I rested my fingertips on the window, pressed firmly, then exerted a steady pressure upward. It slid open without a sound, the reward of consideration. Being an erratic sleeper and fond of my nighttime gambols, I kept the running grooves heavily waxed so as not to disturb my roommate.
Leaving my shoes behind on the ledge, I entered and stood still, ready to flee.
I waited a minute, breathing slowly, through my mouth. Quieter that way. Another minute …
A creak from my uneasy easy chair reached me, an effect it always manages when its occupant uncrosses and recrosses his legs.
That would place a person to the right of the desk in the front room, in a position near to the window.
“Is there any coffee in that thing?” a harsh voice managed softly.
“I think so” came the reply.
“Then pour me some.”
Sounds of a thermos being unstoppered. Pouring. A few scrapes and bumps. A muttered “Thanks.” They placed the other fellow at the desk itself.
A slurp. A sigh. The scratch of a match. More silence.
Then: “Wouldn’t it be funny if he’d gotten himself killed?”
A snort.
“Yeah. Not bloody likely, though.”
“How can you say that?”
“He stinks of luck, or something like it. And he’s such an odd one to begin with.”
“That I’ll buy. Wish he’d hurry up and find his way home.”
“That makes for two of us.”
The one in the easy chair got to his feet and moved to the window. After a time he sighed. “How long, how long, 0 Lord?”
“It will be worth the wait.”
“I’m not denying it. But the sooner we catch hold of him the better.”
“Of course. I’ll drink to that.”
“Hear! What’ve you got there?”
“A bit of brandy.”
“You’ve had that all along and you’ve been giving me this black mud?”
“You kept asking for coffee. Besides, I just found it a while back.”
“Pass it here.”
“There’s another glass. Let’s be genteel. It’s good stuff.”
“Pour!”
I heard the cork come out of my Christmas bottle. A few clinks followed and footfalls.
“Here you are.”
“Smells good.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“To the Queen!”
A shuffling of feet. A single clink.
“God save ‘er!”
They reseated themselves after that and grew silent once again. I stood there for perhaps a quarter of an hour, but nothing more was said.
So I edged my way to the corner rack, found some money I had left behind still in its place in the boot, removed it, pocketed it, removed myself back to the ledge.
I closed the window as carefully as I had opened it, retreated to the roof, cut across the path of a black cat who arched his back and spat-doubtless superstitious, not that I blamed him-and made my way away.
After scouting Hal’s building for loiterers other than myself and not spotting any, I rang his place from the booth on the corner. I was somewhat surprised to have my call answered in a matter of seconds.
“Yeah?”
“Hal?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Your old buddy who climbs things.”
“Hoo boy! What kind of trouble are you in, anyway?”
“If I knew that I’d have something for my pains. Can you tell me anything about it?”
“Probably nothing important. But there are some small things that might-“
“Listen, may I come over?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Now, I mean. I hate to be a bother, but-“
“No trouble. C’mon up.”
“Are you all right?”
“Matter of fact, no. Mary and I had a little difference of opinion and she’s spending the weekend at her mother’s. I’m half stoned, which leaves me half sober. Which is enough. You tell me your troubles and I’ll tell you mine.”
“It’s a deal. I’ll be there in half a minute.”
“Great. See you then.”
So I cradled it, walked over, went in, buzzed his number and got admitted. Moments later I was knocking on his door.
“Prompt, oh prompt,” he said, swinging it wide and stepping aside. “Enter, pray.”
“In which order?”
“Oh, bless this house, by all means, first. It could use a little grace.”
“Bless,” I said, stepping in. “Sorry to hear you got troubles.”