I hoped that Parrish would venture out to the more open end of the roof, so that we could get back to the door.
We heard noises, but it was hard to tell where they were coming from.
“We should split up,” Ben said. “There’s only one of him. He can’t chase both of us.”
“Unless he brought his helper.” I saw a ladder on a nearby wall, one used for access to the flagpoles. “Wait here,” I said. I scurried over to the ladder, climbed up as far as I dared and cautiously peered down into the little alley we had just traveled. Past our alley, but not far away from its entrance, I saw a strange sight, one that took me a moment to comprehend: a single light moving slowly, bobbing several feet above the ground. Then I realized what it was — Parrish had a camper’s headlamp on, a flashlight that would allow him to keep his hands free for — for things I didn’t want to think about.
I watched just long enough to determine one thing, then hurried back to Ben.
“He’s alone, as far as I can tell. He’s bound to come down this alley any minute. But I don’t think we should split up until we have to.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
Then the cell phone rang, shrill and loud. It might as well have sent an electric shock through me.
I swore and fumbled to answer it. It rang a second time and Ben took off running again. I could understand his desire to distance himself from a woman who was wearing a homing device for Parrish.
“Whoever you are,” I said into the phone as I ran in the opposite direction, “call the police!”
“Irene?” a man’s voice said. Familiar, but who was it?
I turned a corner, heard footsteps. I ducked down another narrow alleyway and ran like hell. “Goddamn it, whoever you are, hang up and call the police. Tell them Nick Parrish is on the roof of the
“This is Phil Newly, I’m—”
“Shit!” I said, and hung up.
Wonderful. Satan’s minion now knew where to find his boss.
Parrish’s headlamp appeared at the other end of the alley.
I turned another corner.
Dead end.
Okay, I thought, okay. Use the cell phone. Call 911, and even if you’re dead, maybe they’ll get here in time to save Ben.
I called, wondering which police department I’d reach. But the call was routed to the Las Piernas Police.
“Nick Parrish is on the rooftop of the Wrigley Building—”
“Hey, Nicky, you Mama’s boy!” Ben called. “Come and get me!”
“Oh, Jesus,” I said weakly. “On the rooftop of the
I hung up again. I moved forward, not sure what I’d find. No sign of Parrish. No sign of Ben.
I turned the phone on one more time, pressed the programmed button for “Stinger@FE.”
I made the call as I continued my way back out of the dead-end alley. “Fremont Enterprises,” a sleepy voice answered.
“Pappy?” I whispered.
“Have to speak up,” he said.
“Tell Travis and Stinger to come back to the roof,” I said and hung up, because I had just seen Ben run past the opening to the alley, and Parrish was not far behind.
I ran until I reached the opening, turned in the direction they had gone, and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Nick Parrish, you little weasel, I can’t believe you fell for that dumb trick!”
I heard a small thud, and a light came from behind me. I whirled to see him standing not three feet away from me, grinning. He was standing next to another ladder. He wore a gun in a shoulder holster. That wasn’t his weapon of choice, obviously — in his right hand, he was holding a knife with a long, thin blade.
“I didn’t fall for any tricks,” he said, moving the knife in a lazy figure eight. “You, on the other hand, were stupid enough to run right past me without looking up.”
I backed up a few steps.
“You want to run?” he said, holding up the knife. “Of course you do. Especially now that I’ve killed your little crippled friend.”
“You haven’t killed him,” I said, hoping I was right.
“How do you know?”
“No gunshot, no blood on you or your knife. As usual, you’re full of shit.”
“I don’t think you’re so certain he’s alive. Call his name. See if he answers.”
“You aren’t going to get me to be the one to help you find him.”
“I’ll find him. He can’t move as fast you can.”
