Rick returned to find his apartment empty. There was no sign of the girl, and his gun still laid on the table, untouched. He went from room to room, calling her name and checking the closets in case something spooked her enough to hide, but she was nowhere to be found.
He was more confused than worried. Where did she run off to? Why? He checked the angles, racking his brain for something he might have missed, some trick she might have pulled. But all the lies had been revealed, leaving a harsh, naked truth that was nevertheless airtight. If there was a game still being played, he'd found no indication.
The light in the kitchen was still on. He picked up the phone. There was a dial tone now. Somewhere down the street, a police siren wailed. It was coming closer and closer. Rick watched from the window. The car came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the building. Joe and Lenny jumped out. Lenny pointed up. Rick thought he was gesturing at him, watching from the window, but there was something else. Joe looked up, too. Both cops tore off toward the lobby door, and Rick raced for his own.
Laura didn't come downstairs, he realized. If she had, he would have seen her in the lobby. No, she went up. She went up fast, like something was chasing her. Rick bolted up the stairs, sailing past one floor and then another. He knew exactly where to go. He knew where to find her.
Once he got to the roof access door, still hanging ajar from its hinges, he knew he was right. He kicked it open lightly and cautiously took a step forward. The first thing he felt was the wind, smacking him like a girl he never called back. It was cold, brutal. Exhaust from the building's heating system wafted in the air. He clutched his hat tightly against his head, afraid he'd lose it from a rooftop again, and he wasn't in the mood to play fetch tonight.
The roof itself was dark, but beneath it on every side was the rising glow of the city's lights. Neon and street lamps framed the edges, letting him know where the solid ground stopped and the air began. Once he had his bearings, he crept on, looking for the girl or whomever may have taken her.
It didn't take long to find both of them. The girl had been backed into a corner. Her feet tapped the roof behind her, striking against the ledge. She stepped onto it, her hands spread out in front of her. There was a look of terror on her face, and her blonde curls were blown by the wind. A few yards in front of her was the man in the hat, and he was wearing gloves. Even in the low light, Rick could make out the gloves. All the pieces fit together perfectly, and a puzzle once fragmented had become complete, forming a terrible picture of death.
The man in the hat--Tony, Rick assumed--had a gun in his hand, but he wasn't using it. Instead, he stepped closer and closer toward the girl on the ledge, as if herding her backward, forcing her to take her own life.
Rick drew his own revolver and clicked the hammer back with his thumb. The man in the hat half-turned at the sound, his face consumed by the shadows. Seeing Rick's figure in the dim glow of the stairwell light, he swung his gun around and fired a few wild shots, punching deep holes in the heavy metal door.
Rick took cover on the other side of the brick access hutch. He peeked around the corner and had a clear view of the man in the hat, but he didn't dare take the shot. Laura was standing on the ledge behind him, and one stray bullet would've sent her over the edge. He crouched down, surveying the lay of the roof. He just needed one chance. He just needed Laura to move out of the way.
As if reading his mind, Laura jumped down from the ledge and, while the man in the hat was distracted, knocked the gun out of his hand, sending it skidding across the rooftop. The man in the hat struck her hard in the face with the back of his hand, and she stumbled backward, awkwardly tripping over the ledge. She lost her balance. There was no footing to regain. She could only scream as her body gave way to thin air, falling over the side of the building.
It was pure anger, pure wrath that fueled Rick next. The revolver was still in his hand, but he didn't need it. He charged toward the man in the hat as the latter scrambled for his own gun. They met like a wave crashing against a rock. Rick became a force of nature, first pummeling his opponent in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain, and then reaching for his throat, for something--anything--to throttle.
The man in the hat was strong, though. Even with the wind knocked out of him, he was able to grab Rick behind his back, grappling onto him as they both tumbled to ground. They wrestled for what felt like an eternity, each at times gaining an advantage over his opponent until he was rolled over. At some point in the fray, the man in the hat had wrested the gun from Rick's hand--the one he'd forgotten all about. They were both caked in dust and grime and found themselves along the edge of the building, at the base of the very ledge Laura had been swept over. The man in the hat was on top, pressing Rick against the roof with all his weight. The faint light carried up from a flashing neon sign below, and Rick could see his face--that same overgrown stubble, that same smug grin. He looked just the way he remembered--just like that night at the train station, but this time, Rick found himself at the mercy of the Smiling Man and felt the cold steel tip of a gun barrel resting on his temple.
The door to the roof suddenly burst open, and Lenny and Joe leapt out with their guns drawn. They couldn't plainly see what was happening in the low light, but they knew the two men near the ledge were Rick and Tony. The Smiling Man, half-standing, made a fatal decision that quickly settled the argument, firing his gun toward the two cops at the door. Lenny and Joe each fired two rounds in response. As it turned out, they had much better aim.
Four bullets plunged into the Smiling Man's chest with a force that knocked him back. Back and over. He plunged over the edge with a scream. Rick could see in the neon glow that the smile had finally disappeared from his face. Rick scrambled to his feet and peered over the side to watch Tony's descent to the street below, but he saw something even better--a thin hand with a desperate grip on a corner of the ledge.
"Hang on, sweetheart!" he called.
He reached over the side and grabbed her by the wrist. Her other hand appeared and clasped down on top of his, and slowly, she began pulling herself back onto the rooftop. When both her feet were firmly planted, they both collapsed to the ground with heaving chests as they struggled to regain both breath and sanity.
"Are you all right, Rick?"
Lenny and Joe had rushed over, crouching beside them.
"We're fine, Joe. I owe you big time. Just give us a second, will you?"
When everything set in, Laura looked into his eyes. He looked into hers. They embraced and kissed like old lovers. In that moment, Rick couldn't feel any pain. Not yet, at least. It might be there in the morning, but for tonight, there were only two things that meant anything in this world.
Tony was dead.
The girl was alive.
He was more confused than worried. Where did she run off to? Why? He checked the angles, racking his brain for something he might have missed, some trick she might have pulled. But all the lies had been revealed, leaving a harsh, naked truth that was nevertheless airtight. If there was a game still being played, he'd found no indication.
The light in the kitchen was still on. He picked up the phone. There was a dial tone now. Somewhere down the street, a police siren wailed. It was coming closer and closer. Rick watched from the window. The car came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the building. Joe and Lenny jumped out. Lenny pointed up. Rick thought he was gesturing at him, watching from the window, but there was something else. Joe looked up, too. Both cops tore off toward the lobby door, and Rick raced for his own.
Laura didn't come downstairs, he realized. If she had, he would have seen her in the lobby. No, she went up. She went up fast, like something was chasing her. Rick bolted up the stairs, sailing past one floor and then another. He knew exactly where to go. He knew where to find her.
Once he got to the roof access door, still hanging ajar from its hinges, he knew he was right. He kicked it open lightly and cautiously took a step forward. The first thing he felt was the wind, smacking him like a girl he never called back. It was cold, brutal. Exhaust from the building's heating system wafted in the air. He clutched his hat tightly against his head, afraid he'd lose it from a rooftop again, and he wasn't in the mood to play fetch tonight.
The roof itself was dark, but beneath it on every side was the rising glow of the city's lights. Neon and street lamps framed the edges, letting him know where the solid ground stopped and the air began. Once he had his bearings, he crept on, looking for the girl or whomever may have taken her.
It didn't take long to find both of them. The girl had been backed into a corner. Her feet tapped the roof behind her, striking against the ledge. She stepped onto it, her hands spread out in front of her. There was a look of terror on her face, and her blonde curls were blown by the wind. A few yards in front of her was the man in the hat, and he was wearing gloves. Even in the low light, Rick could make out the gloves. All the pieces fit together perfectly, and a puzzle once fragmented had become complete, forming a terrible picture of death.
The man in the hat--Tony, Rick assumed--had a gun in his hand, but he wasn't using it. Instead, he stepped closer and closer toward the girl on the ledge, as if herding her backward, forcing her to take her own life.
Rick drew his own revolver and clicked the hammer back with his thumb. The man in the hat half-turned at the sound, his face consumed by the shadows. Seeing Rick's figure in the dim glow of the stairwell light, he swung his gun around and fired a few wild shots, punching deep holes in the heavy metal door.
Rick took cover on the other side of the brick access hutch. He peeked around the corner and had a clear view of the man in the hat, but he didn't dare take the shot. Laura was standing on the ledge behind him, and one stray bullet would've sent her over the edge. He crouched down, surveying the lay of the roof. He just needed one chance. He just needed Laura to move out of the way.
As if reading his mind, Laura jumped down from the ledge and, while the man in the hat was distracted, knocked the gun out of his hand, sending it skidding across the rooftop. The man in the hat struck her hard in the face with the back of his hand, and she stumbled backward, awkwardly tripping over the ledge. She lost her balance. There was no footing to regain. She could only scream as her body gave way to thin air, falling over the side of the building.
It was pure anger, pure wrath that fueled Rick next. The revolver was still in his hand, but he didn't need it. He charged toward the man in the hat as the latter scrambled for his own gun. They met like a wave crashing against a rock. Rick became a force of nature, first pummeling his opponent in the stomach, causing him to double over in pain, and then reaching for his throat, for something--anything--to throttle.
The man in the hat was strong, though. Even with the wind knocked out of him, he was able to grab Rick behind his back, grappling onto him as they both tumbled to ground. They wrestled for what felt like an eternity, each at times gaining an advantage over his opponent until he was rolled over. At some point in the fray, the man in the hat had wrested the gun from Rick's hand--the one he'd forgotten all about. They were both caked in dust and grime and found themselves along the edge of the building, at the base of the very ledge Laura had been swept over. The man in the hat was on top, pressing Rick against the roof with all his weight. The faint light carried up from a flashing neon sign below, and Rick could see his face--that same overgrown stubble, that same smug grin. He looked just the way he remembered--just like that night at the train station, but this time, Rick found himself at the mercy of the Smiling Man and felt the cold steel tip of a gun barrel resting on his temple.
The door to the roof suddenly burst open, and Lenny and Joe leapt out with their guns drawn. They couldn't plainly see what was happening in the low light, but they knew the two men near the ledge were Rick and Tony. The Smiling Man, half-standing, made a fatal decision that quickly settled the argument, firing his gun toward the two cops at the door. Lenny and Joe each fired two rounds in response. As it turned out, they had much better aim.
Four bullets plunged into the Smiling Man's chest with a force that knocked him back. Back and over. He plunged over the edge with a scream. Rick could see in the neon glow that the smile had finally disappeared from his face. Rick scrambled to his feet and peered over the side to watch Tony's descent to the street below, but he saw something even better--a thin hand with a desperate grip on a corner of the ledge.
"Hang on, sweetheart!" he called.
He reached over the side and grabbed her by the wrist. Her other hand appeared and clasped down on top of his, and slowly, she began pulling herself back onto the rooftop. When both her feet were firmly planted, they both collapsed to the ground with heaving chests as they struggled to regain both breath and sanity.
"Are you all right, Rick?"
Lenny and Joe had rushed over, crouching beside them.
"We're fine, Joe. I owe you big time. Just give us a second, will you?"
When everything set in, Laura looked into his eyes. He looked into hers. They embraced and kissed like old lovers. In that moment, Rick couldn't feel any pain. Not yet, at least. It might be there in the morning, but for tonight, there were only two things that meant anything in this world.
Tony was dead.
The girl was alive.
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