simple into a major production that requires a committee meeting and detailed blueprints. I haven't got time for this shit.
“We'll be along shortly. Just take Polly to the attic, okay Janey? Take Polly to the attic.”
Polly appears in the darkness like a succubus materializing from thin air. She places her hand on Jane's arm and looks at me with eyes that reflect understanding.
“Come on, Jane.” she says softly. “Why don't you show me where this attic is, dearie.”
The two disappear into the darkness and moments later I hear our front door open and shut, followed by footsteps running up the stairs.
“What do you have in mind, Richard?”
Cody's voice wavers with uncertainty and I know that in his heart of hearts, he's wishing he was going with them. Upstairs to the attic. To hide with the other girls.
I don't waste time answering him. I'm moving toward the kitchen now, my familiarity with the apartment guiding me effortlessly through the maze of furniture and obstacles. Cody isn't quite as lucky and I hear him stumbling and cussing in the darkness behind me.
That Useless tit .
I'm in the kitchen now and I open the second drawer to the right of the sink, the one where the soldiers spent so much time measuring the blades of our knives during the weapons check. I pull out the longest one, a seven and a half inch chef's knife. The blade is honed to such perfection that even in the darkness it gleams like a beacon of hope. Not bothering to shut the drawer, I push my way through the beaded curtain and into the living room just as Cody trips over an ottoman.
“Damn it,” I hiss, “haven't your eyes started adjusting yet?”
“I got vision problems. I can't see worth a dang and you damn well know that.”
I get a small burst of satisfaction to hear him drop the pretense and revert to his native twang.
“Now, you best be telling me real quick, Richard. What the hell's the plan?”
I open the door of the apartment and point the knife into the hallway like a highwayman brandishing his sword.
“Stand and deliver.” I finally say softly. “Their money or their lives.”
From below, the pounding on the door has practically tripled in intensity. It's a strong door, made of solid oak with nice iron hinges if I'm not mistaken. But how long can it hold out? How long until the violence of the street spills into the foyer and then up the stairs to the very threshold of my apartment?
How long indeed....
CHAPTER SIX
I stand on the landing with my heart beating tribal rhythms, whipping me into a blood frenzy that can only be sated with the promise of violence. I feel like my entire life has been building up to this point: all those years imprisoned in the cells of spreadsheets, the pleases and thank yous and May I . The toiling away for all the things I needed, but never coming even close to what I wanted. It had all been a precursor to this very moment, this particular point in time and history. After thirty-four years, I had finally become the man I was meant to be.
Which is more than I can say for the trembling buffoon behind me. He won't last five minutes in this new world. Not unless he finds himself a stronger ally to attach himself to, not unless he becomes a bitch.
Outside there's another burst of weapons fire. This sounds like fully automatic machine guns and bullets begin whizzing through the oak door at the bottom of the stairs. They tear through wood and plaster and the pounding noises abruptly come to an end, replaced by a crimson puddle that leaks under the door and spreads across the hallway like an invading cancer.
I've come to a realization as I stood here, ready for a battle which never quite made it to me: Ms Cline was right, for all the good it will do her now. I do want Polly.
But not in that sappy, happily-ever-after Disney storybook kind of way. No, I want her like some men want a shiny Cadillac with chrome trim and leather seats. I want her the way a bibliophile needs to have
“We'll be along shortly. Just take Polly to the attic, okay Janey? Take Polly to the attic.”
Polly appears in the darkness like a succubus materializing from thin air. She places her hand on Jane's arm and looks at me with eyes that reflect understanding.
“Come on, Jane.” she says softly. “Why don't you show me where this attic is, dearie.”
The two disappear into the darkness and moments later I hear our front door open and shut, followed by footsteps running up the stairs.
“What do you have in mind, Richard?”
Cody's voice wavers with uncertainty and I know that in his heart of hearts, he's wishing he was going with them. Upstairs to the attic. To hide with the other girls.
I don't waste time answering him. I'm moving toward the kitchen now, my familiarity with the apartment guiding me effortlessly through the maze of furniture and obstacles. Cody isn't quite as lucky and I hear him stumbling and cussing in the darkness behind me.
That Useless tit .
I'm in the kitchen now and I open the second drawer to the right of the sink, the one where the soldiers spent so much time measuring the blades of our knives during the weapons check. I pull out the longest one, a seven and a half inch chef's knife. The blade is honed to such perfection that even in the darkness it gleams like a beacon of hope. Not bothering to shut the drawer, I push my way through the beaded curtain and into the living room just as Cody trips over an ottoman.
“Damn it,” I hiss, “haven't your eyes started adjusting yet?”
“I got vision problems. I can't see worth a dang and you damn well know that.”
I get a small burst of satisfaction to hear him drop the pretense and revert to his native twang.
“Now, you best be telling me real quick, Richard. What the hell's the plan?”
I open the door of the apartment and point the knife into the hallway like a highwayman brandishing his sword.
“Stand and deliver.” I finally say softly. “Their money or their lives.”
From below, the pounding on the door has practically tripled in intensity. It's a strong door, made of solid oak with nice iron hinges if I'm not mistaken. But how long can it hold out? How long until the violence of the street spills into the foyer and then up the stairs to the very threshold of my apartment?
How long indeed....
CHAPTER SIX
I stand on the landing with my heart beating tribal rhythms, whipping me into a blood frenzy that can only be sated with the promise of violence. I feel like my entire life has been building up to this point: all those years imprisoned in the cells of spreadsheets, the pleases and thank yous and May I . The toiling away for all the things I needed, but never coming even close to what I wanted. It had all been a precursor to this very moment, this particular point in time and history. After thirty-four years, I had finally become the man I was meant to be.
Which is more than I can say for the trembling buffoon behind me. He won't last five minutes in this new world. Not unless he finds himself a stronger ally to attach himself to, not unless he becomes a bitch.
Outside there's another burst of weapons fire. This sounds like fully automatic machine guns and bullets begin whizzing through the oak door at the bottom of the stairs. They tear through wood and plaster and the pounding noises abruptly come to an end, replaced by a crimson puddle that leaks under the door and spreads across the hallway like an invading cancer.
I've come to a realization as I stood here, ready for a battle which never quite made it to me: Ms Cline was right, for all the good it will do her now. I do want Polly.
But not in that sappy, happily-ever-after Disney storybook kind of way. No, I want her like some men want a shiny Cadillac with chrome trim and leather seats. I want her the way a bibliophile needs to have
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