“Right. Let’s test signals.”
She released the mike button, then pressed it once, holding it down for about three seconds. Downstairs
Wilson followed suit. The result was a detectable change in the hiss that came from the speaker. She replied with two presses of her mike button. Wilson responded immediately with the same. The emergency signal, three presses, was not tried. It was reserved only for trouble. If one and two worked, three would also. “OK by me,” she said. “OK,” came the reply. “You’ll get your first signal five minutes from now.”
Then there was silence. In five minutes Wilson would press his mike button once and she would reply with the same. So it would go for the next two and a half hours. Every five minutes they would renew contact, thus insuring that the cold would not lull her into sleep. If she ever failed to reply they would be on the roof in a matter of minutes. She thought of them down there together in that apartment and hoped they kept away from each other. Wilson and Dick were not friendly, to say the least And Ferguson was so nervous the least bit of tension might send him into a panic. The wind rocked her body again, making her cling to the edge of the roof with her free hand. Leaving the walkie-talkie against her ear, she withdrew the pocket warmer and put it on the roof just beneath her chest, making a tiny area of relative warmth that would keep her neck from freezing as the tendrils of Arctic wind curled around her body.
She repositioned the camera and made a sweep of the alley peering through the viewer. Nothing. Closing her eyes she turned her face into the pocket of warmth under her chin. The wind kept pulling at her, kept her body tense, her mind on the ragged edge. It was going to be a long and brutal watch. The first signal came through and she replied, then made another sweep and again bowed her head.
This continued through the first hour. At the end of that time she pushed back from the edge of the roof, put her equipment down, and stood up. Methodically she stomped until she was sure her feet were unfrozen, then jogged in place for a few moments. She blew into her gloves, grateful for the warmth that this produced. She drank a few swallows of coffee. Overall she was in good condition. She struggled across the roof and peered down the three street sides. Each one revealed the same scene: an empty street with the ice glaring yellow-white under the sodium-arc streetlights. Aside from a few parked cars there were no signs of humanity.
Then she noticed one of the cars. It was double-parked and it looked a lot like an NYPD unmarked car. Why the hell would it be here? It could only be a stakeout. But from this height who could be sure? Then the wind hit her and she had to go back to hands and knees, crawling precariously across the roof once more. Let them stake the place out, maybe they would come in handy one way or another. Goddamn them, they were watching Dick. Those were Internal Affairs Division investigators for sure. When you thought about it, it was almost funny. She huddled down and made another sweep.
“You’re through, kid,” came Wilson’s voice. She buzzed back, saying nothing, and immediately retreated to the doorway. It seemed like an eternity had passed up here. Her whole body ached except for her feet, which were ominously numb.
They were waiting for her in the stairwell. Ferguson was bundled up now. She passed the equipment to him and told him about her experience with the wind. He nodded, his face sunken and silent. Dick replaced all batteries—pocket warmer, camera, walkie-talkie and then tucked a hot thermos under Ferguson’s arm. The scientist slammed through the door with a bang and a gust of frigid wind.
The brutal conditions hit him harder than he had expected. He struggled to keep his balance, slipped and collapsed against the door. This whole thing was such a farce. Instead of hiding up here they should be down in the alley under spotlights making the open-handed gesture of friendship from Beauvoy’s diagrams. The wind cut into him, making his muscles convulse. How could those cops possibly take this punishment? He tried to move out, fell back again. His eyes were tearing now, the tears freezing and obscuring his vision. He got to his feet, took a few staggering steps forward. His legs shot out from under him and he landed painfully on his side, smashing the absurd, unwieldy gun into the ice beneath him. He struggled to his stomach and got out the radio, began calling them. This roof was beyond his capabilities; despite the others he was going to have to take his chances with communication—in the alley.
Back in the apartment Becky went to the bedroom and peeled off her clothes. She checked her feet, found no signs of frostbite. Still shaking, she went into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the shower. When the warm billows of steam hit her naked body she actually laughed with delight. Warmth, delicious warmth was all she could think of as the water sluiced over her body. It had been a brutal, killing two and a half hours and she was bitterly tired. After a thorough shower she toweled and powdered herself, then once again put on long johns, jeans, and a heavy sweater. Anything could happen tonight and she wasn’t about to assume that she wouldn’t be going outside again, maybe in a hurry.
When she went into the living room, Wilson was hunched over the radio and Dick was suiting up. He was doing it slowly but he was doing it. For a moment she was confused—how long had she been in the shower—but then she realized what was happening. “Just hang on, buddy,” Wilson was saying, “Neff’s gonna be up in a minute and you can come down.”
The reply was garbled.
Becky flared with anger. “That little creep! Leave him where he is.”
“I ain’t hurryin’, honey,” Dick said mildly. “He’s been whinin’ ever since he got up there.”
“He’s by the door,” Wilson called from his station at the living room window.
“The hell!” Becky said. “We need that little bastard. The three of us can’t take his time.”
“We got to. Dick’s gonna take an hour, I’ll take an hour, then you take a half hour. Then Dick does his full shift and I do mine. That’s what we have to do.” He said it laconically but his voice was tired. They all knew what hell it was up there.
“It’s no surprise. You can’t expect an untrained man to withstand that kind of punishment But I still ain’t hurryin’.”
“As if we were in any better shape ourselves. Hell, none of us are street cops.”
“Speak for yourself, dear. I’m in good shape. You and Wilson’re a mess, but—”
“OK, so how’s about you take his shift and yours too. Five hours. Sound good?”
“That’d be convenient, wouldn’t it, honey?” He spoke in a quiet, level tone. What in the name of God did he mean? He couldn’t possibly suspect that there was anything between her and Wilson. There wasn’t— at least very little!
She decided not to pick up on it.
