Линвуд Баркли - Elevator Pitch

The mayor’s son had barely had a chance to utter a scream of his own, and his plunge down the shaft took so long that no one heard a thing when he hit bottom.

Headley started pushing his way through the crowd toward Chris Vallins, a wild, murderous look in his eyes. But from somewhere, Vallins had produced a gun, and he was pointing it straight at the mayor.

“Stop, Richard,” he said. Utterly calm, utterly cold.

Headley halted, a few feet away from Barbara. A second earlier, he’d looked ready to kill Vallins, but now the enormity, the sheer horror, of what had just happened was overtaking him. The mayor was on the verge of weeping, but was too stunned, too overwhelmed, to actually cry.

“Go ahead, let it out,” Vallins said, keeping his gun trained on Headley while he crouched down and reached back with his free hand for an open backpack that was propped against the short stretch of wall between two open elevator doors. He stood slowly, hefting the backpack over one shoulder while holding the gun in his opposite hand.

A tear escaped Headley’s right eye and ran down his cheek as he stared incredulously at Vallins.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Chris said. “It hurts a lot.”

“Why... why did you...”

“You really don’t remember, do you? You have no idea.”

“I... I don’t... I don’t know what...”

“Let me give you a hint. A twelve-year-old boy. Mother dead of a heart attack. Couldn’t handle going up all those flights of stairs anymore. You wouldn’t spend a dime on that building. We had no heat half the time, rusty water coming out of the taps, mice and rats and cockroaches, holes in the ceiling where water dripped down from shitty plumbing on the upper floors. But most of all, we had no fucking elevators. The only things you ever replaced were the Not in Service signs. You killed her, Richard.”

There was a dawning realization in Headley’s eyes.

“Vallins...” he whispered. “Your mother was... Maude.”

“I wondered if you’d recognize the name when you hired me.” Chris smiled. “But it had been so long, and you never asked.”

“I... I’m sorry,” the mayor said. “But... Glover... you didn’t have to...”

“I didn’t have to do anything,” Chris said, shifting the backpack around to the front so he could see into it. “I didn’t have to mess with the elevators at your good friend Morris Lansing’s building. I didn’t have to have some fun with the elevators at the Sycamores, where one of your biggest fund-raisers was held. Pretty sure I saw Margaret earlier. And I didn’t have to fuck with the elevator at the Gormley Building, where your good friend Mr. Steel lives. But I wanted to. I wanted to send a message to all those who gave you a helping hand. The kind you never gave anyone. I wanted to send a message to the people who helped put you where you are when you so don’t deserve to be there.”

But not the taxi bombing, Barbara thought. It didn’t fit. It never had.

Vallins looked down again into the backpack and smiled. “Ah, here we go.”

What he pulled out looked like an oversized TV remote. Barbara thought back to that news conference, when that city official said there were devices out there, that same size, that could allow someone to commandeer a building’s elevators. He let the backpack drop to the floor.

“So,” Chris said, holding the remote at eye level so everyone could see it, “this is my little friend that’s your ticket out of here. With this, I can return the elevators back to their normal functions. You’ll all be able to go home. Just don’t anyone think of rushing me, or trying to jump me, or I’m going to toss it down the shaft. Are we clear on that?”

There were a few nods among the guests.

“Awesome,” he said. “But there is an if . One big if .”

“Please,” Headley said. “Don’t hurt anyone here. You want to toss me down there, let me be with my son? Fine. I’ll jump right in if you’ll let these people go.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Vallins said. “I’m going to let you go.”

“What?” Headley said, his voice cracking.

“That’s right. I’m going to bring one elevator up, and you can get on it. And I’m going to send it — very safely — back to the lobby.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you let me—”

Vallins raised a finger on the hand holding the gun. “Let me finish.”

The mayor went silent.

“You’ll get off in the lobby and I’ll bring the elevator back up, without you. Then you’ll take the stairs and rejoin us.”

“I’m... what?”

Vallins smiled and nodded. “You’re going to walk your way back up here. Well, almost.” He paused. “See how you like it. Now, you’re in pretty good shape for a man your age, although I don’t know how often you run to the tops of skyscrapers. We’re going to make it interesting. We’re going to put a time limit on it. I’m going to give you twenty minutes.”

“Twenty—”

“That seems more than enough time. When they had a race to get to the top of the Freedom Tower, there were people who did it in under fifteen. So I think I’m being generous. The only thing is, the clock starts ticking as soon as you get on the elevator to go down.”

“This is... and what if I’m late?”

“You heard the four explosions that took out the stairwells. There’s a fifth bomb just waiting to go off that will pretty much take off the top of this building. Everyone here, including myself, will die. So, if you decide to run away, to not come back, that’s what’s going to happen.”

The mayor stood there, speechless.

Barbara leaned forward, close enough to the mayor to whisper to him and be heard.

She said, “You should get going.”

Richard Headley’s eyes met hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

Barbara felt as though the room was spinning.

Then the mayor looked at Arla, took both her hands in his, and squeezed. “What a wonderful young woman you’ve turned out to be. I’ve only had an instant to be proud of you.”

Arla appeared to be on the verge of fainting. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Time’s a-wastin’,” Vallins said.

Headley let go of Arla’s hands.

Vallins looked at Barbara and said, “Do me a solid and set the timer on your phone to twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Barbara said with feigned calm. She reached into her clutch and brought out her phone. At that moment, it dinged. An incoming email.

“That’ll be from me,” Vallins told her. “Sent on a delay. You can read it later, if you get the chance. Got the timer ready?”

She fiddled with some settings, then said, “Ready.”

“Hold it up and show me,” Vallins asked, and she did. Vallins looked at the mayor. “How about you? Set to go?”

Headley swallowed and said, “I’m ready.”

“We’re on ninety-eight, but call me when you get to the ninety-seventh floor.” Vallins smiled. “You have my number. I’ll send an elevator to bring you up the last story.”

Headley nodded that he understood. He reached into his jacket to make sure he had his phone. He looked at it, brought up Vallins’s number, then returned it to his pocket.

Vallins, keeping the gun trained on him, entered some instructions into the remote control elevator device with his other hand. Seconds later, an elevator car arrived. Vallins swept his arm gracefully toward it, inviting the mayor to board.

Headley walked forward, got into the car, turned and looked at the crowd, his chin quivering.

Vallins pressed another button and the door closed. He then looked at Barbara and said, “Go.”