“It feels like you’re not embracing the good times, Sister Dionne.”
Dionne attempted a begrudging high five that was really more of a pat, and she cringed while doing it. “Just focus, Zoya. Don’t underestimate them. Don’t forget – this man was clever enough and persistent enough to find us.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to make him regret that.”
Bunny picked himself and his now cold and soaking arse off the ground. “Right, feck this. I’m shoulder-charging the fecking thing.”
Smithy stepped in front of him, stopping Bunny before he could get started. “Don’t!”
“But—”
“Seriously, think about it. Whatever kind of security that door has, if it contains a strong enough magnet to grip metal like that, it’ll be thick. You ever shoulder-charged metal?”
Dionne glanced at Zoya, who nodded.
“Little dude isn’t wrong. The Irish fella would have Wile E. Coyote-ed himself there.”
“So, what happens now?”
“Well, personally, I’d love to see them try to come in the front door.”
“What happens when…?”
Zoya turned to Dionne, an alarmingly excited look on her face. “Oh, it is really good!”
Bunny and Smithy stood in the alleyway, Smithy readjusting his tool belt while Bunny tugged at the back of his trousers, hoping to prevent them freezing to his arse.
“This is messed up,” said Smithy. “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but it is my considered opinion we should get the hell out of here.”
“Oh, for feck’s sake,” said Bunny. “So they’ve got a security door. Big deal.”
“A security door? That’s not like any security door I’ve ever seen.”
“Fine,” said Bunny, “if you don’t want to do it, just give me a crowbar and I’ll get myself in.”
“I’m just…” Smithy shook his head. “You can be really annoying, you know that? Follow me.”
“Ahh,” said Zoya. “They’re going for the fire escape. Well, never mind.”
“OK,” said Dionne, “I should wake Sister Dorothy.”
“Wait, wait, wait – there’s loads more coming first.”
“Just give me a hand moving this, would ye?”
“It’s on wheels,” replied Smithy.
“It won’t budge.”
“Have you released the brake?”
“What b…? Oh, right.”
Bunny released the wheel brake and trundled the blue plastic dumpster over towards the fire escape. He positioned it carefully under it and then, once he’d re-engaged the brake, tried to climb on top of it. Smithy jumped towards the wall and used it as a springboard, grabbing the lip of the dumpster and pulling himself up.
“How in the feck did you do that?”
“I went to the Olympics in the dumpster jump. Come on.” Smithy assisted Bunny and the big man stood unsteadily on the thick plastic of the lid, testing his footing.
“Right,” said Bunny, reaching for the bottom rung of the ladder, now just within his reach. “D’ye know, we don’t have these in Ireland.”
“Dumpsters?”
“No. Fire escapes. Like outside ladders like this.”
“What do you do if there’s a fire?”
“I think we just put it out.”
“Revolutionary,” said Smithy. “Well, come on then – pull the ladder down.”
“I’m trying,” said Bunny. “’Tis stuck.”
“Give it a tug.”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Put your weight into it.”
“I fecking am!”
Bunny took a firm grip of the bottom rung in both hands and, for the second-ever time in his entire existence, he attempted to perform a pull-up.
Zoya turned to Dionne. “Do you want to press the button?”
“What button?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Dionne rolled her eyes. “Zoya, this is a tad sadistic.”
Zoya reared back, looking genuinely offended. “No, it isn’t. I am defending the castle.”
“Well, get on with it then.”
“Fine.” She pressed a key on her keyboard and the ladder, previously stuck solid, suddenly came loose.
They watched as it descended rapidly, slamming the Irishman into and through the top of the dumpster as his colleague dived off it just in time.
Zoya folded her arms. “That wasn’t sadistic; it was essentially just gravity. Mostly.”
“Remind me,” said Dionne, “to never get on your bad side.”
“Bunny?”
Smithy didn’t get a response, but he could hear movement from inside the dumpster.
“Bunny?” Smithy repeated. “Are you OK?”
“I got smashed through a dumpster and, for the second time today, I have a face full of garbage. In fact, I’m near drowning in the stuff. Does ‘Are you OK?’ really strike you as a sensible question, given the circumstances?”
Smithy looked around. While Bunny’s dumpster dive hadn’t exactly been graceful, it hadn’t been that loud.
“I told you—”
“And it’s definitely not the time for I told you so’s.”
“Alright,” said Smithy. “Point taken.”
The walkie-talkie strapped to Smithy’s belt beeped. “Diller to Smithy. Over.”
“Yes, Dill?”
“Is everything OK? Over.”
Smithy looked up to see Bunny dragging himself out of the dumpster, the sourest of expressions on his face and a banana skin dangling off his shoulder.
“Well,” said Smithy, “the operation has not been without its issues, but morale remains high and we are striving onwards.”
“Sarcastic little bollocks,” muttered Bunny.
“What was that? Over.”
“Never mind. We’re cool, Dill. All OK your end?”
“Yeah. Over. By the way – you keep forgetting to say over. Over.”
“OK,” said Smithy, as Bunny stumbled out of the dumpster and did a little jog of disgust to get various bits of garbage off himself. “Thanks for checking in, but this conversation is now…”
Smithy clipped the walkie-talkie back on his belt.
Bunny took off his coat and made a retching face as he removed a particularly unpleasant item from the pocket. “I’m going to need a month’s worth of showers to get close to feeling clean again.”
“Wow,” said Smithy. “Two showers.”
Bunny spat onto the ground. “I need to get rid of the taste.” He pulled a hip flask from his pocket and took a long pull on it. Then he held it out to Smithy, who shook his head.
“I’m good. I try not to get too loaded while committing B and E.”
“Suit yourself, although there’s been feck all entering yet and the only breaking has been done to me.”
“I think you might need a new coat.”
“That ain’t happening,” said Bunny, putting it back on. “C’mon, let’s get moving.”
Bunny lifted the ladder out of the dumpster to allow Smithy to move it and then lowered the bottom rung carefully to the ground.
“I’ll go first,” said Smithy.
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. You stink, and I’d rather be upwind of you.”
“Thanks, Smithy, you’re all heart.”
“I’m quite pleased with the next one,” said Zoya. “It’s real subtle.”
Smithy reached the first landing and looked at the window. It was boarded over with thick wooden planks. A glance upwards revealed that the one on the next floor up was uncovered and would be the easier and quieter option. He turned to continue up the stairs when the fire escape shifted slightly, causing a gutter above him to move.
Smithy shoved his fist in his mouth to stop himself from screaming as about half a bucket’s worth of ice-cold water landed on his head.
Bunny reached the landing and stopped. “What’s wrong with you?”
Smithy turned ar
ound to face him, his body still shaking from the shock of the ice-cold water.
“How’d ye get wet?”
Smithy looked upwards suspiciously. “Fuck. Cold. So cold.”
“It’ll be warmer when we get inside.”
Smithy put his hand out to stop Bunny moving. “Are you familiar with the film Home Alone?”
“Course. Is that relevant?”
“I’m beginning to believe it might be.”
Bunny looked up and then back down at Smithy. “Ara, you’re getting paranoid. So they have some kind of weird security door. The rest was just bad luck.”
“Really?” said Smithy. “How come that water wasn’t frozen? Should have been ice.”
Dionne looked across at Zoya.
“He’s good,” said Zoya with an appreciative nod. “I have a little heater on the pipe, keeps it just above freezing.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you really do scare me.”
“You’re overthinking it,” said Bunny.
Smithy shook his head. “From now on, we go slow and you do exactly as I say.”
“Alright,” said Bunny, raising his hand, “you’re the expert.”
Smithy gingerly made his way up the next flight of stairs, looking up, down and every other direction on every step. Eventually, while ignoring Bunny’s none-too-subtle mumblings from behind him, they made it to the next landing. He looked at the window. It looked relatively normal.
“Right. Let’s jimmy the thing and get inside. My arse is starting to freeze and that isn’t one of them figures of speech.”
“Slow and steady. Slow and steady.”
“Jesus. One go at that ice bucket challenge and now you’re a fecking Buddhist monk.”
Smithy ignored him and examined the window. “I can’t see any wires. The glass looks relatively normal.”
“So let’s—”
Smithy shushed Bunny and then pulled his 3-in-1 stud finder from his belt and held it to the frame. It beeped immediately.
“Aha.”
“What?”
“I can’t see any wires, but this is detecting electricity running around the whole frame. This window has some kind of alarm on it.”
“Can you get around it?”
Smithy shook his head. “I probably could, but I bet whoever secured this place is banking on someone going for the seemingly easy option. I say we leave it and head for the roof.”
Bunny rubbed his hands together. “Jesus, Smithy, you’re a cute hoor!”
“I’m a what now?”
“He’s a what now?” asked Zoya.
“It’s an Irish phrase,” said Dionne. “It means ‘smart cookie’, I guess. I only know that because I dated an Irish blackjack dealer for a while.”
“Really?” said Zoya.
Dionne shifted in her seat, embarrassed. “Another life. If they’re heading for the roof, I really am going to wake Sister Dorothy.”
“OK.”
Dionne got out of the chair. “Oh, and check the other guy is still at the cab.”
Chapter Sixteen
Diller hugged his arms around himself more tightly. He could have sat in the taxi and waited, but he was getting bored. He considered using the walkie-talkie in his pocket to ask for another update, but he guessed Smithy wouldn’t appreciate it. After this, he was going to refuse to get involved in stuff unless it meant he was actually involved in stuff. OK, Smithy and Bunny in their own distinct ways were badasses, but Diller had skills too. He knew a lot of useful information. Hell, it was only about twelve hours since he’d cycled in front of a speeding van and executed a flawless Wandinky roll. Well, nearly flawless. While he hadn’t admitted it, he had a rather big bruise blossoming up on his ribs. Still, it was pretty cool. Honestly, Diller felt like he really hadn’t got enough credit for that.
He jumped as a voice emerged from the alleyway behind him, singing.
“Oh say, can you see…”
Diller turned to look down the alley. He could make out a shape moving back there in the darkness. It was hunched over in a shambling walk. Once he’d gotten over the shock, he had to admit that the voice, a deep baritone, had a certain quality to it.
“By the dawn’s early light, what so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s…”
The figure slowly emerged, his head down towards the ground as if searching for something. He was an older guy, his hands shoved into the pockets of the ragged hoodie he wore, his jeans held up by rope. The man shuffled slowly as he sang, oblivious to being watched. Only when he reached “and the rockets’ red glare” did he look up and notice Diller. He halted. The light caught his yellowing scattershot teeth before he lowered his head and took a step back.
Diller put his hand out. “Hey. It’s OK. You’re OK. I mean you no harm, sir.”
The man eyed him suspiciously but stayed where he was.
“You got a fine singing voice there.”
The man gave an uncertain, lopsided half-smile and nodded, still wary but relaxing a bit. “Thanks. Apologies. Didn’t mean to disturb.”
“Oh, you didn’t. You helped warm a cold night.”
The man nodded again and shuffled forward once more. Now he’d pulled them out of his pockets, Diller noticed the tremor in the man’s hands. He looked to be in his late fifties, his hair thinning but his thick, unkempt beard stretching down to his chest. It was hard to tell if the shake in his body was for medical reasons, through dependency or just from the bitter cold. The man wore only the hoodie and jeans over boots.
“Hey,” said Diller, “if you don’t mind me saying, aren’t you cold?”
The man nodded, still slightly wary. “Yeah, happens I am. Bitter night. Bitter, bitter night. What you doing here?”
Diller smiled. “Oh, I’m just waiting for a friend.”
“You drive a cab?” he said, jabbing his chin towards it.
“Nah, it’s my friend’s.”
“Ahh, OK, well…”
Diller rushed forward as the man stumbled, catching him before he fell. “Easy there. Are you OK, sir?”
“Sorry, son. I’m a little dizzy. Took a few shots to the head earlier.”
Up close, Diller could see the bruising on the man’s skin and the swelling under his right eye that was half closing it.
“Oh dear,” said Diller. “If you like, sir, when my friend gets back, we could bring you to the hospital?”
“Nah, no hospital. I got no use for no hospitals.”
“Honestly, sir, it’d be no trouble.”
The man pulled back slightly and Diller released his arm.
“Why you keep calling me sir? You being sarcastic at me?”
Diller stood back. “No, not at all. I mean no offence. I just don’t know your name.”
The man looked at him for a long moment, deciding what he thought of this answer. Then he gave a curt nod. “OK then.”
“In fact,” said Diller, extending his hand to shake, “I’m Diller – Jackson Diller, but everybody just calls me Diller.”
Diller stepped back as the man pivoted and snapped off a salute. “Corporal Arnold Williams, 18th Engineers, reporting for duty!” For a moment he stood proud and still, and Diller could see the younger man he’d been. Then the man lowered his hand and the fleeting moment of transformation had passed. He became smaller again before Diller’s eyes.
“You see much action, Arnold?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen plenty. Too much.”
Arnold nodded at Diller and started shuffling away. “You have a good night now.”
“Hey, Arnold,” said Diller. “Seriously, we could take you to a shelter or something. It’s really cold tonight.”
“Nah,” the man said, with a shake of the head. “Gotta keep moving. Can’t give ’em a stationary target.”
“Well – we should see about getting you a coat, maybe?”
Arnold looked down at the ground again. “Had a coat. Good coat. They stole it. That was what the fight was about. Three on one, so
ns of bitches.”
“Oh,” said Diller. “Did you call the police or…”
Diller saw the look in Arnold’s eyes and stopped talking. “They don’t care none about some old homeless dude.”
Diller thought for a second and then took off his duffle coat. “Here, Arnold, you take mine.”
Arnold pushed it away. “Nah, man. Nah. You need your coat.”
“Honestly, I have a wardrobe full of ’em at home. You take it.”
Arnold looked at the coat and Diller could see need triumph over pride. “If you’re sure?”
“I insist.”
Diller held it out and Arnold put his hands through the sleeves. Once inside, he hugged it to himself. “Damn, that’s good. So good.”
Diller smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Thank you, son.”
“You’re welcome, Arnold. You stay safe now.”
“Much obliged.” With a wave, Arnold walked away.
“Hey, Arnold.”
He turned to look at Diller again.
“Thank you for your service.”
Arnold gave a more casual salute and then turned to continue walking away. As he did so, he began singing quietly to himself again.
“O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
Unbeknownst to Diller, thirty feet above him floated a silent observer, beaming pictures back to a room that sat a couple of hundred more feet away. Zoya stared at the screen, alone in the room. She watched as the old man shuffled off and Jackson Diller rubbed his arms up and down himself, trying to keep warm.
When she spoke, it was only to herself. “Dude gave the man his coat.”
Then her attention was attracted by a flashing red light. Jackson Diller’s two amigos had finally made it to the roof.
Chapter Seventeen
Smithy took a long, hard look at the door.
“So,” said Bunny, “are we dancing or what?”
Smithy tapped the screwdriver he’d taken out of his belt against his chin. He didn’t need it, but he felt the tapping on some level helped him think. “Well, there’s no current going through it. I’m not detecting any metal, so it is just wood.”
I Have Sinned Page 11
