The two friends staggered and then stopped as one, panting and sweating.
"Well!" said Addison, when after a minute he was able to say anything.
"Yes," said Milford.
"That was a close call."
"Yes."
"Bastards thought they had us," said Addison, "but we showed them."
"Wait," said Milford.
"Listen."
Addison cocked his head and listened, and heard the sound of trampling feet and shouting from somewhere beyond a corner they had turned perhaps a hundred feet back.
"Oh, dear," he said.
"They're coming after us," said Milford.
"Damn."
"We're doomed," said Milford.
"We were already doomed," said Addison. "Everyone is doomed."
"You're dealing in semantics when we're about to be torn limb from limb by a mob of, of –"
"Of douchebags?"
"Yes," said Milford.
"Well, there's nothing for it but to try to outrun them."
"All right," said Milford, "but I'm already exhausted."
"You're not exhausted until you fall to the floor, unable even to crawl another inch."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"So buck up, boyo, and let's go."
The noise of the shouting and trampling was growing louder, and so Milford and Addison began running again, after a minute turning another corner, and two more minutes later and just at the point of collapse they came to the end of the corridor, where there was what seemed to be a door.
"A door," panted Milford, the sweat streaming down his face.
"Yes, I see it," said Addison, sweating and panting equally. "Another door."
"But there's no doorknob or handle," said Milford.
"Yes, I see that too," said Addison.
"Now we're really doomed," said Milford, as the shouting and trampling echoed louder from back down the hall.
"There's a button there," said Addison gesturing toward what at least appeared to be a button to the side of the door. "Should we press it?"
"Yes," said Milford, "for God's sake!"
"There you go with that God business again," said Addison, but he pressed the button.
The trampling, the thudding, the shouting grew louder still, and a voice rang out from down the hallway, yelling.
"There they are!"
"Let's get 'em!" came another voice.
"Fuckin' douchebags!" opined another harsh voice.
Milford and Addison both turned and looked back, and there coming around the far corner was the huge fat man called Big Daddy thudding along like a maddened rhino, and right beside him was that other nasty guy from the podium, and behind them came a whole pack of a dozen or more men, their fists raised, some of them wielding what looked like baseball bats and clubs and bicycle chains.
"Oh, shit," said Milford.
"Well, it was nice knowing you," said Addison.
"I never thought it would end like this," said Milford.
"Personally I always rather thought I'd die in a charity ward," said Addison, "but I liked to think I had at least ten more years, or five at least –"
"Good evening, gentlemen," said a voice behind them. "Coming in?"
The two friends turned and saw what looked like an elevator operator, uniformed in green and red and with a black-billed cap on his head, standing in what appeared to be a small elevator car. Quickly they tumbled inside.
"Up or down, good sirs?" said the man, who was very tiny with thick horn-rimmed glasses and who looked to be eighty years old if he was a day.
"It doesn't matter!" cried Milford. "Close the doors, please, and get us out of here!"
"Got some guys chasing yez, hey?"
"Yes!" said Milford, "now please, close the door!"
"You got it, boss," said the little man, and he grabbed a handle and slid the outside door shut. Inside that door was an expandable iron gate, and he also pulled that shut, and just in time, because they could now hear the sounds of pounding on the outside of the door, and shouting, and a chorus of voices blending as one with shouted words.
"Douchebags! Motherfuckers! Open that fucking elevator up!"
"Wow," said the little man, turning to our two sweating and panting friends, "them is some pissed-off individuals. What the heck did you two fellers do to 'em?"
"I threw a lit cigarette butt into the eye of one of them," said Addison.
"Why'd you do that?"
"Because he was threatening to trap us in a barroom full of douchebags for all eternity."
"Well, then," said the little man, "I can't say as I blame ya, then."
The pounding on the door and the angry shouting from outside continued unabated.
The little man turned toward the door and now he shouted.
"Hey, you bums! Stop pounding on that door! You're gonna break it!"
"Fuck you!" yelled a voice that sounded to Addison and Milford like the podium guy, and the pounding and shouting continued.
"Look, sir," said Milford, "can you please get this elevator moving before they break the door in?"
"They ain't gonna break that door in," said the little man. "That's a solid steel door you're looking at there."
"But you just said that they could break the door," said Milford.
"Yeah," said the little man. "Sure, they might break it, like maybe break the mechanism or something, call for a repair job, but they ain't gonna break it in, unless maybe they got a sledge hammer or something."
Suddenly a loud metal clanging sound resounded from the door.
"What was that?" whined Milford.
"Sounded like a goddam sledge hammer," said the little man. "Or maybe a fireman's axe. I don't know. Do I look like Superman, like I got X-ray vision?"
The metallic pounding continued.
"Please, sir," said Milford, "can you please get this thing moving?"
"Sure," said the little man. "That's all you had to say."
"Please," said Milford.
"'Please'," said the little old man, "it's the magic word, ain't it?" There was a large handle attached to the wall near the front of the car, and he put his hand on it. "Up or down, gents?"
"It doesn't matter," said Milford.
"I got to know," said the man.
"Okay," said Addison. "Take us down then, please."
"Down it is," said the little man, and he pulled on the handle, the car whirred and lurched, and then seemed very slowly to descend as the pounding and shouting continued from outside.
"How far ya want to go down?" said the little man.
"Just one floor, I suppose," said Addison.
"One floor it is then," said the man.
They could still hear the shouting and the pounding, as the car whirred and vibrated.
"Is this thing even moving?" said Milford.
"It's moving, but it moves slow," said the elevator man. "It's a slow ellyvator. You got to be patient with this old baby, but you give it enough time, and she'll get you where you want to go, yes sir. Perhaps you gentlemen would like to hear a little story to pass the time."
"To pass the time?" said Milford. "How long is it going to take to go down one floor?"
"Not too long, but like I say, this ol' ellyvator's slow, and it's a long ways down to the next floor down."
"Oh, my God," said Milford. "Why didn't you tell us it was a long way down to the next floor?"
"You didn't ask, sonny. Now if'n you want we can go back up, and go past the floor you was on to the next floor up above that, we can do that if you want."
"And how long will that take?" said Addison.
"Not too long."
"Will it take longer to go up to that floor than it will to get to the floor below?"
"I reckon about the same," said the little man, "give or take five minutes thereabouts."
"Oh, Christ," said Milford.
"Just say the word," said the little man, "and I'll reverse direction. It don't make no never mind to me."
"Okay, fine," said Milford. "Just keep going down then."
"So you fellers want to hear my story?"
"Sure," said Addison. "Tell us your story."
"All righty, then," said the little old man. He took a corncob pipe out of his jacket pocket. "Relax, gents, and smoke 'em if you got 'em."
There was nothing else to do, and so Addison took out his pack of Chesterfields, and Milford brought out his Husky Boys.
The shouting and the banging and clanging continued, but now the noise was coming from above, as the elevator car continued to whir and hum and slowly to descend to whatever lay below.
No comments:
Post a Comment