TAKING THE PLUNGE ~ (Part 2 & Last)

by Richard Banks           

         “Watch me go will you. Say a prayer while I'm falling. Can you do that mate?"

Sid replied that he didn't know any prayers. Anyway what good would prayers do if Danny fell on someone and killed them. That wouldn't get him into heaven. It was a pity they weren't on the twentieth floor. From there Danny could see the ground more clearly and aim himself towards an empty space.”

         “But we ain't on the twentieth floor and even if we were the windows don't open. It's now or nothing.”

         Sid hastened to reassure him that this was not the case. “Use the cradle why don't you. It’s all set up for the window cleaners. Go down in that. Once you're on manual you can go up and down as you want. Come on, follow me, I'll show you how it works.”

         Danny did as he was bid and without further encouragement climbed into the cradle that rested on the roof in the shadow of a winch to which it was attached. Setting the cradle free from its mooring Sid lowered it over the side. “Okay son?” Without waiting for a reply he proceeded to condense the induction course for window cleaners into a few well chosen pointers. “Pull that rope to go down and that one for side ways. See that button there? Press it twice and you're on manual. If you keep it that way they can't use the winch to bring you back up. Tell you what, I'll phone up London Radio and tell them what you're up to. There's no point in you taking the plunge if no one knows why you're doing it. Better still, I've got another idea. Hang on there, won't be a tick.”

         Sid hurried off to the storeroom and returned almost immediately with a large tub of paint and a brush. “Here you are. On your way down you can write a few slogans on the side of the building, 'Down with Capitalism', 'Up the workers', that kind of thing. It will take them weeks to scrub it off. That will teach the bastards. Go on my son, pull that rope and you're on your way. That's it, keep it going, you're on your way.”

         Enthused by the inventiveness of his machinations Sid marched with renewed vigour  towards the storeroom and the maintenance lift within. Deactivating the override control he descended uneventfully to terra-firma.

         His departure from the building coincided with Danny's arrival on the 39th floor. Having mastered the down rope he now pulled tentatively on the sideways one and on finding it fulfil its function decided to write his first slogan on the metal panelling that underlined each row of windows. In deference to Sid he daubed 'DOWN WITH CAPITALISM' in large letters that almost halved in size as he endeavoured to squeeze his message into the available space. Having learnt the advantage of shorter, pithy slogans he descended two more floors and wrote 'GLOBAL SUCKS' followed by two exclamation marks. For the first time he was aware that people inside the building were looking out at him, taking photographs, laughing, shouting out things he could not hear. He lowered himself to the next floor where another row of faces seemed equally enthused with what he was doing. In case anyone was unaware of why he was out there he set to work on another slogan that read 'UNFAIR ME SACKED' followed by three exclamation marks. He was debating with himself whether to add a fourth when the approach of a helicopter bearing the distinctive livery of Capital Radio ensured that Danny's protest was now a media event. It hovered in the centre of the square while a man inside took photographs for the station's website. Having maintained their position for several minutes and observed nothing more dramatic than Danny giving them a clenched fist salute they departed back to the station's heliport with a highly coloured account of their observations.

         Danny was about to check the news channels on his mobile when a brief recital of 'All Right Now' by The Free informed him that he had a telephone call. The air waves crackled with an energy he mistook for electricity. He greeted the caller with a brusque, “yeah.”

         “Hi there, is that Danny Barker?” The voice was female and business like.

         Danny responded with another, “yeah.”

         The caller continued. “For the avoidance of doubt are you the Danny Barker in the cradle outside the Global building? Don't answer that Danny. Just give me a wave. My name's Geena Geal. I've got an office on the south side of the square over McDonald's. I'm at a window looking up at you. Can you see me Danny? I'm waving at you. Can you wave back. That's great. It really is you. Good! Now whatever you do don't hang up. I'm your new best friend so listen to what I'm going to say, listen carefully Danny. You and me are going to make a great team. Now, here's the pitch. You've been sacked, you're emotional – I mean who wouldn't be – and you're going to end it all by jumping out of the cradle you're in. How much do you owe Danny, one hundred grand, two hundred, a million? That's peanuts. Stick with me and you'll be back in the black big time. What do you say, Danny? Do I have a yeah?”

         There was a silence for the insertion of Danny's yeah. Instead he asked a question. “Who the hell are you?”

         “I told you, Danny, I'm Geena Geal. I'm a personal representative, a publicist. Kind of like Max Clifford except that I'm better looking and on the right side of prison. You're big news Danny and where there's big news there's big money. Trust me and all your troubles are over. Do we have a deal?”

         “What's in it for you?”

         “Fifteen percent Danny and I don't charge on the first twenty K. How generous is that. Can't believe I'm making you such a great offer and all you got to do is say one little word. I'm waiting Danny. For the second time do we have a deal?”

         Danny considered his options. There were two. He decided to go for the least painful. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

         “That's A star Danny. Great to have you on board. For the record everything we've been saying has been recorded so we now have a verbal contract. But that's good Danny because the next time I phone it will be to tell you about all the lovely money you're earning. Money that's going to set you up for the rest of your life. So no more nonsense about diving, but that's our secret, Danny. Just you and me, no one else must know otherwise you, my friend, will be yesterday's news. This will only work if you can convince everyone watching – and Danny there's going to be millions of them – that you really mean to do it. So look miserable but kind of crazy at the same time. Ever see Jack Nicholson in the Shining? Of course you have. Be like Jack will you; mad eyes, long stares, you know the thing. You're centre stage, Danny. The theatre's filling. Now give them a performance to remember!”

         Danny tried to insert another yeah into the conversation but was too late, Geena had hung up. He peered down at the Square and observed a large gathering of ant size figures. Were they really watching him? The people at the windows were. So, if they wanted a show a show they would have. He lowered himself to the floor below and after subjecting his new audience to a long, menacing stare began writing 'TOO CRAZY TO LIVE'. In order to reinforce this message he turned away from the building and after signalling he was about to jump took off his jacket and allowed it to parachute with unexpected velocity to the ground. For the first time he could hear the voices of the crowd: their cries of horror, a surprised gasp when they realised it was only his jacket, the screams of a few who saw not the jacket but the man himself. For a few seconds there was silence then nervous laughter as the jacket hit a parked car and set off its alarm.

         On the next floor he wrote '666', the number of the Apocalypse and then, as an afterthought 'NOT JUST ME'. He was reprising his stare when the sound of The Free in his trouser pocket alerted him to another call.

         “Geena calling. Is that the crazy guy on the 34th floor who's live on channels 3 and 5? You're doing great Danny, the viewing figures are going through the roof. Now, here's your reward. Zedco are paying thirty grand for an ad on the next floor down. Write their name in mega big letters and follow that with their logo. It's a sort of upside down question mark. If you don't know it Google it but make sure you get it right. Have you got that?”

         “Yeah.”            

         “Good. After that drop down three floors. There's a guy there from the Star who wants to interview you. They're paying fifteen grand, plus another five for a copy of your suicide note. He's already got a copy so don't waste time writing one. It's a photo opportunity too so give him your best crazy stare. Ruffle up your hair, Danny, it's too neat. We need crazy hair to go with your crazy face. Do it now. That's great, Danny. Now two more things before I hang up. One, I've been talking to Global. The bad publicity you've been giving them has sent their share price crashing. They need everyone to know that it's all been a terrible mistake and that you're back on the payroll. They've offered you a pay rise too but I told them to stick it where the sun don't shine.”

         “What?”

         “It isn't enough Danny. You're worth more. I've told them that nothing less than a seat on the board will do. They're thinking it over but they know they don't have a choice. Now last but not least I've had a call from O'Malley the bookmaker. He's taking bets on whether you're going to jump or not but the big money is on the spread betting, mainly on the floor you're going to jump from, but since you tossed your jacket overboard they've also started taking bets on the next thing you'll be throwing out. Most of the money is on you're shirt so throw down a sock or shoe. That way O'Malley cleans up big time and we get fifty grand. Understand?”

         “Yeah.”

         “Good. So it's Zedco first, then interview, then throw down something that's not your shirt. After that there'll be more signs to write but I'll tell you about them later. Got to go, Danny. Speak soon. Bye.”

         Sensing that time was money and that Geena would soon be back on the line with another list of tasks he endeavoured to fulfil his existing commitments with a minimum of delay. In this he was assisted by the newspaper man who after taking Danny's photograph and asking him his name and age declared that he was going to do what Star reporters normally did and make it all up. Ignoring the Company's Chief Executive who had unexpectedly followed the reporter to the same window Danny descended yet another floor for the throwing of what he decided would be his handkerchief. In order to encourage a late run of bets on his shirt he slowly unbuttoned it to the waist before pulling the handkerchief from his trouser pocket. In case anyone mistook this for his shirt he blew his nose on it before sending it floating gently towards the Square where the crowd were resisting the efforts of the police to disperse them. He was treating his audience to another demonic stare when The Free announced the arrival of further instructions.

         “It's me again. Got another deal, Danny. The best yet. A cool million. Now this is what you have to do. Remember what I was saying about the spread betting? Well, O'Malley wants you to jump from the 26^th floor.”

         “What me?”

         “Yes you Danny.”

         “Have you gone crazy?”

         “No Danny, I'm not crazy. It's a good deal. Yes I know it's risky but just think about it. There's a large fountain right below you. You're probably thinking it's no more than the size of a postage stamp but it's at least forty foot across. It's full to the brim, Danny. Splash down in that and you'll have O'Malley's million and the same again in endorsements. This is mega, Danny. It don't get no better.”

         Danny expressed his opinion that jumping from the 26^th  floor was no better than suicide. He was done with that. He would throw his underpants over the side if that raised a few quid but as for jumping, forget it. “Get me more ads to write will you. There's another thirty floors to go. That's got to be worth half a million. Let's stick to that.”

         “Sorry, Danny. That's not an option. If you don't dive O'Malley's set to lose twenty mil. Either you do it or he'll take you out where you are. He's not joking, Danny. There's a man here with a gun big enough to kill an elephant, telescopic sights, the lot. He's taking aim Danny. This time he's only going to shoot the cradle. Hold tight!”

         Danny felt the bullet hit the cradle. He examined the holes defining its arrival and departure.

         “Are you okay, Danny?”

         “Shit! Of course I'm not okay. Have you gone crazy?”

         “It's not me Danny. I told you, it's O'Malley. Now listen Danny. The man's going to shoot again. This time he's aiming to put a bullet six inches from your right ear. He's doing it now, Danny. Don't move. Whatever you do don't.... aahh! Are you okay? Of course you are, you're still standing. You must be okay. Now listen, Danny. You've got no choice. Go down to the 26th floor that's three below where you are now. Jump from there at 12.33. That's four minutes from now. If you don't jump the man will be shooting, to kill. If you try phoning anyone, the police, anyone, he'll shoot. He means it, Danny. If you want to live you're going to have to make the jump. Aim for the fountain. Remember it's a million plus if you make it. Go on Danny, you can do it.”

         Danny returned the phone to his trouser pocket. His head was full of strong emotions that were overwhelming his capacity for rational thought. He had gone from despair to hope, almost euphoria, now he was back where he started, except that he wanted to live. Geena also wanted to live but she was a witness. The man who shot him would surely have to shoot her. He pulled on the rope that took him down to the 26^th. Below him the sun reflected benignly in the clear blue water of the fountain. If he was there in the water, safe and sound, his troubles would be over. Could he make it? It was a chance. What other chance did he have?

         He resolved he would do it well. It was going to take courage, a cool head, but he was equal to the task. He had seen the cliff top divers in Acapulco. For a few moments in time he would be like them: arms and fingers out wide, then pointing down at the target area, head steady, eyes wide open, body and legs in a straight line that must not overbalance. Was there time to undress? He thought not. Time only to kick off his shoes and lean over the side of the cradle so that his body was evenly distributed between cradle and air. Almost without thinking he wriggled his body forward and felt his stomach and hips slip over the side. He was falling now. Like the divers in Acapulco he was calm, in control, focussed on his target, watching it grow ever larger until it seemed impossible to miss. His only fear now was the water itself. He could not swim. After immersion would he float or sink? Another thought told him that drowning was not an issue. Only yesterday he had seen children in the fountain. They hadn't drowned, the water was no higher than their waists. It was okay. He was going to make it. A further thought  otherwise but had no time to pass on its concerns.

         The screams of those who saw him fall were reinforced by the screams of those who kept looking and saw him land. For a few moments the rapid displacement of water upwards, then down obscured the shape within that on landing was pulled back into the air, arms outstretched like a footballer celebrating a goal. Someone shouted that that he was moving, he was alive. The cheers of the crowd were joined by the music of The Free. It was 'All Right Baby, Its All Right Now'. The  lyrics repeated, repeated again, kept on repeating until the expiry of their twenty second time span.

         Unheard by the crowd a single voice requested the caller to leave a message on voice mail. The body in the fountain was lying face down untroubled by the swirl of water that still gave it motion.

         The caller hung up without leaving a message. The crowd fell silent. At 12.34 in Global Square there was nothing more to say.

 

The End.

 

Copyright Richard Banks