Love Is Always Write Volume 4

buildings.
    Bob walked over but paused to stare across the chasm. "What are you doing? What did you get me involved in? And what do those Neanderthals want with this?" He shot the questions at the man and thrust the cactus out accusingly. "Who are you?"
    The man's black hair fluffed over his eyes from a gust of wind. He lifted a hand to brush it back and then beckoned. "You've got Mariah! Great! Come on, they'll be up here any minute!"
    Come on ? Bob looked at the board and then gaped at the man. Surely he did not expect Bob to walk across? "It's five stories down! Are you crazy?"
    "I've done it a hundred times! It's easy!"
    Shouts sounded behind Bob, and he glanced over his shoulder to see two burly-looking men ascending onto the roof from the fire escape. Bob swallowed. Were they armed like the one in the hallway had been?
    "Come on, come on, come on!"
    Since the alternative was to stand on the roof and possibly get shot, Bob turned back and steeled himself. It wasn't that great a distance. Ten, maybe twelve feet, and the board looked about a foot wide. Dammit ! Without pausing to think about what he was doing, Bob stepped onto the board and hurried across, keeping his eyes fixed on the man who watched him. The man whose face he was going to punch if he made it across without dying.
    Bob's intent to do violence was thwarted by the cactus still gripped in his hands, plus the fact that his attractive neighbor held out his hands to grip Bob's arm the moment he drew within reach. "That was awesome!" he said with a bright laugh.
    Bob's heart hammered in his chest, and he could not remember the last time he had been so terrified, or so enraged. He felt like throwing up. "Take your goddamn cactus and get out of my sight!" Bob snarled.
    "Naw, you're doing a great job taking care of Mariah. You keep her. Come on, it won't take them long to get over here. Of course, they'll have to go down first." He let go of Bob's arm and reached down to hoist the board back into the air, swinging it away just before the men on the opposite roof could grab it. He looked like a skinny skater boy, but his muscles flexed beneath the thin black jacket he wore. He weathered the effort of lifting the long board with ease. Bob was impressed in spite of his anger.
    "Not fair, Takara!" one of the men yelled.
    Bob's rescuer lifted his hands with a grin. "I'm not touching it! It's totally fair!" He turned and gave Bob's arm a quick squeeze. "Let's go!"
    He jogged for the stairwell entrance—the door stood open, and Bob followed, entering the wind-blocking alcove gratefully. His fingers felt frozen around the ceramic pot. "Takara? Is that your name? Who are those guys? What did they mean by 'fair'?"
    "Actually, you can call me Jory. I don't really acknowledge the Takara part." He started down the concrete steps.
    Bob frowned as he hurried after him. Takara—Jory—wore tight black jeans and flashy monochrome tennis shoes that looked expensive. His black fleece jacket had no markings and the edges of his black hair nearly blended into the collar. When he turned his head to smile at Bob, the glint of an earring caught his eye. It wasn't black, as Bob half-expected, but green, too large to be a real emerald.
    "Look, Jory, I don't know what's going on and I really don't know why I'm carrying a cactus and pulling insane stunts like walking across a tiny board over a five story gap, and I definitely don't know why there are men with guns trying to break down the door of my apartment—" Bob's voice was rising to a hysterical pitch, but Jory stopped and looked up at him sharply.
    "Guns? They have guns ?"
    "Yeah, one of them—hey, do you have a cell phone? I need to call the police! My phone isn't working, and they are probably trashing my place and stealing everything I own by now."
    "Guns. Huh, that doesn't sound right." Jory turned and pelted down the stairs again, forcing Bob to hurry after him. It was difficult to jog down stairs with a cactus plant in hand.
    "Wait! The police, remember?"
    "No, we can't call the police. They can't get involved." Jory pushed open the door marked with a large number 3 and hurried down a hallway whose floors looked to have been laminated in the 1970s. The plaster walls were cracked and peeling.
    "What is this place? Wait, what do you mean no police? Of course we have to call the police!"
    Jory opened a door at the end of the hallway and then pushed aside a wooden grate to reveal a tiny elevator. "Trust me, Bob," he said