The Heist

by Michael A. Black

  “It’s just another foot, or so,” Rick said in a hoarse whisper. “Can you manage it?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” Linc grunted, grabbing one of Rick’s feet in each of his powerful hands. Linc braced himself, then lifted, pushing Rick upward as he went hand-over-hand up the thin line. The truck roof made another series of groaning protestations, and Linc started to feel the strain of the lift in his back. Then suddenly the weight disappeared as Rick was able to grab the lower rungs of the fire escape. Linc swayed at the sudden loss of weight and tumbled backwards in the bed of the truck. He landed hard on the pumping equipment, while Rick swung in mid-air. Linc watched him kick his legs to give himself that last bit of manufactured thrust. Doing sort of a modified pull-up, he managed to lever his upper body onto the edge of the bottom of the iron platform.

  “I’m there,” he whispered. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Linc said, getting back onto the roof. He snatched his big knapsack and strapped it on his back as Rick removed the pin that permitted the hinged iron stairway to descend. The rusty metal made the most noise so far, sounding almost like a siren’s wail in the dark serenity. But with all the noise on the streets from the pumps and generators, they figured it wouldn’t be noticed. Linc grabbed the fire escape and went up the steps quickly, but as stealthily as he could. It was fifteen floors to the top. They made the trek with deft, strong strides, neither going excessively fast, nor noisily. As they turned at each juncture they peered up and down the alley, looking for roving police. But so far, no one had come from either end. At the tenth floor Rick began to get a little winded. Linc asked him if he needed to rest a minute.

  “I’ll rest once we’ve got the whole thing over with,” he said.

  They continued upward at a slightly slower pace, but still taking the steps two-at-a-time. Another two stories and they’d be at the top. Linc started to feel the strain in his legs, too. A burning through the thighs. He glanced at Rick, who, despite breathing heavily, was matching him stride for stride. They paused at the last platform before the top. Their military training took over and Linc crouched scanning the ground, while Rick sneaked his head up over the edge to survey the roof-top. Moments later he flashed a thumbs-up gesture, and both men scrambled over the parapet. They stood on the roof, and from their vantage point they could see over both Michigan and Columbus to the blackness of the lake. Twisting vapors of steam rose from the water. The street lights were on along the Outer Drive, but the rest of the lighted skyline that they knew so well—the fluorescent mosaic of tall buildings, was conspicuously absent. Hulking black shapes against a velvety sky had taken their place. It looked like just a few scattered blocks in this downtown section where the power was out. The wind whipped across the roof, sending a chill up Linc’s spine. It felt a lot colder up here than it had on the ground.

  The roof was flat, with a crenulated four-foot-high section running along the sides. Tiny whitish pebbles crunched under their boots as they walked over to the air-conditioning vents.

  “Think these’ll be strong enough to tie off on?” Rick asked.

  Linc went over and pushed against one of the big metal sides with his gloved hands. It felt solid. He nodded, then turned around, so Rick could get into his pack. Rick took out a long coil of black nylon rope, a D-ring, and a five-foot length of white nylon cord. He busied himself uncoiling the rope, slipping a foot-long, heavily woven sleeve over the untangled end of the rope, and then tying it around the jutting base of the massive air conditioner. Linc looped the white nylon around his waist, through his crotch, and up around each leg, forming a “Swiss seat.” He tied the ends together in a secure square knot, then pressed the D-ring over the front strand. Rick brought the coils of the rope over to the edge of the building, fitted the heavy nylon sleeve over the edge of the parapet to prevent any chafing to the rope, and then, fashioning a long loop, dropped the rest of the tangle over the side. He still held the two ends of the rope. Linc walked over and adjusted his gloves as he looked down at the roof of the adjacent bank building several stories below them. The area between the buildings was a narrow expanse of murky darkness.

  “You ready?” Rick asked.

  Linc nodded and snapped the black nylon rope through the D-ring. He put his mini-mag flashlight between his teeth and through clenched jaws, said, “I’ll signal you.”

  He went to the edge, placing one leg over, pausing to look down before swinging the other leg over. He was so far up that he couldn’t even see the semi-gloom of the alley below. He’d never rappelled from a building this high before. Probably just as well he couldn’t see the bottom, he figured, and straightened out, perpendicular against the wall of the building, but keeping both strands of the rope held out in front of him. Rick held the double strand too, waiting to let Linc control the descent, then take over the belay at the signal. Linc took out his small mini-mag flashlight out of his mouth and tested the brightness of the bulb. Rick nodded and Linc stuck the flashlight back between his jaws. Then he shoved off and felt his body glide in space, his descent controlled by the friction of the rope moving through the D-ring.

  Bouncing off the wall, he sprung out again, thrilling to the glide. His feet tapped the wall, and this time he paused, checking his location. He’d gone down maybe three stories. The roof of the bank was perhaps another forty feet below him. Using more caution, he descended once more and came to a stop maybe twenty feet above the roof of the bank building. He turned and surveyed the distance between the two buildings. It was fifteen feet at the most. Bending his legs, Linc flexed and shoved off hard, stopping himself as he alighted on the bank’s roof. Standing on the edge, he coiled up the line and took the flashlight in his hand.

  Two quick flashes. Rick signaled back with his. Now it was his turn to come down. Linc backed up, giving the rope enough play so that Rick could rappel easily. When he got within sight. Linc merely backed up, pulling the line so that Rick landed lightly on the roof of the bank, too.

  “How was the trip?” Linc asked in a hoarse whisper, slapping Rick’s shoulder.

  “Piece of cake,” Rick said. But Linc could tell by his stride that his legs were weak. Rick pulled the rope taut and walked over to this building’s air conditioning units. Finding a flat piece of metal on the unit closest to him, he deftly tied off the line from the other roof. Then he took out another heavy nylon sleeve and began threading a second coil of rappelling rope through it. He and Linc walked to the other side of the angular metallic structures. This roof was covered with pebbles, too, and their feet made the same crunching sounds as they worked, looping a double strand of the rope around the base of the farthest unit. After tying the rope securely to one of the support beams, Linc and Rick drew out the line to the edge and placed the sleeve on the cornerstone. Linc glanced over the side and counted.

  “Fifth floor. Ain’t that right?” He didn’t really have to ask, because they had counted it several times in their previous reconnoitering, but he wanted to hear Rick’s reassurance.

  “Right,” Rick said. “Fifth floor, third window from the left.” He shook his head slightly, as if trying to snap off the fatigue like perspiration.

  “You gonna be able to make it back up there?” Linc asked, nodding toward the adjacent building.

  “I’m a marine, ain’t I?”

  “Ex-marine,” Linc corrected.

  “No such thing,” Rick shot back with a grin.

  Linc grinned too, placing the flashlight between his teeth once more. He was slipping the line through the D-ring again and giving the rest of the line to Rick, so he could belay when the time was right. Linc stretched out perpendicular to this wall, and then sprang outward. His descent this time was slightly more cautious, because he had a shorter distance to go. He paused at each story until he was just above the fifth floor window that they had identified on a previous trip as the women’s washroom. With the toes of his boots on the upper edge of the window, he positioned himself just right, and slowly lowered himself
until he was hanging directly in front of it. Linc used his left hand to secure the rope, and then, with his right, carefully took the flashlight out of his mouth again. He held it upward and pressed the button twice.

  Rick responded with two flashes of his own, and Linc felt the rope stiffen as his partner took over the belay, effectively holding Linc in his present position, while giving him free use of both hands. The hardest thing about rappelling in assault-style was letting go of the rope with both hands, since the grip on the rope was what controlled the descent and prevented a freefall. To relinquish it, the rappeller had to be able to trust his life to the partner above. With only a second’s hesitation, Linc released his grip on the rope and stuck the mini-mag back in his mouth, this time with the lens facing toward the frosty glass of the window.

  He took out his knife and pressed the blade into the space between the upper and lower windows. Neither one budged. Linc wiggled the knife until he had it worked in pretty far, then reached into his pocket for a thin piece of wood to use as a shim. As he withdrew his clumsy gloved fingers, several of the shims fell away, twirling into the darkness. Linc swore, but that was why he’d brought an extra supply. More carefully this time, he took the glove off his hand and probed his pocket again. He worked several shims in between the two frames, then used his blade to try and pry back the lock. It wouldn’t budge. Something had to be binding it. Bracing himself, he stuck the blade between the frames once more and twisted slightly. The shims dropped out and cascaded downward. Linc blew out a slow breath, aware that Rick must be getting tired holding his suspended weight for so long.

  He decided to go to plan B. It was a little more risky, but what the hell. Besides, they were fighting the clock. Linc folded the knife and slipped it back into its scabbard on his belt. He wiggled his fingers back into his left glove, then he reached into the pocket of his black fatigue pants and took out a window-glass punch. The panes were divided up into four smaller sections, each framed by its own wooden border. Placing the tapered end against the glass above the area where the lock was. Linc cocked the mainspring, but he hesitated momentarily before releasing it.

  The breaking glass would make a certain amount of noise, he thought, but hell, nobody would hear it. And a broken window this high up, no one would even be around to notice it until the bank re-opened. From what Diane had heard, that wouldn’t be for at least another two days. He released the punch and the glass shattered with an echoing ping. Linc scraped the rest of the shards out of the frame and put the punch back in his pocket. The window lock twisted easily. He took out the knife again and stuck the blade between the base of the frame and the sill, then pried upward to raise the lower portion of the window. Swinging his right leg in and straddling the sill, Linc swept the light around the inside of the washroom. It was empty. He leaned back out of the window and signaled Rick with three quick flashes. Rick acknowledged with his three, and Linc disconnected the rope from the D-ring and pulled the rest of his body inside.

  Rick felt the line go slack, then saw Linc’s three flashes. Just in time, he thought. A sickening feeling swept over him and he almost collapsed against the roof. But something held him up. Maybe it was fear. Or adrenalin. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe it was knowing that this crazy thing had now gone too far to even think about backing out. His partner was inside and would be working his way down to the tunnel entrance. Rick knew he couldn’t stop now.

  Gathering up the rope, he wound it up, stuck it in his knapsack, and went back to the brace to which he’d tied the line from the other roof. Undoing it, he moved to the edge and, flipping the rope as he walked, managed to whip it over the corner. The rest of the rope was still tied off on the roof of the first building from which they’d descended. The next maneuver was going to be tricky and he paused to take a couple deep breaths. The cool night air failed to energize him. Instead, the enervating feeling continued to escalate. His bowels felt loose. And his stomach was suddenly overflowing with bile. Turning his head Rick bent over and puked. The stench of the puddle assaulted his nose, as he felt the sour taste in his mouth. He spit a few times, and straightened back up.

  At least I managed to feed the pigeons, he thought as he turned back to the task at hand, mentally rehearsing what he had to do. He was going to have to swing over to the adjacent building, steady himself, then begin a downward rappel. But instead of going straight down, he needed to walk around the corner of the building until he could reach the fire escape. It didn’t seem difficult when he thought about it in those terms. Just a few small steps. He tried to forget he was twelve stories up. The only hard parts were the initial jump, which he had to cushion with his legs as he landed, and the walk-around. There was a chance that the sleeve might have slipped and the friction would be wearing the rope away as he moved. That would mean he’d fall to his death.

  I could quit now, but then Linc would have to go it alone, he thought. Then he wished Linc were going it alone. How did he ever get hooked up in this crazy scheme?

  Figuring that he’d dawdled long enough, Rick slipped the dark nylon cord through the D-ring and moved to the edge of the building. Instead of getting out perpendicular to the edge, as Linc had done, Rick cautiously swung his legs out over the parapet, facing the wall where he had to go. Tightening his grip on the rope with both hands, the left one in front of his face and his right at the small of his back, Rick took a deep breath and swung forward. He sailed through the blackness for a few seconds before his boot-soles smacked into the bricks of the adjacent wall, expertly doing a little bounce to minimize the shock. After steadying himself momentarily, Rick walked several steps to his right. The corner was only a few feet away. He went down a few more feet, then stopped and walked to the right some more. He was at the corner now and the rope still felt strong. Of course, they all felt strong until. . .

  Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he walked around the corner and downward at an oblique angle toward the metal structure of the fire escape. About ten more feet and he’d be there. He continued his slow walk, the rope still feeling taut in his grasp. It was a good thing he had plenty of line.

  A shock wave of terror shot through him as a sudden snapping twitch vibrated down the rope. Then it felt secure again. All the sideward movement was causing it to twist. Rick steadied himself and took a couple of deep breaths, not daring to look down. He was perhaps five stories below the rooftop of the bank. The one he’d swung off of. All he would have to do, after he got to the fire escape, was go back up to the roof of this building and retrieve the rope from the original tie-off place, then get to the bank’s tunnel entrance. Sounded simple, but he had to get there first. He continued his angular descent. Finally, after about seven minutes of cautious climbing, he reached the cast-iron banister.

  Getting on the fire escape, Rick knelt and rested for a few minutes. Got to keep moving, he thought, for he knew that once he stopped for any protracted length of time, he was dead. Or very well could be. After unsnapping the rope, he untied his Swiss-seat and stuck that and his D-ring in the pack. Glancing upward, Rick saw that he had to climb up at least a dozen floors. But it was better than doing the rappel in the dark with no one on belay, that was for sure. He took the stairs as steadily as he had with Linc before. On the roof, he quickly untied the rope from the air conditioner, and placed the coil into his pack. Then he headed to the fire escape and began the careful, but steady trip down to the alley. He paused occasionally to watch for cops, but nobody came near the truck. Suddenly, when he was about two stories up, he saw a blacked-out patrol-car turn into the far end of the alley. If they caught him on the fire escape it would be over. There was no way he would be able to explain why he was up there. And they would surely stop to check out the parked truck.

  Rick descended the remaining two flights on the metal stairs as fast as he could. He lost sight of the squad car and, praying that they hadn’t seen or heard him, got to the final section that lowered to ground level. Fearing that movement of the large meta
l platform would be too noticeable, Rick slipped off the knapsack and dropped it down into the darkness. Then he gripped the bottom of the metal railings and lowered himself down, hanging there for an instant, before letting go. The drop must have been about fifteen feet, and he landed between two dumpsters, rolling as he hit, to cushion the impact, but still feeling the tremendous shock shoot up through his legs.

  Managing to struggle to his feet. Rick staggered to the passenger side of the truck. He fumbled for the keys, then remembered that they’d left the windows down. He tore off the stocking hat, slipped on the yellow hard-hat, and began stepping into the Commonwealth Edison coveralls.

  The squad car was suddenly beside him, and he was bathed in a bright glare. He looked into it dumbly.

  “What are you doing there?” a hard-edged voice demanded.

  “Ever try takin’ a leak with these cover-alls on?” Rick said with an innocuous grin. “I’m with Commonwealth Edison. I had to go real bad, and didn’t figure anybody’d notice if I added just a little more pollution to this alley here.” He lowered his head so they could see the insignia on the helmet. He continued to slip on the coveralls, which also had the company name stitched along the left breast area. Rick swallowed hard.

  “Then get the fucking power turned back on,” one of the cops said from the dark interior. The harsh light went out and he heard a guffaw of laughter from the squad car as it continued to creep down the alley. He breathed a sigh of relief and retrieved the knapsack. Tossing it on the seat, he started the truck and flipped on the lights. Rick drove down the alley in the same direction the squad car had gone. It had vanished into the shadows of the next alley.

  Driving around the block, he hung a left on Wabash, then another left at Monroe. No other cop cars. He pulled into the alley again, but this time left the lights on. Halfway down he stopped. Shining his flashlight over the ground, he saw the grates and placed the yellow hard-hat on the dash with the Com Ed letters facing outward. After pulling his stocking cap back on, he shut off the truck but left the flashers going. Rick unfolded the thick hose that was connected to the pumping machine on the back of the truck and stretched it out to the grate. Then he took a pry-bar from the bed of the truck and jammed it between the edge of the metal and the cement. The grate rose as he bore down on the bar, and he grabbed the edge and lifted, pulling it over to the side. He shone his flashlight down the rectangular hole. There were four consecutive levels, each about six to eight feet high. He estimated that the lowest one would be about forty to fifty feet below street level. A detritus of sodden old newspapers, candy wrappers, and garbage lined the corners of each platform. The level that he wanted was the third. It was maybe thirty feet down.