Hammered: Big City, Dark Nights

While I'd had some experience with girls, Dinah Myatt was a totally different sort than any of them, with the confidence, the grace, and the poise that made me feel nervous and unsure but completely desirous of her by comparison. Knowing that she was quite experienced sexually due to her profession, much much more-so than me, but that she did it for money rather than love or pleasure made me all the more confused.

While sitting there with her, I couldn't look at her for more than a second or two during the first and second nights, fearful I wouldn't be able to take my eyes off of her. She was relaxed and so beautiful, and I could see why the mayor, the police chief, the DA, and half of the city council (hell, the whole city council, for that matter) would want to fuck her, because as she sat close to me, I knew that I wouldn't be able to resist if she was to come onto me. As I got to know her better each night, I found myself liking her more and more for who she was rather than for her beauty and the thought of what she might do if the circumstances—and the money—were right.

The silence lingered that evening until she finally cleared her throat and said, "So tell me about your girlfriend, your friend's sister?"

In comparison to the questions she'd asked about the action in Korea over the past few evenings, telling of Winnie was now far easier.

"She was usually the third wheel with her brother Wally and me. When we went riding our bikes, Winnie was trailing along behind us or, occasionally, leading the way. She went swimming with us in the creek; our parents forbade us from swimming in the river since it was too deep and muddy and since several kids had drowned in it over the years. Sturbin's mascot is the Steamers; you don't have steamboats and big tugboats where the water's not deep enough for them."

Dinah made the sound of a steam whistle toot. "Just want you to feel at home," she said with a chuckle. "I bet you could hear them when they went by on the river, couldn't you?"

That made me smile. "Yep. Steamboats on the river and trains on the track through town. At all hours," I added with a laugh.

"Anyway, during the summer of '47, right before our senior year, someone at the edge of town set up a barn theater for Saturday afternoon serial shows. The screen was a tarp on the side of the barn and hay bales served as seats. Wally and I decided to go to the first one so Winnie tagged along. Sometime during the show, her hand ended up in mine and I didn't push it away. Wally was so pissed when he found out afterward, but Winnie and I got along great and kept seeing each other and he eventually got over it."

"That's good. How serious did it get?"

I breathed out slowly, remembering the conversation and the end result. "Winnie and I talked about getting married when I got out of the army—but out of sight, out of mind, I guess. She ended up sending me a Dear John, well, Dear Junior letter really, while I was in Korea and she married Charlie Harris, who was a year or two ahead of Wally and me, probably before it even reached me. Last I heard, they've had a baby...or two."

"That hurt you, didn't it?"

"Yeah...I wanted...."

I trailed off, knowing that I wanted everything with Winnie, but would never have any of it.

She rose, gave my arm a gentle squeeze as she brushed her lips on my already high forehead, and went back up to bed, leaving me to pace to try to get Winnie and that asshole Charlie Harris off my mind.

***

It was almost a week later at about 10 PM when they came. Guadanni was at the front door while I was "patrolling," checking the doors, the windows, and the attic space, when I heard a loud crash downstairs, followed by gunfire. Maybe if I'd been looking out the front window I might have seen their approach—but maybe not.

Joey came barreling out of his room, revolver in hand, and saw me. "Les, get with Miss Myatt. Protect her!" Then he was gone, running down the stairs toward the fray.

I turned back only to see Dinah's face, her eyes wide, looking at me from her doorway.

"Quick, up to the attic," I commanded. It would give us a defensible spot and an escape route if the invaders got past the rest of our team.

"My shoes," she said, glancing down at her bare feet.

"Hurry!" I whispered in reply, taking shelter down low in her door frame, arm extended with my revolver aimed where anyone coming up would be a target.

"Got it." She was throwing a few more things in a bag as she said it, but I grabbed her hand, rechecked the hall, and pulled her out the door, pushing toward the door that led to the attic. The strap of the bag was around her neck on the opposite shoulder. Other than my clothes (we all were wearing street clothes in case anyone caught sight of us), all I had was my revolver, three moon clips of ammo, and a few more loose rounds in my holster, and a little pocket knife. I could only hope that I wouldn't need anything more, though I already regretted the lack of a flashlight.

In we went, with me jamming a plank under the hasp of the attic door so the intruders couldn't push it open. Two steps and we were going up the stairs as quietly as we could as more gunfire sounded below.

All four of us officers had checked the attic any number of times during our rounds, but this was Dinah's first trip up. I went to the rear dormer window, opened it to be sure it wasn't stuck, and then returned to the top of the attic stairs, ready to pick off any who might try to come up.

The unsuccessful battering at the door followed by the sound of a shotgun blast hitting the knob and frame told me that they'd be coming up in force and we wouldn't stand a chance with the six rounds in my chamber. Therefore, I grabbed her hand and led her to the dormer window, where we stepped out on the roof into the darkness. When the window was back down, I started leading her across the roof to the adjacent house, hoping the invaders, if they made it that far, wouldn't notice the window was unlocked and that they wouldn't see us in the distance if they did and looked out.

I held Dinah's hand, trying to steady her as we made our way along the slope toward the adjacent rowhouse. Between the darkness and the uncertainty of the roofing surface, which could be slick or even potentially give way at any point, I was worried about whether Dinah could make it without making noise since I felt her hand quivering and knew that any surprise might make her cry out in fright.

She was worried, too, asking in a whisper, "Is this safe?"

"Perfectly," I deadpanned, not wishing to reinforce her fears or to tell her it was probably many times safer than holding pat in the attic space.

From house to house we went, as quickly and as quietly as we could, hoping all the while that no one below would spot us and that we wouldn't slip, slide down the slope, and fall over the edge to our death below.

On reaching the brick party walls that stuck up between the rowhouses to provide separation, privacy, and a degree of protection in the event of a fire, we clambered over them as quietly as we could and then moved on. We'd been informed that there was a fire escape installed on the back of the house about seven units down from us and that we'd be able to drop down to it without too much trouble. Of course, the officer who told us this was male and probably hadn't been thinking about the concerns of a rather petite woman running scared for her life during the dark of night.

Moving along the back of the rowhouses, there was only the light of the crescent moon and the stars to light our way; while older mercury vapor street lamps lit the street itself, they only seemed to cast deeper shadows over the ridge of the rowhouses to where we were. That meant there was no way to see the loose brick at the top of one of the dividing walls where the metal cap had blown away. I climbed over first, still holding on to Dinah, but when she put her leg up over the wall, one of us brushed the brick. A scrape, mortar on mortar, was the only clue, and I grabbed for it, catching it just before it could hit the roof slope and tumble down below.

However, to do this, I had to let go of Dinah, who was straddling the wall with one leg on each side, causing her to gasp in fear.

"Don't let me go!"

"Shhh!" I whispered back, as I ducked down, staying perfectly still.

A dog barking in a nearby backyard may have saved us, probably making it impossible for our assailants, if they were outside, either on the ground or on the roof, to hear anything. With the dog continuing to bark, I helped Dinah on across, put the brick back in the missing slot, and led her toward the fire escape. She was trembling as we went, so I gave her hand a gentle squeeze in hopes of reassuring her.

A couple of minutes later, the dog was quiet once more when we reached the approximate location of the fire escape. After making sure the wall was solid and wouldn't fall apart on us, I whispered to her, "Hold onto the wall right here. I'm going to let you go for a minute and move down to find the fire escape. Then I'll come back for you, okay?"

She nodded, short and fast in the darkness, and I gave her hand one more squeeze before letting go.

Over and down the slope I went. I was almost to the edge when I heard the clatter behind us, the dormer window having been flung open harder than it should have been, and then a flashlight beam swept across me. At the distance, it wasn't very powerful or very bright and it had been fast, probably in hopes that they would flush us out, so I dropped to the roof, hoping they hadn't seen me as the neighborhood dog was again barking at the top of its lungs.

Those barks, the screech of door hinges somewhere below, and a shouted "Shaddup, dog!" drowned out whatever our pursuers were saying, though I thought I heard a loud shush at one point. I took the advice for myself, too, and hoped Dinah was doing the same. Loud cursing, the drag of a chain, a yelp, and the slamming of a door led to silence as the dog was taken, or possibly pulled, inside, and me to hope the poor dog bit the asshole who would treat it like that.

Quiet restored, I held on, staying as still as I could, hoping Dinah would do the same. Being close to the edge, I was spread-eagled on the roof, trying to take as much advantage of friction as I could to keep from slipping and plunging over the edge. There were more murmurs from the direction of the dormer window—probably quiet chatter between some of our pursuers—and then more sweeps of the light before the normal sounds of the city took the forefront and the darkness returned.

Finally feeling it was safe again, I gave a whispered "shhh" that I hoped Dinah could hear before I rolled over on my back and crab-walked down to the eave. Craning my neck so I could see over, I spotted the fire escape platform just a few feet to my left so I moved back up and then over where I could walk back down and confirm I was directly over the platform.

A minute later, I'd found the right spot so I moved back up again but this time stopped a few feet up and took a white handkerchief out of my back pocket. Holding two opposite corners, I pulled it straight and laid it on the roof, marking the location of the fire escape below. Back up the slope I went before rolling over on my stomach and rising up to my feet for the last few feet back to Dinah.

"Come," I whispered, hoping she'd be able to do this without crying out and giving away our position. I suspected that our pursuers would head down and make a quick circle of the rowhouse block before they escaped. The gunfire in our townhouse may have attracted attention and my fellow officers might already be on the way, but with the thick walls of these houses and the city noises, the gunshots might have been mistaken as something else...if they weren't ignored by those not wishing to become involved.

We had to escape and get help afterward.

When we reached my handkerchief, we paused as I removed my belt from my pants. Threading the end through the buckle, I whispered, "Miss Myatt, your hand." I slipped the loop over her hand and then wrapped the other end around my left hand twice where I could grip it better.

"You're going to move down on your hands and feet in a moment. When you get to the edge, we'll stop for a second for you to take a breath and then you're going to have to go for it, allow yourself to go over the edge without making noise, without screaming, squealing, or anything else that might give us away. I'll have you with the belt so you won't fall. Trust me, okay?"

She nodded, her eyes wide with fear. I took her hand and felt her trembling.

"Whenever you reach the platform—give two tugs on the belt and I'll let it go and then drop down to join you. I'm not sure how far it is from the eave to the platform, so if your feet aren't touching, look down to be sure you're okay and then drop. It shouldn't be far. Got it?"

She nodded again and I motioned for her to move.

Dinah was clearly frightened but was doing well until her feet went over the edge. Like they told my buddy who'd been in 82nd Airborne during WWII, that first step out of the plane is the big one.

"I can't!" she squeaked, a lot louder than I expected.

"You can do it!" I whispered back, easing her onward despite her fears. She was almost hyperventilating by the time her waist reached the eave and she was able to swing her legs down. "Ease on back then glance down to be sure you're over the platform and we'll have you down in seconds."

She nodded in fear, short and fast, and I helped ease her back a bit more until her tits were practically resting in the gutter at the edge of the roof, her arms reaching out as far out on the solid roof as they could.

"Now peek down to assure yourself you've over the platform and then we can get you down from there. You've got this."

She looked down back over her her left shoulder and then, as if in slow motion, she swiveled her face back toward me and almost shouted out in fear, "Les, I'm not over the fucking platform! Don't let me fall! Please? Please, don't let me fall!"

Fuck! How the hell did we miss the platform?

"Which way and how far?" I growled, determined not to drop her but not sure how I could move her over. "Look over your shoulder. No! Your other shoulder!"

She did and nodded this time. "Just a few inches that way."

I was about to try to help her shift over when I heard something loud—a brick similar to the one we'd dislodged, I suspected—hit the roof. There were loud, fast footsteps coming across the roof toward us.

With a pull to her right and the safety of the platform, I said, "Dinah, jump!"

She slipped off the edge with a short scream, disappearing out of my view before the belt on my left hand snapped taut.

Thinking I had a matter of seconds before our pursuer, one or more, would be on us, I asked, "Are you over the—"

A shot rang out and a bullet slammed into the roof beside me as I was rolling to my left to get my sidearm from its holster. Another shot with a big flash. Another THOCK!!! This one was louder and within inches of me.

"Let go!" she screamed from below.

I released the belt, my grip having been so tight on it my hand and arm felt practically asleep, as my S&W Police Special cleared the holster.

As an MP, I'd carried my Special in Korea rather than the typical 1911 carried by officers and infantrymen assigned a sidearm. Chambered in.38 Special and having a 4-inch barrel, I'd fired numerous rounds in combat and probably over a thousand more on various ranges. In other words, I was quite comfortable with it. Extending, I fired a single round at where the flash had occurred just a second before.

I missed, hitting the brick wall instead.

A loud sliding sound and a black blur gave away the gunman's position, telling me that he'd been moving from the start; he was now almost in line with and above me on the slope and sliding down the slope toward me. I was too close to the edge; there was no way he wouldn't either hit me or shoot me, dropping me three stories to my death.

Jamming a heel in the gutter, I hoped it would hold as I turned back up the slope and tried to bring my gun up. His foot connected and sent my good pistol flying. It was then that he realized he was going too fast and he had to throw his own gun to get his hands down to arrest his slide before we both went over the edge.

About two year later, in August 1955, Cary Grant, one of my favorite actors, was the lead character in a film called "To Catch a Thief." I saw the movie in a cinema, but had to close my eyes as the rooftop scenes brought back the horrible memories of my fight on the roof's edge.

The assailant's foot connected with my head the first time, a glancing blow that would have ended me if it had been just a bit more direct. I caught it and twisted as he tried again, flipping him over and away from me. With an arm behind him, he stopped his momentum and swung toward me, a flash of light on steel being my only warning that his descending fist contained more than clenched fingers.

Rolling away by a quarter turn, I was just far enough back to feel the blade slice my shirt before it buried itself in the roof deck. I slammed back toward him, bringing my fist down on his wrist.

"Ahh!" he grunted, losing his grip on the blade as he jerked the injured wrist away. I followed with a punch of my own but the movement caused the nail holding the gutter in place to give way, requiring me to grab hold of the old asphalt shingles with spread fingers to keep from sliding further down.

"I'm going to kill you, fucker," said the man as he punched at me, once, twice, three times, connecting somewhat ineffectively each time but causing enough pain that I grunted. More worried about falling than about the pain, I was able to buy another 12-inches, each so precious, of the slope before he hit me again.

"You gonna' die now—"

I can guess the vile word that was coming next, but I'd pulled the knife out with my left hand and brought the blade up defensively—well, as defensively as I could considering I was on my stomach and trying to keep from falling—and his fist connected dead on with the front of the blade.

His profanity turned to a scream as his blood sprayed, and I scrambled up another 8-inches or so before he rolled and tried to grab me with his good hand. I kicked out, catching his leg—a shin? A knee? I'm really not sure what—and he jerked, slipping down the slope.

"Bye, bye, asshole," crossed my mind but his good hand caught my pants leg, dragging me with him. I wasn't anchored well though, and he and then I started over the edge.

Still face down, I tried rolling to my right but couldn't due to his grip and then I was to the edge, too, starting over.

I think he clipped the guardrail on the fire escape platform, causing him to let go of me as he grabbed for it, but he was too far gone and missed, giving a brief but blood curdling scream before he hit the ground below.

I grabbed the gutter as I went over the edge and was horrified to feel it pulling away from the facia board. I was closing my eyes for the drop to my death when I felt Dinah's arms encircle me just before I landed on the platform.

***

With lights coming on in the rowhouses to the sides and behind us, we went down the fire escape in what was probably record time. I rode the ladder as it went down from the second floor to the ground and was surprised to see Dinah sliding down the rails rather than going rung by rung after me.

A back light came on in the building behind us. "What the hell's going on here?" asked a man coming out the door.

"Police business," I said, holding up my badge. "Get inside, lock your door, and call the local precinct, please. I'm chasing the rest of them."