Miles for Love Series Box Set, page 126
“Which one?” the person who I’ll assume is Ned, says.
She removes her sunglasses and hooks them on the neck of her jacket, as she scans the panel for a number. “Six.” There is a vague but noticeable bruise on the side of her face by her temple.
“Copy.”
She waits. The elevator door is open, and I’m assuming it won’t close without the code. My guitar is set on the floor, propped up against my leg. Neal and I are looking at each other, unimpressed, until she speaks again.
“Ned?”
“Err…hang on.”
“You got a spliff, man?” Neal says to me.
I wave him off. “Shut the fuck up, man.” I mouth to him, eying our security person.
He shrugs, unimpressed, bored. A long sigh before Ned comes back on again.
“Trying to locate the code. Sit tight.” Ned says.
Michelle, clearly agitated, draws in a deep breath. Her cheeks look flushed, which would be understandable given her attire. She’s dressed for winter temperatures, when it’s pushing one hundred degrees outside. Crouching down, she opens a tiny metal door just above the floor. Inside is a small receiver. She lifts the receiver and waits. When nothing happens, she shakes her head. “Sorry guys. Looks like someone is getting fired today.” She says, clearly pissed off. “You would think that with bands of your caliber paying homage here, that they would at least have the codes to the service elevators handy. This is bullshit.”
“Don’t sweat it.” I say, feeling her annoyance. There’s nothing worse than people who are unprepared.
“I know how to program this thing if needed.” She says, nodding at me. “I’ll need Ned’s help though, and I’m not sure of his level of competence.”
“Do what you need to do, man.” Neal says. “I need to piss like a fucking racehorse.”
“I’ll have you loose in five minutes tops. I promise.” She says, pulling a screwdriver out of her back pocket. Sliding it inside one of the screws on the side of the panel, she twists it until it’s wobbly, and she grabs it, places it in her jacket pocket, and repeats the process for the other three.
“Ned to Michelle.” The radio squawks.
She lifts the radio to her lips. “Go ahead.”
“We’re still trying to locate the elevator codes.”
A short, impatient sigh. “Forget the codes. I’m taking the panel off. Walk me through the wire patterns. I’m assuming you at least have those.”
“Err…yeah. Right here in front of me.”
She releases the call knob. “Thank Christ.” She mutters, before speaking to Ned again. “Alright, I’m ready.”
Neal raises a hand. “Wait a second…this elevator’s not going to like, trap us in here, is it?”
Michelle shakes her head. “Hold tight, Ned.” She says into the speaker first, before addressing Neal. “Elevator codes are usually under lock and key, especially when a building is under lockdown, so I can bypass the code by matching the proper wires so the elevator will move. We wouldn’t have to use the elevator if the dressing room wasn’t on the main floor, which isn’t secured. I’ve been instructed to take you upstairs to an alternate room that isn’t accessible to anyone from the main floor.”
“How the fuck do you know all this?” Danny says, wincing, like he’s got zero confidence.
“My father is an elevator repair man. I learned all this stuff after I learned how to walk.”
“Isn’t there a key for this?” Ivan asks, clearly nervous.
“Only a master key, and only the elevator company has one.” Michelle explains before addressing Ned again. “Okay, go on.”
Neal rakes a hand through his hair, as all four of us watch Michelle place her radio on the floor, and manipulate the wires. “Okay, baby, find my sweet spot.” She murmurs to herself, as Ned calls off coordinates.
My eyes bulge, and Neal snickers behind his hand.
“Higher. That’s it. Keep going.” She encourages. Danny makes a lewd gesture with his pelvis and I swat him off. “Bring me home…that’s it. Oh, yes…almost there.” She whispers, and I can’t stop the smile from forming on my face. Her tongue is poking out from the side of her mouth. Ivan sticks his tongue out, mirroring her, only he adds a lewd gesture to the motion, too.
Sighing, I watch her clip something onto a wire, and the door closes, startling me. Moving my guitar over slightly, I move in closer to the guys. Michelle peels off her jacket, and lays it on the floor beside the radio, and I can’t help but size her up. Underneath is a ‘Storm’ t-shirt, and a pair of black pants that look like they’re made from flame-retardant material. You could bounce a tennis ball off her ass it’s so tight. Her hair travels all the way down her back, snaking down to the crack of her ass.
Danny gets a hard-on just looking at her. I can tell because he untucks his shirt, laying it on the front of his pants, like an apron. This is a gesture I’m used to seeing whenever groupies or hot chicks come near him. He tries to act all cool, but I can see right through him. He clears his throat and lifts his chin to her. “So, what now? You got the door closed.”
Michelle ignores him, and takes the radio in her hand, speaking into it. “Ned, what floor is the secondary room located on?”
“Um…three.”
“Has it been secured?”
“Errr…no.”
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, biting her lip in frustration. He continues. “The band’s road manager is arranging sound checks. They should be going there first.” Ned says.
“I have the band here, Ned.” She says through gritted teeth. “In the elevator.”
Is this guy for real?
She’s exasperated. “Is there someone else I can speak with?” her head shakes slowly, as she punches the number three on the panel, and we start to move.
“All hands are on deck, sweetheart.” Ned chuckles, and I feel my fists ball up.
“I have no back-up here, Ned, and I have to go secure an area, leaving my post. Is there someone else I can speak with? Where the hell is their road manager?”
“I told you, he’s arranging sound checks, babe.”
“What about the manager?”
I lift a finger, shaking my head. “He’s back in Florida. He’s not here.”
She purses her lips, and then shakes her head again, before speaking into the walkie talkie. “Ned, I need you to find those codes while I deliver the band to the third floor. The elevator’s innards look like spaghetti right now.”
“I’ll do what I can.” He says and then goes off.
“Fucking idiot.” She says under her breath as we reach the third floor. Of course, the door does not open, as I suspected.
“Are you able to open it?” I ask. I can see Neal squirming with his full bladder.
The screwdriver that she used to unhinge the screws on the panel, she pulls out of her back pocket, and she walks closer to me. “Sorry, Mr. Nestor, can you kindly squeeze over a little?” she asks.
“Oh…sure.” I grunt, picking my guitar up off my leg, and sliding over. “You can call me Billy, by the way.” I say casually. Hearing me being called ‘Mister Nestor’, I look around, thinking my dad is here.
She smiles slightly but she doesn’t look at me, as she’s too busy prying the door open by sticking the screwdriver inside the tiny gap between the rubber on the door and the metal jam. It opens as soon as she applies enough pressure to it. When the door is open all the way, she slides the screwdriver in expertly, under the rubber, and clips the radio back onto her belt. “Please stay here while I secure the area. If there is any trouble, just yell, okay? I’ll be two minutes, tops.”
I nod.
“Any longer than that and I’m pissing down the elevator shaft.” Neal says, and I know that he isn’t joking even a little bit. He’ll do it.
“I promise I’ll be two minutes.” She nods, and then she turns and takes off at lightning speed, running down the hallway.
“Fucking ridiculous.” Neal spits. “This is the worst day ever.”
“Take it easy. We’re almost there.” I say.
“You see the ass on that chick?” Danny says. “I’d love to take a bite out of it.”
“You can fuck her later, man. If she’s into it.” Ivan says. “Something tells me she won’t be, though. Seems dyke-like if you ask me.”
“Just because a chick doesn’t crawl all over you doesn’t mean she’s a dyke, fuck head.” Neal says.
“Man, I hear California chicks are so fucking hot.” Ivan says. “Florida chicks back home are cool, too, but I hear the ones in California are cool and easy, too.”
“Where’d you hear that, Penthouse?” Neal teases.
“Fuck you. We’ll see.”
We hear fast footsteps approach, rubber on the polished linoleum underfoot, it almost sounds like a basketball match is about to start as we see her face appear in the door. Michelle is very winded, completely out of breath, so much so that she can barely speak. Placing her hand on the rubber part of the door, she leans, trying to catch her breath, and I notice that there is blood trickling down her arm. “Okay. It’s safe.” She manages.
“Your hand is bleeding.” I say, motioning to her bloody appendage.
She ignores me, but reaches into her pocket, taking out a tattered bunch of tissues, grasping them in her injured hand, as she grabs her jacket and ties it around her waist, trying to avoid getting blood on it. As her chest heaves, my eyes go to her breasts, and I avert them, but I notice that the other guys are looking, too. Ample chest, this girl is hot. “Follow me.” she says, still breathless.
“How did you cut your hand?” I ask, a little concerned, since the wound has already soaked through the tissue.
Ned squawks on the radio that he has found the codes. “Fucking figures.” She mutters to herself but declines a response to him.
As we follow her down a hallway that resembles a school locker area, I repeat my question. “How did you hurt your hand?”
For the first time, she looks at me. Her smile could light up the night sky as she says. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Chapter 2
Michelle
The sweat beading on my back is beginning to trickle down, but I try to ignore the sensation, and focus on getting the band to their dressing room in one piece, and before Mr. Bush decides to whiz on one of the walls leading to the room. Hopefully there is a washroom inside the dressing room, and I pray to God that the staff here were at least competent enough to clean it after the last band was here. As we find the room, I realize that it is a makeshift dressing room, with literally nothing in it other than a couple of wooden benches and some hooks on the walls. The painted brick resembles an old library.
“Sorry, guys. Snake must have the other dressing room.” It looks like an old utility room for the maintenance staff. Smells like it, too. At least there is a tiny two-piece bathroom, which I can see from here. It looks visibly clean, even though it’s so old, I swear I can see a cord hanging overhead, like a water closet.
“That’s cool. When are the roadies bringing our shit up?” Neal asks, eying the bathroom. He walks in, unzips, and begins peeing, while still addressing me, having no regard for the fact that his dick is hanging out for the world to see.
I have the grace to turn away. “I’ll find out for you.” I answer, pulling the radio from the clip of my pants. “Michelle to Ned.”
“Go ahead.”
“When is Storm’s stuff coming upstairs?”
Long pause. “I’ll find out.” I place the radio back on my belt.
Billy, or Mr. Nestor, walks over to a shelving unit, which holds various industrial cleaning products, and pulls a long sheet of paper towel from the roll. He walks over to me, and without permission, simply pulls my bleeding hand up, wrapping the towel around it. “So, are you going to tell me how you did this? Or do I have to guess?” he asks. The tone in his voice reminds me of when my dad used to address me as a child, when I did something I shouldn’t have done, and he wanted the truth.
“There was a long piece of metal sheeting covering a window that I had to move, so I could see out the window.” I explain, as he applies pressure to my hand. “Didn’t realize said metal had a sharp edge.”
“Had a tetanus shot recently?” he asks. How the hell does he know about having a tetanus shot?
“I’m former military. So, yeah.”
He ignores my statement and pulls the paper towel away when it’s sufficiently soaked with blood. He looks at the wound and seems almost impressed by it. “Fuck me…that’s going to need stitches.”
“Oh yeah?” Danny comments, coming to take a look. Suddenly, my bloody hand is more interesting to them than the fact that there is a bank robber on the loose, their clothes and belongings are in limbo, and for all intents and purposes, they’ve been handled like a bag of dog shit coming to perform at this venue.
“Fucking nice.” Danny smiles. “Did it hurt?”
“Not as much as getting shot did.” I guffaw.
“Really? You got shot?” Danny is about to burst.
I smile. I don’t think I’ve ever had this much male attention before in my life. Men usually ignore me. And military men are trained to focus. “That’s how I got discharged from combat.” I answer.
Ivan joins in on the charade. “Did you ever shoot anyone?”
I nod. “Yes.” I hesitate. “It’s not something I’m proud of, but it was either shoot or be shot.”
Neal flushes the toilet and primps himself in the grimy mirror above the sink. “Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Did you kill anyone?” Ivan asks.
“Probably. But it’s not something that you keep count of when you’re in a battle zone. Generally, you’re more interested in getting out alive than keeping score.”
The radio squawks. “Ned to Michelle.”
My right hand, the injured one, is still being tended to by Billy. I look at him. “I need my hand.” Since the radio is clipped to the right side of my pants.
Unceremoniously, he takes the radio from the clip, and presses the call button. “This is Billy Nestor. Michelle is indisposed. Can you tell us when the fuck our stuff is coming upstairs?”
My eyes are bulging, but he’s so impressed with himself.
“Mister Nestor, sir…err…yes, it’s on the way, sir. I’m helping to deliver it myself, sir.” He sputters. I can’t help the small chuckle, even though I try in vain to conceal it.
Mister Nestor gives me a wink as he clips the radio back on my pants. “Seemed like he needed to be brought down a fucking peg or two if you ask me.”
“Well, that fixed him, I’m sure.” I chuckle.
“You better let your boss…whoever that is…know that you need stitches.” He advises.
“My boss would be Mister Fader, your road manager. And I’m sure that I have no hope in hell of getting him to take me to the hospital. Plus, we’re in lockdown, so technically nobody is allowed to leave this building. That includes me.”
“So, what, are you just going to fucking bleed to death?” Ivan asks, clearly pissed off.
“Any of you have a sewing kit handy?” I ask.
“What, are you going to do it yourself?” Mister Nestor asks.
“Um, Mister Nestor, do you think that when you’re getting shot at in combat, that they hold everything so that you can go get a couple of stitches? Like some kind of video game?”
“Would you stop calling me Mister Nestor? Fuck, I feel like I’m a hundred years old when you do that.”
I shrug. “Sorry.”
“There’s a sewing kit with our shit.” Neal volunteers. “Are you…seriously…going to stitch yourself up?”
“Fuck, this I gotta see.” Danny is so proud. His smile is so bright, it’s like he’s just been offered a front row seat at an XXX movie. “How are you going to like…prevent infection and shit?”
“Well, I’m sure that you guys have hooch on the premises somewhere, right?”
“You’re not serious.” Ivan says.
“How else? Unless, in this shit pit, that they have some rubbing alcohol or peroxide around.”
Danny immediately rises and starts looking. Ivan rises, too, and helps. I’m not sure what they’re more concerned with: the fact that I’m about to perform a home-stitching on myself, or that I’ve threatened to take a couple of ounces from their stash, which I’m sure is plentiful.
“How the fuck is that dickwad going to get upstairs?” Billy asks. “Isn’t the elevator fucked?”
“He can use one of the other service elevators. Or he can huff it up the stairwell.”
“Why couldn’t we use the stairwell? Why did we have to jump through hoops and shit to use the elevator?”
“Because there are emergency exits on every floor, including leading outside. It’s standard protocol.”
“But we’re in a lockdown. Shouldn’t the elevators not be in use?” Neal asks.
“You’re thinking of when there’s a fire. That’s the only time that it’s unsafe to use an elevator.” I explain. “Or if there’s a bomb threat.”
“Fuck, don’t even talk about that kind of shit.” Danny says, raking a hand through his hair, just as we hear footsteps in the hallway.
“That must be our stuff.”
“Yeah, just sit tight. I’ll go check it out just in case.” I say, putting my security hat back on. I lift my hand from Billy’s, leaving the paper towel wrapped around it. Taking a handful of paces, I reach the door, and I open it, to see that, yes, in fact, the band’s belongings are being hauled through the hallway. Trunks, suitcases, you name it, it’s there. Some of it is on a metal cart with wheels, and some is being hand-balmed by a guy that is shorter than me.
Short guy addresses me. “You Michelle?”
