Code 61 - Donald Harstad [5]
I let my breath out. Piece of cake. Well, so far. The problem was that this ladder went up a whole 'nother floor, and then to the roof. I took another breath, held it, and kept going. Then, about six or seven steps up, I felt the ladder shift. Instant vertigo again. I could feel myself pressing against the ladder rungs, my hands beginning to hurt as they squeezed the flat side rail. “Keep yourself against the ladder, Carl. Press against the ladder, and your weight won't overbalance it and tear it away from the wall,” I whispered to myself. Everything in me said to go back down. I honestly think that, if I hadn't been in uniform, I couldn't have done it. But I went up. Over the years, I've learned that, if I can convince myself that I'm pushing the building down into the ground with each step, as opposed to me rising farther and farther above the ground, I can sometimes fool myself all the way to the top. I mean, I know I'm fooling myself, but with sufficient concentration that doesn't matter. I started to do that now. One step at a time, I'd grab the next rung in a death grip, and then gingerly shift the opposite foot up one rung. Pushing the huge building down into the ground. Ridiculous, but it worked. All I needed was concentration. I was moving as fast as I could, and still not getting more than half an inch from the wall. Progress. My thigh muscles were getting shaky, and my forearms hurt from squeezing, but I was going up.
Then I felt the ladder begin to vibrate, and heard Byng's voice below me. “I'm right behind you, Carl.”
Well, that shot my concentration all to hell. I tried to move faster, and thought I was doing pretty well, until he said, “Something wrong?” He sounded closer, but I was damned if I was going to look.
“Ladder was moving,” I said between gritted teeth. “Not sure about it.”
“Hell, they always move. Those bolts go clear through the wall, and they fit loose. Don't worry.”
Don't worry, my ass. But I was encouraged. I should have thought about the bolts going through the wall. I stepped it up a bit, and was just fine until I got to the top. The ladder only extended about six inches above the edge of the flat roof. No rail, to speak of, above the edge. I was going to have to shift my center of gravity over the edge without any support. I almost stopped.
“I'm up here!” Her voice was much clearer now.
“Police! We're on the way up!” That was Byng.
“Can you come down here?” I yelled. Christ, why hadn't I thought of that earlier?
“No!” There was a pause. “You let me see you!”
Of course. I gritted my teeth. Just as well. I really wanted to be on that roof. Anywhere but that ladder.
I went up two more steps, my eyes cleared the roof edge. I leaned forward and stepped and found myself on hands and knees on the roof. I crawled about three feet, just to get away from the edge, and then got to my feet. I could see a light-colored figure half crouched behind a skylight.
“Deputy Sheriff,” I said.
“Where is he?” came the reply.
I heard Byng on the roof behind me.
“Who?” I asked, moving toward her.
“I don't know,” she said in a fairly conversational tone.
“But whoever he is, where is he?”
“We don't know, either,” I said. “But you'll be okay now.” I distinctly remember thinking, until you have to carry me off this roof.
Many people don't realize just how dark the rooftops in a business area can be. You rise above the streetlights after about the second floor. I could just barely make her out in the shadows.
She stepped toward us. I shined my light on her. She looked about twenty or so, light brown hair, barefoot, and wearing what appeared to be a pair of faded yellow flannel pajama bottoms covered with pink and blue teddy bears and balloons. She was wearing a black, sequined, short-waisted bolero sort of jacket with big silver buttons.
It was probably the sheer relief of having lived to get to the top of the roof, but I said, “Slumber party?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Sorry. You stay right here, and we'll