He darted through the door to the elevator bank and frantically buzzed for an elevator. A moment later the doors hissed open and he thumbed the call button for the seventeenth floor. Blessed Mother Mary, make her be there, he thought, almost sobbing. He wouldn’t have the strength nor the time to search all the floors and Spinner wouldn’t wait; the prick would never wait.
He got off on seventeen and slipped quietly down the corridor, passing several commercial shops, their windows dead and lifeless. He rounded a corner and spotted a frosted glass door up ahead glowing with a dim illumination-Toddy’s Interiors, with the names Ian Douglas and Larry Uhlmann in fancy printing below it. They were the two faggots who ran it, he thought. Douglas, he remembered, was the older, barrel-chested fat man; Uhlmann was younger and thinner. He had run into them once before when he had come up to see his mother after hours and had pretended that the guard had given him permission.
Neither one of them had been very friendly but there had been something in the older fairy’s eyes. Interior decorators, Jesus mused thoughtfully. They sold the fancy stuff that rich people put in their houses, expensive stuff. He hesitated a moment by the door listening.
There weren’t any sounds and he guessed by the dimness of the light that whoever was there was probably working in the back. It might be worth a try, he thought suddenly. There wouldn’t be any customers there and if the owners were in back, it might be possible to rip something off. Maybe he could make a trade to Spinner-then instinctively he knew that was unlikely, that his mother was the best bet.
He padded quietly down the corridor. The lights were on in the National Curtainwall offices; he had been in there once, too, when his mother was cleaning up. But there weren’t enough lights on to indicate the cleaning women were inside; only a few toward the rear, where they had a safe and kept a lot of money. His mother had told him it was what they called a Credit Union and that a lot of employees banked there. Maybe they had a lot . of money there, he thought-it was just before the holidays. For a moment he wished he had a gun and then shrugged the thought aside. He was too chicken for that; guns scared him. When he was a little younger he had been in gang fights where they fought with knives and chains; then one night somebody had shown up with a gun and one of his buddies was killed, and he got creased in the side and bled like a pig for half a day. His mother had managed to get a Puerto Rican doctor to stitch him up, a doctor who knew enough to keep his mouth shut and hadn’t asked Jesus how it had happened. But Jesus had steered away from gangs after that; the next time he might not be so lucky.
He started to get panicky. He was nearing the end of the corridor and there were no signs of the cleaning women. All of the sand-filled ashtrays lining the corridor were still filled with butts and none of the remaining offices showed any lights. Maybe another corridor …
He broke into a run and a few minutes later realized that he had been right, none of the cleaning women had gotten to the floor yet.
Christ, what was he going to do? He could feel the first hint of a cramp and paled beneath his olive skin. Maybe she had been sick.
Maybe Martinez, her new “husband,” had slapped her around too much and hurt her so bad she couldn’t go to work. That macho pig, he thought, someday he’d stick six inches of steel into him and see how macho the greaser was then….
She was probably working on another floor, he thought hopefully’ He ran back toward the elevators, then paused for a moment outside Today’s Interiors. The lights were still on in back and he hesitated by the door a moment, then tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand. He silently opened the door about six inches and glanced inside.
There was nobody around, though now he could hear faint movements from the rear, like somebody working an adding machine. They were busy, he thought. It was worth the chance. He pushed through into the darkened outer shop, letting the door close quietly behind him. For a moment he stood in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust, then glanced quickly around. At first, there didn’t seem to be much that would do him any good. A desk against the wall that might have a cash box in it … He walked, quietly over and cautiously pulled open the drawers one by one. Paper and envelopes and what looked like a folder of bills; no money except a few pennies in the narrow top drawer, along with some stamps, rubber bands, and paper clips.
Shit. There were bolts of cloth in the corner and stacked against the far wall, and fancy, delicate-looking furniture that wouldn’t last a week in his house. Suddenly curious, he walked over to a couch and sat down, first bouncing on it, then wriggling his narrow hips against the upholstery. It wasn’t even comfortable; who would buy crap like that?
‘ Then he spotted it. A section of glassed-in shelves standing in shadow against the far wall. He lit a match, the sound of the striking surprisingly loud in the room,and held the flame up to the shelves.
They were of gray, tinted glass and one of them held a group of small ‘figures that looked like they might be of ivory. He could cram a number of them in his pocket; maybe Spinner would give him a dollar apiece on credit. Then his eyes lit up. Next to the figures was a small, antique clock with a lot of painting and what looked like a gold band running around the clock face itself. That had to be worth money, at least twenty dollars all by itself. Even Spinner should be able to see that.
He slid the doors quietly open and had just started to lift out the clock when suddenly the room blazed with light and a deep voice growled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Jesus jerked back, his elbow brushing against the shelf of ivory pieces which crashed to the carpeted floor.
“You little bastard, my netsukes!” The fat man leaped for him and Jesus ran for the door, still clutching the clock. The fat man got there first and Jesus suddenly realized just how large and heavy he was. A good 250, maybe 6 feet 2. He literally towered over ‘ Jesus’ own 130 pounds and 5 feet 8. Jesus backed away, then suddenly turned and kicked at the small ivory carvings, scattering them over the floor.
The fat man yelled and fell to one knee, trying to catch the pieces bouncing over the rug. Jesus bolted for the door and was halfway through when a heavy hand closed on his ankle and jerked him back. He fell, dropping the clock, which promptly shattered. He rolled like a cat trying to scramble to his hands and knees, and suddenly thudded up against the wall. The big man had him immediately, clutching him by the shoulders, his thick fingers sinking almost to the bone. Jesus’ right hand snaked to his pocket but the big man beat him to it, hooking his fingers in the pocket’s edge and ripping the cloth down so the switchblade fell harmlessly out on the floor.
“Dirty little street bastard!” The man yanked him to his feet and pinioned his arms behind him, one hand holding both of Jesus’ thin wrists. He had seemed like a soft man at first, but the belly pressing against Jesus’ hip was hard and ridged with muscle and the hand holding his wrists felt like iron.
“You’re hurting me, man!”
“Then stand, still or I’ll hurt you one hell of a lot more,” the man said, his voice thick with anger.
“Let go, man; I ain’t going anyplace.” He stopped struggling and the man relaxed his grip a little.
“What’s your name?” , Sullenly. “Jesus. Jesus Obligado.”
His eyes snapped quickly about the shop and the big man said, “Don’t try it. You’re a goddamned burglar and I could probably kill you and nobody would say anything.”
Jesus leaned back against the wall, massaging the sting out of his wrists. That was a frigging lie, he thought; the big man might hurt him but he wasn’t going to.kill him.
Jesus had met the type who might kill him and whatever the big man was, he wasn’t that. He relaxed a little. The big man would probably call the cops, but he could always say that he had been looking for his mother and had seen the lights and walked in, thinking his mother might be there since this was one of the offices she cleaned. And if that didn’t work … Suddenly he had an even better idea. He could say the big man had invited him up and offered him money. The cops would believe that; the big man was obviously swish. He began to feel cocky.
“What’s so funny?” the big man asked.
“You going to call a cop?”
“Any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“Sure.” Jesus was defiant now. “You call them and I’ll tell them you asked me up here, that you wanted to fuck . .
He didn’t even sense it coming. The big man’s hand caught him at the side of the face and he staggered and almost went down; the slap had been so hard his teeth hurt.
“You’re in the wrong state,” the big man said coldly.
“You’re too old. Sodomy’s not a crime but blackmail is.”
