R Is for Ricochet

second survey from that vantage point.
    "Would you hurry up?" I hissed. "Marty could show up any minute, wondering where we went."
    She pushed the chair back and leaned down so she could examine the underside of his desk. She extended her hand, almost to the length of her arm. I wasn't sure what she'd discovered and I didn't care to be a witness. I stepped out into the hall and looked toward the reception area. So far no Marty. Idly I noted the fact that the paintings were graduated in size with the largest near the elevators and the smaller ones, in diminishing proportions back here. From the viewpoint of a visitor, the effect would be to create the illusion of corridors much longer than they were – an amusing trompe 1'oeil effect.
    Reba emerged from Beck's office and grabbed me by the elbow, steering me toward the wide stairs that led up to the roof.
    "What's up there besides the roof garden?"
    "That's why we're going up – because we don't know," she said. She took the steps two at a time and I kept pace with her. A glass door at the top opened into a fully landscaped garden: trees, shrubs, and flower beds separated by gravel paths that meandered out of sight. Landscape lighting made the whole of it glow. Chairs and umbrella-shaded tables were placed in assorted patios that were dotted throughout. A four-foot wall encircled the perimeter with dazzling city views in all directions.
    Central to the garden was what looked like a gardener's cottage, the exterior encompassed by trellises on which gaudy passionflower vines wound up and across, thick with purple blossoms. There was a sign half-concealed in the profusion of greenery. Curious, I pulled the foliage aside.
    "What is it?" she asked.
    "'Danger. High Voltage.' There's a phone number for the building supervisor if work needs to be done. Must be a transformer or maybe part of the electrical service. Who knows? I guess it could be housing for the elevators, along with central heating and air conditioning. You have to put stuff like that somewhere." The little building seemed to hum in a way that suggested you'd be fried to a crisp if you made one wrong move.
    From the stairway, Marty called up to us. "Hey, Reba?"
    "Up here."
    "I don't mean to rush you, but we ought to get going. Beck doesn't like strangers on the premises."
    "I'm hardly a stranger, Marty. I'm his favorite screw."
    "Yeah, well, he'll be pissed anyway and take it out on me."
    "No problem. We're ready anytime you are," she said, and then to me: "Take your car keys and wallet out of your shoulder bag and leave it behind that thing."
    "My bag? I'm not going to leave my shoulder bag. Are you nuts?"
    "Do it."
    Marty appeared at the top of the stairs, apparently not trusting us to come down the stairs on our own. He leaned against the stair rail, his breathing stertorous from the climb. Reba crossed to the landing and linked her arm into his, turning to admire the mountains visible in the distance. "What a view! Perfect setting for an office party."
    Marty took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, which was glistening with perspiration. "We haven't done that so far. Good weather, the gals eat their lunch out here and grab a little sun. Bad days, they use the break room like they did at the old place, only this one's fancier."
    "The break room? I didn't see that."
    "I can show you on the way out."
    Reba turned to me. "Everything okay?"
    "Right behind you," I said.
    The two started down the stairs. Grousing to myself, I'd done as she'd instructed, removing my keys and wallet from my bag, which I shoved behind a big potted ficus tree. I hoped she knew what she was doing because I sure as shit didn't. Looking back wistfully, I moved toward the stairs.
    I caught up with them in what looked like a midsize kitchen. Sink, dishwasher, two microwaves, a side-by-side refrigerator-freezer, and two vending machines, one with soft drinks, the other with candy bars, potato chips, peanut butter crackers, cookies, packages of nuts, and other fatty snacks. There was a large table in the center of the room surrounded by chairs.
    "Is this great?" she said.
    I said, "Swell."
    "You ready?" Marty asked me.
    "Sure. I'm fine. It's been fun."
    "Good. Let me get my briefcase and I can lock up."
    The three of us proceeded down the hall toward the elevators. As Marty passed his office, he ducked out of sight and reappeared with his briefcase. Reba leaned around the door frame. "Nice office. Did you do this yourself?"
    "Oh god,