The Axman Cometh Read Online Free

can't use the stairs to—"
    "In this building? This neighborhood? It was a department store a hundred years ago, but the building went to pot after World War Two. A few years ago somebody got the bright idea of restoring the facade, which I have to admit is quite elegant, and converting several floors inside to office space. But they ran out of money, so the first couple of floors are deserted except for derelicts and God knows who else—walk? This far downtown, with the lights out? Not Petra Kisber . I'm perfectly happy to sit here with the doors locked, and I just hope the paraffin in this lamp doesn't give out... hmm, what was that?"
    "Excuse me?"
    "I thought I heard something just now. Someone scr —yelling. No, it must have been outside on the street."
    "Miss Kisber —"
    "Just call me Petra. I'm now managing editor, by the way. Excalibur Books."
    "Yes, I've seen some of them. Very impressive. I wonder if—how long after Shannon left your office did the power fail?"
    "I'm not sure. Let's see. I didn't walk her out, as I usually do—frankly, I had to use the little girl's sandbox, so that's where I was, sitting on the john when the lights went off. I'm telling you, I just about wrecked my shins getting back to my office—in the dark this floor is a maze of partitions and bookshelves. And wastebaskets: people will leave their wastebaskets anywhere. I'm writing a memo about that first thing in the—"
    "There's a possibility that Shannon and perhaps others could be in the elevator, between floors?"
    "Nobody else from here. I was the last one in the office. The floor below is vacant. And I doubt if the night cleaning crew shows up much before midnight."
    "Is there an emergency alarm to ring?"
    "Not in the elevator. Like I said, it's an old freight job with these massive gates Superman couldn't open by himself."
    "Would you mind going to find out if anyone's trapped?"
    "The elevator's clear on the other side of the building, and I don't mind admitting I'm getting a little stressed out being here all by my lonesome. I'd just as soon stay—"
    Don pauses to drain the rest of his daiquiri, and, in the lifting of his arm, is aware that his armpits are icy, he is feeling more than a little apprehensive.
    "Petra, if, just possibly, Shannon's in that elevator—by herself—imagine how she must feel."
    "Weren't you two going to get married? I got the invitation and bought the most elegant —then wasn't it about three days before the wedding—?"
    Don has long ago become sick of hearing about wedding gifts that had to be returned. "It's a long story. Listen to me, now. You don't know Shannon as well as I do—no one does. It would—be very bad for her to be by herself in that elevator. There could be serious psychological consequences."
    "You mean she's claustrophobic?"
    "Oh, I mean much worse than that." And he feels the sliding of icy sweat beads down his right side beneath his shirt.
    "Hmm. Then I suppose I should—but I don't think there's a thing I can do if she's actually trapped—"
    "The fire department will deal with that situation."
    "I could stay here and call them. But if she's not in the elevator, then it's like turning in a false alarm, isn't it?"
    "Petra. Please. Go find out if Shannon is in that elevator!"
    "You're right. I ought to do that. I can put myself in her shoes. I'd certainly want somebody to come looking for me."
    "Call me back. I'm at Cabrera's, on Columbus Avenue. The number is—"
    Don reads it off for her, solicits further assurances that Petra will proceed to the elevator to find out if it is occupied, then notify the fire department. And call him. He hangs up and goes back to his seat at the bar with his empty glass; as soon as he sits down Francisco slides a fresh "Papa doble " toward him. In the photograph on the back bar old Hemingway looks testier than ever, probably wishing somebody would fix him a frosty strengthened
    "I heard," Francisco says. "I hope your lady is not in the elevator