Programmed for Peril

amid abandoned storefronts and convenience stores where clerks sat behind bulletproof glass. Nicholas imagined the top floor would be best for receiving nearly unobstructed transmissions.
    He pulled his van to the curb in front of the apartment entrance. Idle youths sat about on stoops and fences. He took the necessary hand-held instruments with him, activating the vehicle’s potent security system. He saw from the corner of his eye their reactions to his pale, spidery presence. “Hey, man, when the next UFO take you back to Mars?”
    The lobby smelled of urine and stale pot. The elevator doors yawned wide into immobile cars spray-painted with graffiti. Three men in filthy clothes lay on the floor, nodding or sleeping off drug doses or binges. He found the stairs, held his nose against the stink there. He met two Hispanic men who glowered at him in passing, imagining he was the representative of some resented authority. He looked over the banister into the stairwell. Climbing up behind him were two of the stoop loungers, one in a black Nike tank top. The other wore jeans and no shirt. Their laughter over some private joke floated up to him. Was he the object of their humor? He decided he ought to be cautious, but thoughts of serving Trish overrode his hesitancy. He was on the verge of discovery! Up he climbed, his wind growing short. Floors six... seven... and finally eight. He leaned against the scarred doorframe and sucked breath.
    It seemed appropriate at that moment to put his earphones in place. Chet Baker, dying from self-neglect and drug abuse, sang about his funny valentine. Nicholas stepped into the corridor. He stared down at the meter in his hand, watched its needles turn, searching for alignment. The doors lining the corridor were reinforced against violent entry. TV and radio babble blasted from most. Could be audio camouflage. His equipment wouldn’t be fooled. He made his way slowly ahead. At a turn in the corridor was a silent apartment, 836. This was the one! He raised a hand and knocked. He slipped the phones off his ears. Baker whispered into his neck.
    From behind: “Ain’t nobody there. Ain’t nobody ever there.”
    He whirled, frightened. The two men from the street stood two feet away. The larger, shirtless man’s torso was heaped with bodybuilder’s muscles. A horrible starlike scar spread over the center of his chest, as though it had in the past stopped a shotgun blast.
    “You with the phone company?” the shorter man said. He wore a black beret to match his tank top.
    “No, I’m not.” Nicholas’s voice was dry.
    “What you doin’ here?” Beret said.
    “Some electronic work. It’s too technical to explain.” Beret turned to his friend. “Man be tech-ni-cal. He got tech-ni-cal equipment there, Zak.”
    “Yeah, technical, Eddie.”
    With a flash of hand speed Eddie tore the meter from Nicholas’s grip. “We want it!”
    Zak ripped off the earphones and lifted the tape player from Nicholas’s pocket. “We want this, too!”
    “Give them back!”
    “Give you this!” The scarred man swung a huge fist that caught Nicholas full in his soft belly. The wind went out of him, and he fell to the floor, gasping for breath. His assailants went methodically through his pockets, taking his hand-sized instruments, wallet, and loose change. He tried to resist, but they easily shoved away his hands.
    They rose. Eddie put the sole of his boot onto Nicholas’s throat. “Who you lookin’ for here, man?”
    Nicholas sucked air, the paralysis lifting slowly like fog. “I don’t know. Maybe whoever’s in that room.”
    “Tole you. Ain’t nobody in there.” Eddie leaned weight against Nicholas’s neck. He coughed, nearly choking. “What you want here, Mars man?”
    Nicholas tried to speak, but his voice lay broken like a dish.
    “Nobody can get in that room,” Zak said. “Got some kind of gorilla lock and door on it. We can’t get in, we know you can’t.”
    At last Eddie took his boot off Nicholas’s neck. His relief was short-lived. Eddie kicked him in the head. Darkness closed in like Death’s embrace.
    He awoke and rose to hands and knees. He vomited, adding his bitter bit to the debris and dried puddles scattered the length of the hallway. He felt his head. Having no hair to protect it, his skull had taken a brutal blow. A nut protruded, too sensitive to touch. In time he rose to shaky legs and glanced at the lock. He knew at once it was electronic; he could find a