Where Are You Now?

77

W e’ve got him. He’s on 104th and Riverside Drive,” Larry Ahearn yelled.

An alarm went out to all the squad cars in the vicinity. Sirens wailing, they rushed to the scene.

The wrecking ball was in place. A delighted Derek Olsen saw that his business rival Doug Twining was inside the cockpit of the crane.

“One.” Derek jumped up and began to count.

“Two.” Then his triumphant cheer died on his lips. Someone was pushing open the boarded window on the second floor of the old town house. Someone was swinging his legs over the sill and waving. Altman. It was Howie Altman.

The wrecking ball was swinging toward the house. At the last instant, Twining spotted Altman and swung the controls so that the ball missed the house by inches.

Squad cars, tires screeching, were rounding the corner.

“Come back! Come back!” A screaming Howie Altman was running along the roof of the porch, waving his arms at the crane. As he began to jump up and down, the rotted wood caved in and the house began to crumble, floor by floor toppling into each other. Seeing what was happening, Altman dove back through the window in time to have tons of debris crash down on him.

Police poured out of the squad cars. “The basement,” one of them yelled, “the basement. If they’re there, it’s their only chance.”