In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

him? She had to go up. She ran out, but the elevator was already
grinding up. Four flights by the stairs was quicker than waiting for it to
come down again, so she unlocked the door to the ground floor. The
stairs, so rarely used, were gritty and smelled vaguely of motor oil and
that gray industrial paint. The light was dead, but Rodriguez had
mentioned the wiring was iffy these days. Small wonder with all the
rewiring Ng had done. She started up anyway, the narrow beam of her
microlight showing the way, as the wire-reinforced windows were too
grimy to let in anything but a smudgy halo of light. All she heard from
the street was the whoosh of rubber on asphalt. By the top floor, it was
eerily quiet.
Lights glimmered dully through the translucent sheets of glass
that served as room dividers, from the bedroom Blob Lamps and from
the icy glow of the bathroom. In the main room two dim lamps lit the
penumbra; one by the piano, one over the bar. Sandro wouldn't be
there, but someone was. By the window, a man with a drink. It was
Dick straining to see down the street, towards West Broadway. On the
piano bench next to him stacks of manila envelopes were lined up, with
a gaping empty briefcase just below it.
Penny tiptoed on her stealthy Converse soles towards the
laundry room. Good thing Sandro had thought to leave all the doors
open. He sat in the middle of his narrow bed, lit obliquely by the street
light glow, the shards of his lute lined up on his lap. Having not been
up since Ula's big fit, he had no idea that she had taken her revenge on
both Sandro and the world of music in this fashion.
He saw Penny and made room for her beside him, gently
placing the slats of wood in the wastebasket.
"Dick's in there waiting for someone. He's got your taxes out
on the piano bench. Do you know if Ula is still here?" Penny whispered
in his ear.
"Taxes? Pfft. We need to go, but my crucifix is screwed into the
wall. I am such a paranoiac."
Penny climbed up on the bed to check. Wouldn't want that
falling on her sleeping head either. Talk about the wrath of God.
Sitting back next to him she said, "Why do you need this thing?
Just think of all the suffering it's caused. If we try and take it down
now―more suffering! Let it go."
"OK. But the paintings?"
"Fuck, just play it by ear. And the angel has the key code,
remember?"
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