morning. It was hard to dress: they kept running into one another in the way to the bathroom. Paul shaved, standing naked in front of the mirror. When he pulled on his pants, he stuck his skyhook sheaths on his belt, like a badge of office, and thrust the hooks into them.
Christy glared at him. “You’re coming with me.”
“I said so. But I want to make damn sure that nobody asks me to do anything. I won’t look like a cameraman in these.”
That’s for sure, Christy thought. He looked like an extra from a set. She suspected, with envy, that he was going to visit his building, later, just for the fun of swinging around it. I wish I could love my job like that.
They arrived late to the studio. The equipment van, which carried the cameras and the lights, the cable wheels and the trailing sound booms, was parked outside on the roadway, its red lights flashing. The trailer sat behind it. Christy and Paul stepped up into it. “Sorry we’re late,” she said to Leo.
“Hello, Paul.”
“Hello.”
“Okay, Gus. Let’s go.”
Gus played race car driver all the way to the South Side, flinging them happily against the sides of the crew van like peas in a can. “Christ,” muttered Zenan, “it’s a good thing I didn’t eat my breakfast.”
“Why don’t you let Gus drive the equipment van tomorrow?” Christy asked Leo plaintively.
“Because he’d break all the lenses doing it,” Leo said.
Zenan added, “Us he can break.”
They stopped at last. Jordan Granelli’s limousine was parked up the street. He was standing outside it, with his three guards around him, waiting for them. “Next time,” Leo suggested gently, “maybe you could go a little slower? Even if we are late. Tom doesn’t seem to know Chicago as well as you do, even though he’s forty-seven and has lived here all his life.”
Gus mumbled and bent over his steering wheel as if it were a prayer wheel. Jake walked across the street to them. “Mr. Granelli’s getting impatient,” he said. Leo shrugged. Jake looked at them uncertainly. He eyed Paul.
Christy said, “Jake, this is Paul; he’s a friend of mine,” Christy said. “Paul, this is Jake. He’s one of Jordan Granelli’s bodyguards.”
They nodded at each other. “Skyhook,” Jake said. “So was I.”
Paul was interested. “Were you? Where’d you work?”
“Lot of buildings. I worked on the Daley Towers.”
“Did you! I didn’t,” Paul said with regret. That massive building, Chicago’s monument to its most famous mayor, was still the tallest in the city, though it was six years old.
“Last year I was working on the new City Trust building when a swinging beam hit me—so.” He made a horizontal cut with the edge of his hand against his right side. “Knocked me off. I hooked the cable—but it cracked some ribs, and my back’s been bad ever since. I had to quit.”
“Tough luck,” said Paul sympathetically.
They waited. “Which house is it?” Christy asked. Leo pointed to a white frame house across the street. Christy saw the flutter of curtains in the house next door. A woman with a baby on her hip was standing at her window, staring out at the black van, and at the white car with its black device.
She shivered suddenly. Paul put an arm around her shoulders. “Cold?”
“No—I don’t know,” she answered, irritated.
“Goose walking on your grave,” commented Jake.
The equipment van came screeching around the corner then. Tom pulled it up past them, and backed with a roar of his engines. “Cars,” Zenan muttered. “Oh, watch it!” Paul caught Christy’s arm. The doors of the van, jarred by the forceful jerky halt, came flying open, and something black came careening swiftly out.
For Christy the events resolved suddenly to a series of stills. She sprawled where a thrust of Paul’s arm had put her. The cable wheel bounded high in the air as it hit a projection in the ill-paved road. The thick cable unwound like a whip cracking. Paul
Christy glared at him. “You’re coming with me.”
“I said so. But I want to make damn sure that nobody asks me to do anything. I won’t look like a cameraman in these.”
That’s for sure, Christy thought. He looked like an extra from a set. She suspected, with envy, that he was going to visit his building, later, just for the fun of swinging around it. I wish I could love my job like that.
They arrived late to the studio. The equipment van, which carried the cameras and the lights, the cable wheels and the trailing sound booms, was parked outside on the roadway, its red lights flashing. The trailer sat behind it. Christy and Paul stepped up into it. “Sorry we’re late,” she said to Leo.
“Hello, Paul.”
“Hello.”
“Okay, Gus. Let’s go.”
Gus played race car driver all the way to the South Side, flinging them happily against the sides of the crew van like peas in a can. “Christ,” muttered Zenan, “it’s a good thing I didn’t eat my breakfast.”
“Why don’t you let Gus drive the equipment van tomorrow?” Christy asked Leo plaintively.
“Because he’d break all the lenses doing it,” Leo said.
Zenan added, “Us he can break.”
They stopped at last. Jordan Granelli’s limousine was parked up the street. He was standing outside it, with his three guards around him, waiting for them. “Next time,” Leo suggested gently, “maybe you could go a little slower? Even if we are late. Tom doesn’t seem to know Chicago as well as you do, even though he’s forty-seven and has lived here all his life.”
Gus mumbled and bent over his steering wheel as if it were a prayer wheel. Jake walked across the street to them. “Mr. Granelli’s getting impatient,” he said. Leo shrugged. Jake looked at them uncertainly. He eyed Paul.
Christy said, “Jake, this is Paul; he’s a friend of mine,” Christy said. “Paul, this is Jake. He’s one of Jordan Granelli’s bodyguards.”
They nodded at each other. “Skyhook,” Jake said. “So was I.”
Paul was interested. “Were you? Where’d you work?”
“Lot of buildings. I worked on the Daley Towers.”
“Did you! I didn’t,” Paul said with regret. That massive building, Chicago’s monument to its most famous mayor, was still the tallest in the city, though it was six years old.
“Last year I was working on the new City Trust building when a swinging beam hit me—so.” He made a horizontal cut with the edge of his hand against his right side. “Knocked me off. I hooked the cable—but it cracked some ribs, and my back’s been bad ever since. I had to quit.”
“Tough luck,” said Paul sympathetically.
They waited. “Which house is it?” Christy asked. Leo pointed to a white frame house across the street. Christy saw the flutter of curtains in the house next door. A woman with a baby on her hip was standing at her window, staring out at the black van, and at the white car with its black device.
She shivered suddenly. Paul put an arm around her shoulders. “Cold?”
“No—I don’t know,” she answered, irritated.
“Goose walking on your grave,” commented Jake.
The equipment van came screeching around the corner then. Tom pulled it up past them, and backed with a roar of his engines. “Cars,” Zenan muttered. “Oh, watch it!” Paul caught Christy’s arm. The doors of the van, jarred by the forceful jerky halt, came flying open, and something black came careening swiftly out.
For Christy the events resolved suddenly to a series of stills. She sprawled where a thrust of Paul’s arm had put her. The cable wheel bounded high in the air as it hit a projection in the ill-paved road. The thick cable unwound like a whip cracking. Paul
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