Bad Glass

I turned and studied Taylor’s profile, watching as her eyes scanned the poem. “And me?” I asked. “What about me and my photography?”

“You’re new here,” Taylor said. “You’ll learn. Sabine, on the other hand … she should know better by now.”

She glanced down at her watch and nodded westward. “Now, get your ass in gear. We’ve got an appointment to keep.”

The courthouse was a huge, blocky building at the corner of Lincoln and Sprague. It looked like a giant four-sided cheese grater, with hundreds of small windows recessed in a tight concrete grid. The newspaper building stood across from its entrance, and a cobblestone courtyard occupied the space between the two buildings. Once a well-manicured stretch of land, the courtyard had fallen into disrepair, now cordoned off on both ends of the block and cluttered with dead, skeletal trees. A fountain stood near the courthouse’s entrance, but without water, it was nothing but a twelve-foot bowl brimming with trash and leaves. There were soldiers posted at the courthouse’s front door.

Taylor led me down the street at the building’s side, away from the entrance. She stopped halfway down the block and abruptly turned toward the building. It was ten stories of industrial concrete, a drab, oppressive cliff face looming above us. There was a broken window three floors up, a neat black hole punched through the building’s face. Taylor glanced both ways—checking for witnesses, I supposed—then, in a quick, discreet motion, grabbed something from her pocket and lobbed it up through that gaping wound. As it sailed through the air, I recognized it as Charlie’s USB drive.

Why? I wanted to ask, but she started away before I could open my mouth.

I followed her back to the front of the building, tagging along like a puppy dog as she headed straight for the main entrance. The guards smiled as they saw her approach. They must not have felt threatened. They didn’t even touch the rifles slung across their shoulders.

“It’s good to see you, Taylor,” one of the men said, greeting her with genuine warmth. “And your timing’s spot-on, as usual. The captain just left.”

“Awww, that’s a shame,” she said, a campy, theatrical quality entering her voice. “And here I thought to bring him a gift!” She started digging through her pockets, searching for something, then stopped with her hand buried deep in her pants. “Ah, here it is!” she said, pulling her hand out and displaying a raised middle finger.

“Think you can give him that for me, Johnny?” she asked, turning to the second soldier.

Both of the guards laughed. “I think I’ll have to give that one a pass,” the second soldier said. “I’m trying to avoid court-martials here.”

“That’s a good idea,” Taylor said. “I still need you on the door.”

“Okay, Taylor, enough of your goddamn charm.” Still smiling, the first soldier gestured her over to the side of the door. “You know the drill.”

Taylor nodded and held out her arms. The soldier lifted a portable metal detector from a loop of cord wrapped around his belt. He ran the wand over her entire body, up her front and back and then down the length of her arms and legs. After the scan, the soldier checked her pockets, giving them nothing but a quick, cursory pat. He waved her toward the building, then turned his attention to me.

The guards handled me with a bit more suspicion. I noticed the second soldier inching his gun forward as his partner looked me over; the soldier’s hand came to rest on the gun’s butt, ready to slip forward into the trigger guard. And the pat down was much more thorough, the soldier’s blunt hands running all the way up into my armpits and crotch. He felt the PowerBar in my pocket and made me take it out. He studied it for several seconds—holding it gingerly, as if it might explode—then tossed it over to his partner. I was about to complain, but the soldier cut me short with a curt shake of his head.

“You guys are good to go,” the soldier said, stepping up to the building and opening the door. “You know the rules, Taylor. Nothing to make me look bad.”

“Don’t worry. No anarchy today.” Taylor smiled and patted the soldier on the arm. “I’m just catching up with Danny.” Then we passed into the building.

The lobby was deserted. There was absolutely no furniture here, just one long, muddy carpet runner leading to a bank of elevators on the far side of the room. Lights were glowing overhead, but most of the fixtures had been cracked open and the fluorescent tubes removed. Taylor saw me looking and pointed up toward the roof. “They’ve got plenty of generators up there. The bulbs, however … they aren’t faring too well.”

The elevators were working, but Taylor walked right on by, leading me to the stairwell at the far end of the alcove. The light inside was inconsistent. I glanced up toward the roof and watched the stairwell pulse above me, the light waxing and waning with the strength of the generators. I could hear the electricity pulsing. It was a slow, slow heartbeat.

We climbed up to the third floor.