Flashback

Val tossed twice before getting the ’biner and a wad of rope up and over the metal frame separating the two glass skylights. But the first time he made it over, the carabiner went too far and landed on the outside of the glass with a dull thump. Val pulled it back—the weight almost pulled him off his perch—and then tossed again. And again. And again.

Finally four or five feet of rope with the carabiner at its end was hanging free. Since he still held the rope, he was able to get it swinging until he caught the carabiner free end with one hand.

He was tiring now, his ankles and legs slipping down a foot or so on the steel cable. Val knew that he’d be out of the strength he needed to dangle here in another minute or less. He clipped the carabiner on the main strand of climbing rope and let the mass of it fall from his shoulders.

Getting rid of the weight helped. The rope reached the dirt in the old fountain with a coil left over. Val pulled the noose tight on the steel frame above and transferred his hands to the dangling rope.

The Perlon-3 was a lot more slippery than the steel cable and his ankles weren’t getting much of a grip. He had to run a loop of the bright blue rope around his right hand and wrist to gain a few seconds where he could rest. Then, with a loud grunt, he began climbing.

It was only six feet or so. Only.

When he got to the point where he could reach up and grab the rusted steel horizontal frame on which the glass skylights closed, Val thought—not for the first time—Now what?

The damned skylights were only open a foot or so. The gaps weren’t wide enough for him to get his body up through there even if he somehow pulled himself up that far.

Now what, you dumb shit?

Now it was just like climbing around on the girders under the overpass on the I-10, was what. Val swung his legs high, managing to get his ankles crossed just above the metal.

Still hanging from the rope, he freed his right leg and began kicking at the skylight on that side, trying to concentrate his blows just on specific sections of the angled steel frame that held six large panes of glass in it.

It was too heavy. Its cranking mechanism up there on the roof was too rusted. It wouldn’t budge.

Val crossed his ankles again and hung there panting. He didn’t have much strength left. His only chance in a few seconds would be to swing back to the climbing rope and slide down it the sixty or seventy feet to the marble below. Did he have enough strength to hang on during that descent? He didn’t think so.

Emitting a noise somewhere between a huge grunt and a low scream, Val freed both legs and swung both boots up at the metal frame. One way or the other, this was his last try.

His boot soles missed the metal frame but fractured the grimy pane of glass. A large segment of that glass fell out of the frame and tumbled end over end to shatter with an impossibly loud noise below.

Val’s right foot was through the empty space of the missing pane and up and over the metal pane-frame.

“Fuck it,” he gasped, sweat pouring off his face into empty space. Using just the leverage of his ankle on that thin strand of metal, he swung his body out, his left leg up and over the right side of the steel strut above, and he grabbed at the far side of that strut with his left hand. Val dangled there for a second, his body contorted and broken glass cutting into his right ankle, and then—with a final violent grunt—he pulled himself onto the six-inch-wide steel strut, lying there on his back, teetering, almost falling, and then releasing the rope below to grab the skylight frame just above him.

It creaked upward.

A few seconds later, Val was off the girder and out onto the graveled roof and pulling up the climbing rope. His arms were shaking wildly and he barely had enough strength to pull up and coil the line.

This is where Gunny G. and his security guys just come up the stairs and arrest me, thought Val.

But they didn’t.

His legs as shaky as his arms, Val walked to the southwest corner of the building where the fence began below, found a pipe that looked like it might bear his weight, maybe, clipped his carabiner-noose around it, and dropped the coiled mass to the definitely unyielding pavement way down there. Val closed his eyes and tried to stop shaking.

He knew he should wait until he got some arm strength back, but he didn’t know if he had the time to wait. So Val sat on the edge of the building—here on this side it was probably less than fifty feet to the concrete below—wrapped a coil of the rope around his wrist, and swung out until he could get his shaky legs and bleeding ankles around the rope again. Pretend you’re in gym class was his last thought before rolling off.