Patrick Quinlan: The Hit

‘He’s coming out! He’s coming out!’

Jonah went to the window and stuck his head through it. Foerster aimed a kick. His foot whistled just past the edge of Jonah’s nose. Jonah ducked back.

He counted to three then poked his head out again.

He caught a glimpse of Foerster’s head going down the stairs. Jonah dropped the bat and clambered out onto the ironwork. It had been white once but now was flaking with rust. Across the alley was the old fire escape to the abandoned building next door. He went to the railing and glanced around five stories below. Gordo’s round moon face stared up at him.

‘He’s coming down!’

Gordo raised his arms upward like he was praising his maker. ‘Bring him to me.’ His voice echoed off the brick walls.

Jonah hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. He reached the first landing, turned the corner and two seconds later stood at the top of the next flight. One floor down, Foerster was perched up on the handrail like a bird on a telephone wire, grasping the stairs behind him with one hand.

It was three stories to the street and Jonah thought he had a jumper.

‘Foerster! Don’t do that!’

Foerster didn’t even give him a glance. He let go of the stairs, bent deep at the knees and launched himself out into nothing like a squirrel from a tree.

Jonah’s stomach lurched.

Foerster flew across the alley and crashed into the neighboring fire escape half a floor below. He hit it railing high, catching the railing in his stomach. The whole fire escape shook with the impact. Foerster hung on, legs dangling, and yanked himself up and over the railing. He fell onto the landing and rolled over, holding his gut. Then he began crawling up the stairs.

Jonah watched as Foerster, gaining his feet now, reached the landing across from and a little above his own. Foerster stopped and leaned on the railing, breathing hard. Right there, but just out of reach. He looked over at Jonah and flashed his nasty smile.

‘Nothing to it if you have the balls,’ he gasped. Then he continued on his way.

Jonah leaned over the side again. Gordo’s big face still loomed there. It hadn’t seemed like such a terribly long way down just a minute ago. Now it looked like the Grand Canyon.

‘I can’t reach the ladder on that side,’ Gordo called. ‘It’s folded all the way up.’

Of course. Foerster planned it that way.

Jonah surveyed the situation. Crunch time had come. Lose the skip and you might never see him again. It was one of the first rules Gordo taught him. The skip makes you and gets away, tomorrow he’s gone. Wherever he can get to. It could be New Jersey, but it might as well be Bangkok, as far as you’re concerned.

Well, if a skinny bastard like Foerster could do it…

That decided him. A moment later, Jonah was up on the railing. Precious seconds ticked by. Between his shoes he saw all that open space. Gordo’s face watched from the bottom of a deep well. Ten miles across the alley, and a little bit below, the landing of the opposite fire escape beckoned. Everything seemed to swim and spin.

Now or never, said the demon.

Climb down and forget the whole thing, said the angel.

He bent like he had seen Foerster bend, a full squat. He imagined himself leaping and landing on the other side. Like shooting a free throw, that’s all. See it happen and then do it. In his mind, he saw it happen. To his fevered imagination, it looked like an elf dancing from mountaintop to mountaintop.

See it happen. See it happen.

Do it.

He launched, everything in his legs.

The ground rushed up. The fire escape came at him on an angle. He fell too long and he was sure he had missed it. Then he hit like a meteor. The railing caught him in the stomach and his air whooshed out. He slid, grabbing madly for anything. The rail jammed into his armpits, his hands found grips, and he held on for dear life. The iron shook all the way up, and for a second he thought his extra weight would bring the whole thing down. It didn’t. They made those things to last.

Far away, he heard a long whoop that told him Gordo was cheering.

Jonah pulled himself over the railing and collapsed to the deck. He gave himself a moment to let his wind come back. The cool metal slats pressed against his face. He was shaking a little, but not bad. He was alive and the chase was still on.

He groped his way to his feet. Foerster must have felt him land. Jonah needed to move fast. He climbed, dragging up the stairs at first, then catching a rhythm and starting to hit it. One landing, around the corner and more stairs. Another landing, no idea where Foerster was now. Did he go in a window?

Jonah kept pushing, guessing the roof. He passed another landing, then another. Did he hear breathing above him? He kicked the engine into another gear. He reached the top landing, eight floors he thought, he wasn’t sure. Some view up there. The city, impossibly vast, stretched away in every direction. Near the horizon, something big was on fire, belching thick, dark smoke. He didn’t have time to dig it because there went Foerster, twenty yards ahead, tearing ass across the black tar.

Jonah had sprinted in high school. He had big legs. He took off and for an instant he remembered those days. He could almost see the crowd up in the dim rafters surrounding the old armory track. Back when Jonah ran, they used to pile up metal cots in the infield for the hundreds of homeless men who came there at night to sleep. Back then, the track was still made of wood, and any kid who fell down while jockeying during a race was guaranteed to get ripped up by splinters. Jonah never fell, though. He was too much of a beast. He thought back to the thundering hoof beats as the ancient track shook under his powerful foot strikes.

Foerster didn’t have a chance.

Jonah closed the gap by half before Foerster reached the building’s edge. A low brick wall marked the end. Foerster never slowed. He hopped onto the wall, launched and disappeared. Jonah was uncertain. He slowed, then came to the wall and stopped. The next building was lower and five feet across an air passage. Foerster was over there, still moving.

Jonah leaped up onto the wall, hesitated for a second, then took the gap easily. He touched down on a gravel roof.

They were on a row of packed-together narrow buildings.

Foerster reached the next gap and vaulted over it. Jonah gave chase, gaining again. He felt, rather than saw, the chasm open and close below him. His eyes were on Foerster’s back. They jumped from roof to roof, dodging antennas, Jonah growing closer all the time. They reached the end of the block and Foerster turned right. He crossed to a long and wide gravel roof that was lower still. It was a pretty good jump but Foerster did it no problem and Jonah was too turned on to stop now.

He landed in a starter’s crouch, Foerster just ahead of him, and this roof opened up like a football field. Here his legs would do their damage. He sprinted, and became aware of the handcuffs pressed hard to his ass in the back pocket of his jumpsuit. He would need them in a minute.

Closer. Foerster two steps ahead.

Their long shadows mingled on the gravel below them. Legs and arms pumping. Closer still. Be patient, Jonah told himself. Time it right.

Foerster made a sound, more like a caveman grunt than a scream.

Jonah dove and hit him waist high. He wrapped Foerster’s legs and they slid together across the roof, the tiny stones tearing the blue jumper, digging into Jonah’s flesh. Foerster scrabbled like a crab. He kicked, he scratched. Jonah looked for hand holds, but found none. Foerster slipped away.

Again.

Jonah nearly laughed. This fucking guy, was he worth all this?

The answer: Oh, yeah. Jonah needed the money.