way through the crack.
Crickets punctuated the night.
Yardley pushed the lid open far enough to get her body through, then eased her way out and gently pushed the lid down.
She stayed low.
The dark silhouette of a building of some sort took shape. No lights or sounds came from it. With the gun in hand, she headed towards it one silent step at a time.
The building was a metal structure with ribbed sides. In the front was an overhead rolling door, currently down but letting a sliver of light from inside define its perimeter. Next to it was a man door.
Yardley worked her way down the side of the structure and found no windows.
At the far backside, however, she located one.
It was high.
The lower edge was six feet off the ground.
The glass wasn’t clear, it had some kind of rippled texture. It was cracked, though, as if it had been hit by a rock. Maybe there was a sliver wide enough to see through if she could get her eye up to it.
She looked around for something to stand on.
There was nothing.
She headed around to the other side of the building and walked into a stack of chopped logs. She grabbed the biggest one she could carry and silently wedged it against the metal under the window.
Her right foot went onto the top of the log.
Then with one quick motion she boosted herself up.
As she was bringing her eye to the glass, a sound came from behind her.
37
Day Three
July 20
Wednesday Morning
When no sign of life came from inside the gladiator’s loft, Pantage pushed the door open farther and stuck her head in. The bed was at the far end of the space, empty. The gladiator was nowhere to be seen.
Pantage swallowed and said in a soft friendly voice, “Hello? Anyone home?”
No one answered.
She looked at Renn-Jaa.
“Are we really going to do this?”
The woman nodded.
“We have to. We’ll never get this chance again.”
They stepped inside and locked the door behind them.
The space was just that, free flowing space, uninterrupted by walls except for the bathroom in the far right corner and another room next to it. The floors were wooden, stained from some prior industrial life and periodically pockmarked with screw holes and indentations from heavy things that had dropped. The windows were a floor-to-ceiling mesh of single-paned glass. Several were cracked and patched with gray tape. At ceiling level the ductwork, water lines and electrical wires were exposed but not dusty.
On the wall to the left was a door to the fire escape.
Pantage opened it and looked down to find no gladiators on the way up.
“One of us should stand guard here.”
Renn-Jaa said, “I’ll do it. You search.”
The bed wasn’t much, basically a mattress on the floor, not joined by box springs or a frame. The sight made Pantage pull up a visual from Friday night, her dress being roughly pulled down and her panties being ripped off. Then the gladiator had his face between her legs, working her over with his tongue and mouth and the rubbing of his chin as he pushed her bra up and tweaked her nipples.
She shook it off.
The bathroom door was open.
Her lipstick was still on the mirror—“Thanks.”
The sight made her pause.
Why hadn’t he wiped it off yet?
Next to the bathroom was a walled room with a ceiling and a door. She tried the knob and found it locked.
A MacBook sat on a desk.
When Pantage lifted the top it asked for a password.
She closed it and turned her attention to the papers, lots of which were mail, with bills in one pile and non-bills in another.
Evan Starry.
That was the gladiator’s name.
Evan Starry.
The bills were the normal stuff. Pantage opened the cell phone bill to see if the calls were itemized, which they weren’t. Then she opened the Visa bill and ran through the charges. They were routine—gas, meals, cash advances, groceries, staples. She was almost folding it back up when something at the bottom caught her eye.
Concrete Flower Factory.
$500.
She memorized the
Crickets punctuated the night.
Yardley pushed the lid open far enough to get her body through, then eased her way out and gently pushed the lid down.
She stayed low.
The dark silhouette of a building of some sort took shape. No lights or sounds came from it. With the gun in hand, she headed towards it one silent step at a time.
The building was a metal structure with ribbed sides. In the front was an overhead rolling door, currently down but letting a sliver of light from inside define its perimeter. Next to it was a man door.
Yardley worked her way down the side of the structure and found no windows.
At the far backside, however, she located one.
It was high.
The lower edge was six feet off the ground.
The glass wasn’t clear, it had some kind of rippled texture. It was cracked, though, as if it had been hit by a rock. Maybe there was a sliver wide enough to see through if she could get her eye up to it.
She looked around for something to stand on.
There was nothing.
She headed around to the other side of the building and walked into a stack of chopped logs. She grabbed the biggest one she could carry and silently wedged it against the metal under the window.
Her right foot went onto the top of the log.
Then with one quick motion she boosted herself up.
As she was bringing her eye to the glass, a sound came from behind her.
37
Day Three
July 20
Wednesday Morning
When no sign of life came from inside the gladiator’s loft, Pantage pushed the door open farther and stuck her head in. The bed was at the far end of the space, empty. The gladiator was nowhere to be seen.
Pantage swallowed and said in a soft friendly voice, “Hello? Anyone home?”
No one answered.
She looked at Renn-Jaa.
“Are we really going to do this?”
The woman nodded.
“We have to. We’ll never get this chance again.”
They stepped inside and locked the door behind them.
The space was just that, free flowing space, uninterrupted by walls except for the bathroom in the far right corner and another room next to it. The floors were wooden, stained from some prior industrial life and periodically pockmarked with screw holes and indentations from heavy things that had dropped. The windows were a floor-to-ceiling mesh of single-paned glass. Several were cracked and patched with gray tape. At ceiling level the ductwork, water lines and electrical wires were exposed but not dusty.
On the wall to the left was a door to the fire escape.
Pantage opened it and looked down to find no gladiators on the way up.
“One of us should stand guard here.”
Renn-Jaa said, “I’ll do it. You search.”
The bed wasn’t much, basically a mattress on the floor, not joined by box springs or a frame. The sight made Pantage pull up a visual from Friday night, her dress being roughly pulled down and her panties being ripped off. Then the gladiator had his face between her legs, working her over with his tongue and mouth and the rubbing of his chin as he pushed her bra up and tweaked her nipples.
She shook it off.
The bathroom door was open.
Her lipstick was still on the mirror—“Thanks.”
The sight made her pause.
Why hadn’t he wiped it off yet?
Next to the bathroom was a walled room with a ceiling and a door. She tried the knob and found it locked.
A MacBook sat on a desk.
When Pantage lifted the top it asked for a password.
She closed it and turned her attention to the papers, lots of which were mail, with bills in one pile and non-bills in another.
Evan Starry.
That was the gladiator’s name.
Evan Starry.
The bills were the normal stuff. Pantage opened the cell phone bill to see if the calls were itemized, which they weren’t. Then she opened the Visa bill and ran through the charges. They were routine—gas, meals, cash advances, groceries, staples. She was almost folding it back up when something at the bottom caught her eye.
Concrete Flower Factory.
$500.
She memorized the
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