8/4 p1

9:45 am

Jimmy had it right. By this morning the old man was swearing and making plans as if yesterday’s violence hadn’t even happened. James put on a good, tight bandage ‘for compression’, he says. It keeps Dave from doing any flexing with his bicep, which is supposed to help it heal correctly. Jimmy thinks that, with proper rest and nutrition, the old man could have full use of the arm in a week. ‘Course, with our current situation, a week of proper rest and food’s about as likely as a helicopter evacuation staffed by New York super models.

However, I might have an evac plan that works almost as well. Not half as glamorous or distractingly pretty, but it has the upside of being workable. So long as none of us gets vertigo.

I went through the rest of the floors of our roach motel, hoping our crazyman had some sort of hidden escape route. He didn’t. By the time I got to the fifth and final floor, I was about ready to call it quts on life and eat the barrel of Jame’s peashooter pistol. That’s when I saw the final set of stairs, to the roof.

When I got out there, I was greeted by the standard box-building toppings. A few dead AC units, leaves scattered around, dirty brown puddles in the low spots-- and a ladder. Turns out that the maintenance man had been doing some work on the hotel’s neon sign and needed to reach the top of the ad. I turned behind me and realized that the building across the alley from us, an office complex, has a roof only one story higher than the motel’s. And this insane, stupid idea formed in my head.

I (very quietly) grabbed the ladder, and eyeballed the distance between us and ‘Keedy and Lee Law Offices’, proudly established circa 1983. The alley’s about ten feet wide, and I judge the distance between the tops of the two buildings to be about twenty feet, give or take. The ladder stretches far enough if you include that last rung that you’re not supposed to stand on, because it’s unsafe.

Unsafe. Right. Let’s see how this works out.