Grip
"Have you been watching movies about Navy Seals all day?" Ben asks, dipping his hand into John's popcorn bowl.
"This is only my third one," John protests "and I'm only halfway through it. I'm trying to figure out what it is about those guys that attracts women."
Ben shakes his head. "John, do you know how stupid that sounds? They carry guns. They take down bad guys. So do you. And you have amazing skills. You fixed the earthquake damage at the big house like nothing ever happened. How many Navy Seals would know how to do that? More to the point, Jessica moved on from a Navy Seal to you. If he was what she wanted, she wouldn't have written her number in your book. She likes you, John Nolan, rookie cop. Don't overthink it. Why don't you turn off that thing and we can go get a pizza? Better yet, ribs. There's a Barbeque Shack that just opened up down the beach. There was a picture of their giant smoker in the lifestyle section of the Times."
John swings his legs over the side of the couch. "I helped build one of those, once. They can turn out some amazing food."
"Great! Then let's see if you're as impressed as the reporter from the paper was."
John can smell the eatery long before he and Ben finish their walk to reach it. It's right on the edge of the sand, and many of the patrons ordering food at the takeout window are in bathing suits. Nolan notices Ben admiring several bikini-clad women.
John can appreciate the aesthetics of the situation but is mind is still firmly on Jessica. He told her she's impressive and he meant it. Agent, then author, consultant - and gorgeous. She touches every base of what a woman could be. How is he going to live up to what she should expect in a man?"
"You want to eat in or take out?" Ben inquires.
"What?"
"Wow! You really still are distracted, and not by the nubile young things showing off their assets. I was asking if you wanted to go inside."
"Yeah, I do," John decides. "I don't need to be reminded of all the young, every-morning-at-the-gym, sun-worshippers."
"I think the lifestyle writer should expand her horizons," Ben declares as he and John make their post-extra-sauce, calorie burn-off hike back to Ben's estate. "I've had much better ribs in Harlem - and in Texas."
"I wouldn't know," John admits, "I've never been to either place. Once Sarah and I were married, I spent most of my time just trying to keep our heads above water and putting away what I could for Henry's college fund. I did scouting expeditions and field trips with Henry, but seeking out the best in barbecue was never on the agenda. The client I helped build the smoker for turned out some excellent brisket but wasn't big on ribs." Some nearby construction catches John's notice. "Looks like another restaurant is trying to grab attention. I can't believe they're allowed to build a sign that high around here. It's going to need to have one heck of a foundation and be braced six ways from Sunday to withstand the breeze off the ocean and whatever storms blow in."
"They must have hit up the city for a variance," Ben speculates. "Having it that high is the only way it could be seen from the freeway."
John stops dead in his tracks, staring upward. "Ben, that scaffolding is all wrong. It will never hold and the guy up there... Sonofabitch! He's hanging on by his fingernails."
Ben pulls out his phone. "I'll call 911. The fire department can get him down."
John shakes his head. "They may not get here in time. Can you feel the wind picking up? That platform is going to be swinging like a pendulum. And if he can't hold on… I'm going up there."
"The way you feel about heights?"
"Since I've been a cop I've had to get past that. If there's a chance I can keep him from falling until help gets here, I've got to try."
John eyes the crossbeams. At least whoever put up the tower holding the sign used rigid triangular construction. He can climb it if he manages to ignore the terror twisting his guts. His full meal of ribs isn't helping any, either. He works his way up as quickly as he can, reminding himself not to look down.
When John reaches the scaffolding, he can tell that it's in even worse shape than he thought. Whoever put it together was either careless, an idiot, or both. The aluminum poles used to construct it are of the wrong grade. There's no way one of them would hold up very long under the weight of a child, let alone a full grown man. The one the hapless workman is clinging to is already bending. John does not doubt that it will give, like an overloaded curtain rod. And the terrified man isn't wearing a safety harness. Of course not. That would be too easy.
Despite the fear rising in his own throat, John leans over the edge. "I'm going to help you, Buddy. What's your name?"
A croaking answer rises to John's ears. "Dudley."
John quashes the cartoonish image that comes to mind and looks around for a secure place to anchor himself. He can use one of the supports for the sign. It will be stable enough, and if he wraps his belt around it to give himself something to hold onto, he should be able to reach out far enough to grasp Dudley's hand. After that, he'll just have to hope that the firefighters arrive fast - preferably with a very long ladder.
John can feel the leather of his belt cutting into his left hand and Dudley's desperate grasp on his right. He can't see his watch, but he's sure that at least five minutes have passed. Maybe not. Time does strange things when you're under the gun. His ears are straining for the sound of a siren, but there is none. Could all the trucks be somewhere else? Maybe they're at a massive fire that would take priority. He doesn't know, and he can't pull out his phone to find out.
Ben's down below. John can't see him from where he's standing, but he knows he's there. He'll have a handle on the situation. He has to.
John has strong hands. He doubts anyone would describe his handshake the way Sean talked about the grip of Jessica's ex, the Navy Seal. But twenty years of hauling lumber and bags of cement will build some muscle. And the training he received at the academy didn't hurt either. When it came to lifting and carrying gear, he was as good as any of the young hotshots - better than a lot of them. He can do this.
He's feeling the strain in his shoulder now, too, the one he injured when a potential suicide pulled him down into an airbag with him. That hurt for days, even if he couldn't admit it to Lucy. He tastes blood as his teeth dig into his lower lip. He pushed through then. He's pushed through a lot of times when the stakes weren't nearly this high.
He needs something - or someone - to focus on. During his hardest times in the past, that was usually Henry. Feeding and clothing his son, making sure he could go to a decent school and had a nice place to live, were a priority that kept him going, even when his business was in the red and he and Sarah were barely speaking.
But Henry is OK now. He has what he needs, and he's thriving, even if Sarah doesn't always approve of her son's coursework. Jessica. John is happy with her, happier than he was with Lucy, more content than he's been in years. She's pure energy, and he can use some of that flowing into his veins right now. He pictures her face, replays her laugh in his mind, visualizes the look in her eyes before she kisses him and the splay of her hair on the pillow after they've made love.
He imagines that he can hear her now, "John the years you've lived have made you stronger - and sexier." A sound from above suddenly drives her voice from John's mind.
John had expected the wail of sirens, but the whup of helicopter blades cuts through the air. A search and rescue unit. He hadn't thought of that, but this close to the ocean it makes more sense than a hook and ladder, or a cherry picker. And helicopters are a lot faster. As it comes closer, he can see someone in a sling, ready to descend.
The pressure on John's hand lessens gradually as a rescuer urges Dudley to let go so that he can be lifted to safety. John watches Dudley ascend before he even looks at his hands. They are numb now, and bruise marks are beginning to appear.
The airborne savior descends again to invite John skyward. Just as well, he's not sure he could climb down again. But it's fine. He never lost his grip. He's no Navy Seal, but he was tough enough when it mattered.