Hard Road by Barbara D'Amato Page B
Authors: Barbara D'Amato
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Women Private Investigators, Chicago, Chicago (Ill.), Illinois, Oz (Imaginary place), Marsala; Cat (Fictitious character), Festivals
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that put one foot ahead of the other. I pushed up hard, but the awkwardness of the position reduced my leverage.
It was so frustrating I almost cried. Here we were within earshot of safety. I whispered a few choice words under my breath, and that took some of the frustration away.
Standing with my feet crosswise on the bracket again, I took a deep breath, held it, and gave a mighty heave. The iron lid moved, ever so slightly. Then a rumble passed above and it slid back in place.
Damn! Damndamndamn! Still, I had broken the seal that rust and street goo had put on it. The second time had to be easier.
Somewhere I had read that manhole covers were made round so that they couldn't fall into the hole, as square ones could. Thank heaven. Picturing this thing that felt like a hundred pounds of cast iron falling down on me and Jeremy would have been enough to make me give up.
"Are you okay, Aunt Cat?"
"Reasonably okay. Here I go again."
One more huge heave. I felt the muscles scream in my back. There— the lid was off! A thin crescent moon of light showed between the lid and the cement. Warier now about it slipping back, I pushed it more sideways than straight up, and the stupid thing moved much more easily, sliding rather than being held up by my sheer force.
Air! The glow of streetlights!
Jeremy said, "Yay!"
"Damn right! Yay!"
With another big push, the cover slid farther off. Suddenly, there was a crash and a rattle as a truck tire the size of a Zamboni rolled over it. I lurched back and lost my grip. I tumbled down the bracket ladder and stupidly tried to catch myself with my left hand. The hand got hold of a bracket and the weight of my body pulled my elbow and shoulder joint so hard I screamed.
I slid the rest of the way down to the wet cement floor.
"Aunt Cat! Aunt Cat! Don't be dead!"
Jeremy shrieked and wept and patted my face. My shoulder felt dislocated. "I'm not dead," I said, although frankly I wondered. Of course, it wouldn't hurt this much if I were.
Slowly, lying in the muck, I made myself sit up. Years ago, my third brother had dislocated his shoulder falling off a playground jungle gym. I remembered the doctor had said if it was dislocated, my brother would be unable to raise his arm above shoulder level. I tried raising my arm above shoulder level. It hurt a lot. Whimpering in pain, I nevertheless was able to raise it. Not dislocated. It needed ice. Cat Marsala, instant orthopedist. But my first job was to get us out of here. Ice could come later.
Above our heads the manhole cover was tipping and rattling back and forth in the traffic vibrations. It had better not fall back into place.
"Jeremy, we can get out. But that's a busy street up there, so we'd better do this really, really carefully. You follow behind me up the ladder."
Right. Up the ladder. One-handed, maybe?
I was afraid that I would edge my head up into the open space only to have it clipped by a truck tire. I wished I had a periscope or even a mirror. It was so exciting to be within inches of safety that I could hardly restrain myself enough. However, I waited at the top of the ladder, with Jeremy just below me, while cars and trucks rumbled and thundered above. Then came a pause. That ought to mean a red light down the street.
I peeked up. Yes, there was a streetlight half a block away. The traffic had stopped, but the light was changing again.
"Okay, Jeremy. Get ready. We're going out in about two minutes. When I think it's safe I'll jump out. Then you come just to the top of the ladder. But be ready to duck back down fast if I say so."
* * *
In the event, it happened more easily than that. The light changed. Traffic was thin, and we climbed out fast and walked from the street to the sidewalk. We should have pushed the manhole cover back, but I was just too drained. I found a
It was so frustrating I almost cried. Here we were within earshot of safety. I whispered a few choice words under my breath, and that took some of the frustration away.
Standing with my feet crosswise on the bracket again, I took a deep breath, held it, and gave a mighty heave. The iron lid moved, ever so slightly. Then a rumble passed above and it slid back in place.
Damn! Damndamndamn! Still, I had broken the seal that rust and street goo had put on it. The second time had to be easier.
Somewhere I had read that manhole covers were made round so that they couldn't fall into the hole, as square ones could. Thank heaven. Picturing this thing that felt like a hundred pounds of cast iron falling down on me and Jeremy would have been enough to make me give up.
"Are you okay, Aunt Cat?"
"Reasonably okay. Here I go again."
One more huge heave. I felt the muscles scream in my back. There— the lid was off! A thin crescent moon of light showed between the lid and the cement. Warier now about it slipping back, I pushed it more sideways than straight up, and the stupid thing moved much more easily, sliding rather than being held up by my sheer force.
Air! The glow of streetlights!
Jeremy said, "Yay!"
"Damn right! Yay!"
With another big push, the cover slid farther off. Suddenly, there was a crash and a rattle as a truck tire the size of a Zamboni rolled over it. I lurched back and lost my grip. I tumbled down the bracket ladder and stupidly tried to catch myself with my left hand. The hand got hold of a bracket and the weight of my body pulled my elbow and shoulder joint so hard I screamed.
I slid the rest of the way down to the wet cement floor.
"Aunt Cat! Aunt Cat! Don't be dead!"
Jeremy shrieked and wept and patted my face. My shoulder felt dislocated. "I'm not dead," I said, although frankly I wondered. Of course, it wouldn't hurt this much if I were.
Slowly, lying in the muck, I made myself sit up. Years ago, my third brother had dislocated his shoulder falling off a playground jungle gym. I remembered the doctor had said if it was dislocated, my brother would be unable to raise his arm above shoulder level. I tried raising my arm above shoulder level. It hurt a lot. Whimpering in pain, I nevertheless was able to raise it. Not dislocated. It needed ice. Cat Marsala, instant orthopedist. But my first job was to get us out of here. Ice could come later.
Above our heads the manhole cover was tipping and rattling back and forth in the traffic vibrations. It had better not fall back into place.
"Jeremy, we can get out. But that's a busy street up there, so we'd better do this really, really carefully. You follow behind me up the ladder."
Right. Up the ladder. One-handed, maybe?
I was afraid that I would edge my head up into the open space only to have it clipped by a truck tire. I wished I had a periscope or even a mirror. It was so exciting to be within inches of safety that I could hardly restrain myself enough. However, I waited at the top of the ladder, with Jeremy just below me, while cars and trucks rumbled and thundered above. Then came a pause. That ought to mean a red light down the street.
I peeked up. Yes, there was a streetlight half a block away. The traffic had stopped, but the light was changing again.
"Okay, Jeremy. Get ready. We're going out in about two minutes. When I think it's safe I'll jump out. Then you come just to the top of the ladder. But be ready to duck back down fast if I say so."
* * *
In the event, it happened more easily than that. The light changed. Traffic was thin, and we climbed out fast and walked from the street to the sidewalk. We should have pushed the manhole cover back, but I was just too drained. I found a
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