The Steel Kiss

In twenty minutes I’m at my destination, an apartment not dissimilar to mine, which makes me sad. My womb in Chelsea, my fish, my Toy Room. All gone. Everything ruined. My whole life…  Red did it, of course. I shiver with fury. At least anybody slipping into the Toy Room will get a lovely surprise. I hope Red’s the first one in.

Now I stare up at the dirty white façade for a moment, then look around. No one to notice me. I hit the intercom button.

* * *

The superintendent was in his basement unit, taking care of his own plumbing for a change, a toilet issue, when he heard a thud upstairs.

And then a scrabbling sound.

Sal wasn’t sure what a scrabble actually sounded like—a big crab from a horror film maybe, somebody on all fours scurrying away from a spider. Who knew? But that was the word that came to mind. He returned to fixing the chain to the ball cock and got it snapped into place. Just as he did, there was another thud, more of a crash of things falling, and then voices. Loud.

He rose, wiped his hands and walked to the open back window. The voices, from the apartment directly above his, were more or less distinct.

“I don’t…  I don’t…  You did that, you did what you’re telling me, Vernon?”

“I had to. Please. We have to go now.”

“Are you…  Vernon! Listen to what you’re saying!”

Alicia Morgan, the occupant of 1D, was crying. She was one of the better tenants. Quiet, paid on time. Timid. Something fragile about her. Was this her boyfriend? Sal had never seen her with anybody. What was the fight about? he wondered. She didn’t seem like the sort who would fight with anyone.

Fragile…

The man—“Vernon” apparently—said in a shaky voice, “I shared things with you! Private things! I’ve never done that with anybody.”

“Not this! You didn’t tell me you’d done this, you hurt people!”

“Does it matter?” The man’s voice wasn’t much lower than hers. It sounded weird. But he could hear the anger in it. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Vernon, Jesus…  Of course, it matters. How can you—?”

“I thought you’d understand.” Now the voice was sing-song—and all the more threatening for it. “We were alike, you and me. We were so much alike. Or that’s the way you wanted it to seem.”

“We’ve known each other for a month, Vernon. A month. I’ve stayed over once!”

“That’s all I mean to you?” There was a huge crash. “You’re one of them,” the man shouted. “You’re a fucking Shopper. You’re no better than any of them!”

Shopper? Sal wondered. He didn’t get exactly what was going on but he was growing quite concerned with the escalating dispute.

Alicia was sobbing now. “You just told me you’ve killed some people. And you expect me to go away with you?”

Oh, hell…  Killed somebody? Sal fished out his mobile.

But before he could hit 911, Alicia screamed—a sound that was cut short in a grunt. Another thud as she, or her body, hit the floor. “No,” came her voice. “Don’t. Vernon, please, don’t! Don’t hurt me!”

Another scream.

Then Sal was moving, grabbing his aluminum baseball bat. He flung open his door and charged up the stairs to Alicia’s apartment. He used his master key to open the door and he shoved inside. The knob smacked the wall so hard, it dug a crater in the plaster.

Panting from the sprint, Sal stared, wide eyed. “Jesus.”

The tenant lay on the floor, a huge man standing over her. Easily six three or four, skinny, sick looking. He’d hit her in the face, which was bleeding from her cheek, swollen badly. Tears poured as she sobbed and held up her hands to protect herself, uselessly, from what he held—a ball-peen hammer, poised over his head about to crack her skull open.

The attacker spun around and at the super with mad, furious eyes “Who’re you? What’re you doing here?”

“Asshole, drop it!” Sal snapped, nodding at the hammer and brandishing the bat. He outweighed the guy by thirty pounds, even if he was six inches shorter.

The assailant squinted and looked from the super to Alicia and then back again. His breath hissed from his throat as he drew back and flung the hammer toward Sal, who dropped to his knees to avoid it. The scrawny man grabbed a backpack and ran to the open rear window, tossed the bag out and jumped out after it.

* * *

The breacher picked up the battering ram and Heller again pointed out the order of entry into Griffith’s front bedroom, the one protected by the number lock. They all nodded. Sachs set down the H&K submachine gun and drew her pistol.

The choice of weapons was always the tactical officer’s to make. She felt more comfortable with a handgun in a confined space.

The breacher was drawing back the ram when Sachs held up a hand. “Wait.”

Heller turned.

“I think he’s rigged something. A trap. It’s his style. Use that,” she said, pointing into the breaching officer’s canvas bag. Heller looked down. He nodded, and the officer withdrew the small chain saw.

Sachs pulled a flash bang stun grenade from her pocket. Nodded.