The two men paused, glancing out toward the sidewalk and street beyond the mouth of the alley, watching for cops.
Seeing none, Whitehall shrugged at Wild and Wild shrugged at Whitehall and they went on up the fire escape, the Teamster first. The stairs swung up after them as they went on up to the third floor level, where they walked along the catwalk to the window that looked in on Caldwell's office.
Nothing of the office could be seen, however, as the lights were off within and the window was burglar-proof wire glass.
Wild, already damp with sweat, whispered, 'Got something on that tool belt to pry it open?'
'That sash is cast iron,' Whitehall said. 'I'm not sure I could pry it open, and if I did, it'd make a hell of a racket.'
'What, then?'
Whitehall took a roll of masking tape from a pouch on the belt. He tore off long strips of the tape and began to cover the window with them. It seemed to Wild to take forever. The reporter could see the mouth of the alley from up here, and he kept glancing back that way. No cops.
When the window was crisscrossed with tape, till it seemed made more of tape than glass, Whitehall pulled his work gloves off the belt.
'How's it look?' Whitehall asked, snugging on the gloves.
Wild kept his eyes fixed on the mouth of the alley. 'Fine.'
Whitehall drew his fist back, about five inches from the center of the taped-over window; his bicep was tight and round and heavily veined.
Wild gripped Whitehall's shoulder.
Whitehall froze, glanced back. Two cops were standing at the mouth of the alley, talking. Their voices were barely audible, but then one of them laughed. The laughter echoed down the alley. Wild had plastered himself to the side of the building. Whitehall hadn't shifted his position, other than to relax his arm; but he was as motionless as a statue.
Footsteps resonated hollowly.
Wild held his breath, getting religion as the cop walked down the alley.
Whitehall remained inanimate as stone.
The cop stopped near the garbage cans below, where Whitehall had stowed his tool belt.
Wild couldn't see the man, now. The officer was under the fire escape, facing the building, that much Wild knew. He held his breath. Listened. Silence.
Then came the sound of a man pissing against a brick wall.
Tentatively, Wild allowed himself to breathe. The statue on the fire escape next to him began to smile, faintly.
Footsteps clip-clopped back up and out the alley, and the two cops were gone.
'That was some feat that bull pulled off,' Whitehall said softly.
'Huh?'
'He emptied the piss out himself,' Whitehall said, 'and scared the piss out of me.'
Wild smiled at that, and relaxed a little, then Whitehall smashed his fist into the taped-up window and Wild damn near fell off the 'scape.
But there wasn't much noise. A simple cracking was all.
They paused and waited, watching the alley again, seeing if anybody reacted to the sound, slight as it was.
No one did.
Whitehall returned to his work, picking out the pieces of glass, handing them to Wild, whose hands were cupped; but the wire mesh remained, and glass on the other side of the mesh clung.
'Fuck,' Whitehall said. 'I thought maybe I could make a hole and get my hand through and unlock this fucking thing. No such luck.'
By this point Wild had a precarious house of shards in his cupped, gloveless hands.
'Go down and put those in one of the garbage cans,' Whitehall said. 'Quietly. Don't take your foot off the step, or the counterweight'll swing the 'scape up.'
Wild swallowed and nodded and moved as quietly as he could along the wrought-iron walkway, maneuvering the stairs and keeping his balance though his bare hands were filled with jagged chips and chunks of glass. The most awkward part was getting the counterbalanced final flight of stairs to go down without spilling his brittle cargo, which he deposited as soundlessly as he could in the nearest open can, keeping one foot on the lower step. Then he went back up and got a second load of glass and repeated the procedure.
Whitehall was using wire cutters, clipping along the edges of the window at the wire mesh. Each little snip seemed loud as rifle shots to Wild, whose nervousness was turning into nausea. But the mouth of the alley remained empty of police, or anyone else, for that matter.
Finally Whitehall had snipped an upper corner area of the window sufficiently to push in the netting and the glass that clung to it; splinters and slivers of the already cracked glass gently showered the floor beyond. Whitehall rolled down his right sleeve, tucked the cuff under the glove and reached his hand in and around and unlatched the window.
Then they were over the sill and into Caldwell's office, the glass crackling under their heels. Whitehall left the window open behind them, but pulled the shade. Wild waited as his fellow trespasser walked across the dark room with the sureness of a blind man in his own home, and found the overhead light switch.
'Christ,' Wild said, 'wouldn't flashlights be better?'
'Why, did you bring some?'
'Well, no…'
'It would take forever with flashlights, Wild. With the lights on, we can make quick work of this.'
'Where shall we start?'
'You take the desk. I'll take the file cabinets. Don't be tidy. We want 'em to think we were looking for money or valuables.'
Wild nodded and went to work.
The desk was mostly empty. A box of Havana cigars, which Wild helped himself to a couple of, was about it. No sign of anything having to do with actual office work, let alone a box of blacklists.
Whitehall, standing at the oak file cabinets, was taking longer.
Wild called over to him, sotto voce. 'Anything?'
'No. Just membership records, dues, some business ledgers. Standard stuff. Try that closet, why don't you?'
Wild went over and opened the closet door and said, 'Shit.'
'What is it?'
'A safe. A short fat squat safe.'
Whitehall walked over and had a look. He said nothing.
'Safecracking isn't in my repertoire,' Wild said. 'How about you? Got some nitro in that tool belt?'
Whitehall looked the rest of the closet over; there were some shelves, but they were empty.
'Let's take a look out in the outer office,' Whitehall said.
They went into the reception area, leaving the inner office door open, letting some light in, not turning on a light in there. Might attract a janitor's attention, Whitehall said.
'I'll take the desk,' Whitehall said. 'Check out that closet.'
'If there's another safe in it, I'll spare you the sad news.'
'Quiet,' Whitehall said harshly, reaching over and pulling the door to the inner office mostly closed, putting the reception area into darkness.
Listening, Wild squinted in the dark, as if it would make him hear better.
Footsteps.
Then the familiar squeaking sound of a bucket and mop being pushed along. The flop and splash of the wet mop followed. The two men breathed easier, but they breathed quietly. If the cleaning woman out there heard them, noticed them in any way, that greasy spoon full of cops was only a scream away.
Wild was leaning on the knob of the closet door and Whitehall was sitting on the edge of the desk when the
