evaded capture, making us look fools and now he had done it again. I retraced my steps, just to be thorough and to cover my ass. If he’d gotten into one of the windows, I’d be in deep trouble and rightly so, but I didn’t think I’d made an error. Yet no window had been tampered with, and if gotten inside he had no escape as the guys were sweeping each apartment in turn. I saw fire trucks arriving and as my hearing returned, I heard the ringing of a fire alarm, that’s just what we need on top of everything else. I made it around to the back of the building, where I was surprised to see a figure walking casually towards me. I smiled as I saw that it was Mia; she hugged me, then gently pulled away.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she said.

  “Mia, what ya doing here?”

  “I heard it on the cop waveband.”

  “Is that what ya listen to in ya spare time?”

  “Only when I can’t sleep. I tune in just in case the Hangman should make an appearance.”

  “He’s disappeared again.”

  “So I understand,” she said. “The captain told me you lost him.”

  “Is he hopping mad?”

  “He’s beyond hopping mad, he’s jumping and cartwheeling,” she added with a grin.

  “I think I’ll stay up here for a little while longer.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she laughed, then looked at me, puzzled. “I was surprised that you volunteered for this.”

  “I didn’t volunteer. I never volunteer. That’s my number one rule.”

  “I didn’t think you were sure-footed, not after your clumsy display climbing down into the canyon.”

  “What do ya mean?” I asked, feeling hurt. I thought I managed very well on the drop down into the canyon.

  “All the same, you’re up on this ledge perched precariously above a drop that would mean certain death.”

  I quivered at the thought but I don’t think she noticed.

  “Aren’t you scared of heights?” she asked.

  “Me? Nah. I ain’t scared of heights.”

  “No man, you’re just scared of depths,” sneered Elvis.

  “And being smashed to smithereens as you’re splattered onto the sidewalk below,” joked Sheldon.

  “Oh, you should come mountaineering with me. There’s not a feeling like it in the world.”

  What had I talked myself into now? “Yah, sure, why not, that sounds kinda cool.”

  “There is one thing better,” she said and she grinned at me slyly.

  “You’ve gotta be joking?” I couldn’t believe what she was suggesting.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” she teased.

  “Fun!?”

  “Think of the danger.”

  “I am!”

  “All those guys down there without a clue? It’d be an incredible rush.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Give me a reason.”

  “It’d be unprofessional.”

  “I want you.”

  “No way.”

  “I want you now.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “I want you now – in my mouth.”

  “Oh, okay.” Well, I could only refuse for so long it would have been impolite otherwise.

  She was right, it was incredible and over in seconds, but I was proud that I kept my end up so to speak. Not only was it incredible, but it was also an intense rush: I never knew what a heady mix sex and danger were. However, she was beginning to worry me; I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. Another once, or possibly twice . . . maybe five times but then that’s the lot. Okay, no more than ten times.

  “Don’t forget to button your fly,” she said as she scooted off in front of me. I did so and followed. “How was that?” she asked, fishing for compliments.

  “Maaan, that was the dog’s bollocks.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Ya don’t wanna know.”

  * * *

  We joined the others in the apartment adjacent to Candy’s, where the captain had made his presence known, he was furious and I wished I still had hearing loss. “How the hell can you lose a perpetrator one hundred feet up in the air with no possibility of escape?” he asked.

  I thought I’d chance my luck and pointed at my ears and shrugged. He fumed and turned to George McGinty who was in the middle of sending me a you-sonofabitch-why-didn’t-I-think-of-that? look. “Well? How? Tell me because I’ve got to answer to the press and I don’t know what to tell them.”

  “Jeez, I dunno,” George stammered.

  “‘I dunno?’ Is that the best you got, you goddamned stupid Mick? I knew we shouldn’t have taken on an Irishman, I said it at the time, I don’t want a Mick – they’re dumb and lazy.”

  “I’m half-Polish for the record.”

  “Polish? They’re even worse – don’t get me started. What a department. You’re all useless and if you don’t start getting me some answers and quick, you’ll all be looking for jobs, do I make myself clear?”

  The guys mumbled, “Yes, sir,” knowing it wouldn’t be good enough.

  “I said, do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” they said with more enthusiasm.

  He looked at me in the way only he can. He knew I was screwing with him but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know for sure. “What’s that?” I said.

  He turned and snarled, “You have to be the worst bunch I have ever had working for me, you’ve managed to trap and lose the Hangman twice, not once but twice!” He threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

  I realized that a member of the team was missing. “Where’s Candy?” I asked with apprehension. Each member of the team came to the sam
e conclusion at the same time and a feeling of icy dread slid down my back. I said slowly, “Has anybody checked on Candy?”

  I felt an uneasy sensation as we traipsed next door. Some of the guys were still disoriented and hard of hearing from the stun grenade. Firefighters were sweeping the corridors, although the consensus was that it was a false alarm, but they couldn’t take the chances. The SWAT team had arrived and were fired up and pumped. The captain tapped on the door. “Candy, it’s safe now, you can open the door.”

  Nothing.

  “It’s not a trick. This is the captain. Check through the spyhole if you don’t believe me.”

  Nothing.

  My feeling of dread was getting worse: had the escapades next door been some kind of elaborate stunt? My senses were on red alert. I could read this scene before the door even opened. This was not going to end well.

  The captain tried one last time. “Candy, we’re going to break down the door, so if you can hear me but can’t answer, stand back.”

  A thought struck me. I covered the spyhole and whispered to the captain, “The Hangman has gotta be in there.”

  He looked at me puzzled. “How so?”