Fifteen years ago, I left a man named Dirk suspended two stories above a Charlottesville alley with one shoe, a woman he had met only hours earlier and a restaurant employee smoking beneath them.

It was not particularly kind of me.

The post was called “The Shoe”, and it began with a green suede sneaker I found wedged between two rocks on a beach in Costa Rica. I imagined an elaborate history for it, wrote several thousand words and ended with three that have remained unanswered ever since:

“To Be Continued…”

Apparently, the continuation required a decade and a half.

When we last saw Dirk and Rose, they were hiding on a metal platform above the alley behind Yuan Ho’s Chinese restaurant. A handwritten message inside Dirk’s fortune cookie had said simply:

HELP ME!

Reason had suggested they notify someone qualified to investigate. Curiosity, adrenaline and the sudden confidence that sometimes accompanies the company of an attractive stranger suggested they conduct their own surveillance.

That decision had placed them on the platform.

Dirk’s green suede sneaker had just fallen through the opening and landed in the alley below.

The restaurant employee stepped outside, wearing the same white apron and carrying another cigarette. He struck a match against the brick wall, lit it and inhaled deeply.

He required far fewer than four hundred and twenty opportunities to notice the shoe. It caught his attention during the eleven seconds between his third and fourth drags.

The shoe lay on its side several feet from the door, its white sole facing the brick wall and one lace stretched across the pavement like a question mark that had fallen over. The worker lowered the cigarette from his mouth and stared at it. He looked toward the entrance to the alley, then at the fire escape and finally at the metal platform above him.

Dirk and Rose stood perfectly still. Dirk had one hand wrapped around the railing and the other pressed against the warm brick. His shoeless foot had begun to object to the rusted metal beneath it, but he was afraid that shifting his weight might cause the platform to groan. Rose stood close enough behind him that he could feel her breath against his shoulder.

The worker bent down and picked up the shoe by its heel. He turned it over once, studying it with the puzzled expression of a man trying to understand how a green suede sneaker had fallen from an otherwise empty sky. Then he looked directly at Dirk.

Rose’s fingers tightened around Dirk’s arm.

The worker did not shout or call for anyone inside the restaurant. Instead, he raised one finger to his lips. Before Dirk could decide whether the gesture was comforting or threatening, the man disappeared through the door with the shoe in his hand.

“Was that good?” Rose whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“It didn’t feel good.”

“No,” Dirk said. “But it could have been worse.”

Rose released his arm and looked down at what she was still holding: the printed fortune from her cookie and the handwritten message they had found inside Dirk’s. She folded the two slips together and pushed them into the front pocket of her jeans. The gesture was almost unconscious. She had no idea that before the afternoon ended, one would become evidence and the other would remain a question neither of them could easily answer.

The door opened again less than a minute later. The worker stood just inside, holding the shoe in one hand and motioning urgently with the other. Whatever hesitation he had shown before was gone. He waved them down as though he had been expecting them and they were now late.

The ladder seemed less trustworthy going down than it had going up. Dirk descended first, placing his sock-covered foot carefully on each rung and trying not to imagine the assortment of nails, broken glass and biological hazards waiting in the alley below. Rose followed close behind. When Dirk reached the pavement, the worker handed him the shoe and immediately looked past them toward the mouth of the alley.

“You found the paper,” he said.

Dirk stopped with one foot partly inside the shoe. “What paper?”

The worker’s eyes moved from Dirk to Rose and back again. “In the cookie.”

Neither of them answered.

The man grabbed Dirk by the sleeve and pulled him toward the open door. “You cannot stand here.”

The rear entrance led into a narrow passageway that seemed to contain every smell the restaurant had produced since opening that morning. Cooking oil hung heavily in the air, mixed with soy sauce, bleach, steamed rice and the sour odor of wet cardboard. Plastic buckets and boxes were stacked along one wall, leaving barely enough room for a person to pass without turning sideways. Somewhere nearby, dishes struck one another in quick succession while voices called across the kitchen in a language Dirk could not understand.

The worker closed the door and locked it. “Did anyone see you come back here?”

“No,” Rose said. “Who wrote the note?”

The man hesitated long enough for Dirk to notice. His gaze settled on Rose, perhaps because she had asked the question or perhaps because she appeared more likely to believe the answer.

“A woman. Her name is Elena. She came here for work, but they took her passport. They keep her upstairs when she is not working.”

“Who keeps her?” Dirk asked.

“The men who own this place.”

“Then call the police.”

The worker shook his head. “One of the owners has family with the police. Elena tried before. They brought her back.”

Dirk looked at Rose. The story was possible, which was not the same as saying it was true. A handwritten plea inside a fortune cookie had been disturbing enough when it had no explanation. Now that someone had supplied one, Dirk found himself almost wishing for the mystery again. Mysteries could still become misunderstandings. Explanations demanded decisions.

“How did her note get into my cookie?” he asked.

“She has been putting them in when she can. Most people throw them away or think they are a joke. You came to the back. That is how I knew you found one.”

A door opened at the far end of the passageway. The worker turned sharply toward the sound and pushed Dirk and Rose behind a stack of boxes just as a broad-shouldered man entered the corridor.

From the narrow space between two cartons, Dirk could see only portions of him at first: the sleeve of a gray shirt, one large hand and a polished black shoe. The man stopped so close that Dirk could hear the faint rasp of his breathing. Rose stood behind Dirk with one hand covering her mouth, though whether she was trying to quiet her breathing or contain another question, he could not tell.

The restaurant worker said something in a low voice. The broad man replied with a single sentence, and the worker answered too quickly. A pause followed. Dirk became aware of an unfamiliar ridge pressing against the inside of his right arch. He shifted his foot, producing a soft scrape against the floor.

The broad man stepped toward the boxes.

Before he could take another step, a woman shouted from the kitchen and a metal pan struck the floor. The crash sent a sharp metallic echo through the passageway. The worker moved away immediately, speaking rapidly and drawing the broad man’s attention with him. Their footsteps receded toward the kitchen.

Rose lowered her hand. “We should go.”

“That is the first thing you’ve said in the last ten minutes that makes perfect sense.”

“I mean we should find her.”

Dirk turned as much as the cramped space permitted. “I thought you meant we should leave.”

“If the woman is really here, we cannot walk away.”

“And if she isn’t?”

“Then we leave.”

“That sounds much easier when you say it.”

Rose looked past him toward the corridor. The fear in her face had not disappeared, but something else had settled beside it. Dirk had seen the same expression earlier when she spoke about her father. There are losses that leave people afraid of danger, and there are losses that make inaction seem like the greater danger. Rose had already learned what it was like to stand beside someone she loved and be unable to save him. Dirk suspected that if there were even a possibility that someone could be helped now, she would not be easily persuaded to leave.

A soft knock came from behind the boxes.

A door had been almost completely concealed by the cartons. It had no knob, only a shallow metal handle set into the wood. The knock came again, three quick taps followed by two slower ones.

Dirk moved the uppermost box aside and pulled the door open.

The room beyond was hardly large enough to deserve the name. Shelves filled with bags of rice and canned vegetables occupied most of the space, and a single fluorescent tube flickered overhead. A young woman stood near the rear wall. She wore dark slacks and a white blouse that might once have belonged to a restaurant uniform. One sleeve was torn at the shoulder, a purple bruise darkened her left cheek and her bare feet were tucked close together on the concrete floor.

When she saw Dirk and Rose, she did not rush toward them. She took one frightened step backward.

“Did you find the note?” she asked.

Rose entered first. “Are you Elena?”

The woman nodded, though her attention remained fixed on the open door. “We have to go now. He will come back.”

“Who?”

“The man in the gray shirt.”

Dirk glanced into the passageway. “The large one?”

“He watches me. If he finds you here, he will not let any of us leave.”

She spoke quietly, but her words arrived without hesitation, as though she had repeated them to herself many times. Rose crossed the room and touched her arm. Elena flinched, then seemed to force herself to accept the gesture.

“We can call the police,” Rose said.

“No police. Please. They have already taken me back once.”

The answer matched the worker’s explanation almost perfectly. At the time, Dirk found the agreement reassuring. Later, he would realize that people telling the truth rarely tell it with precisely the same words.

“Is there another way out?” he asked.

Elena pointed to a second door behind the shelving. “It opens onto the upper loading platform. There is a stairway to the next building, then a fire escape into the street. Mateo said he would unlock the gate.”

“Mateo is the man who brought us inside?”

“Yes.”

Dirk looked at the bruise on her face, then at her bare feet. He wondered how long she had been there, how many notes she had hidden in fortune cookies and how many diners had cracked them open, read her plea and dismissed it as someone’s tasteless joke. He also wondered why the soles of her feet looked remarkably clean for someone held above a restaurant storeroom. The thought appeared only briefly before a crash in the corridor crowded it out.

Elena seized Rose’s hand. “He is coming.”

The door behind the shelves opened onto another metal platform, this one broader than the first but in worse condition. It extended across the rear of the restaurant and connected with the neighboring building through a series of steps, ladders and walkways that appeared to have been assembled by several people who had never met or discussed what they were building. Pipes ran along the walls at shoulder height, electrical wires sagged overhead and two stories below them the alley narrowed between dumpsters and stacks of empty cooking-oil containers.

A white refrigerated delivery truck sat backed into the loading area with its rear doors open. It appeared to be waiting for someone to finish unloading it, and the steady rumble of the refrigeration unit mounted above its cab blended naturally with the other mechanical sounds behind the restaurant.

Heat rose from the kitchen vents, carrying the smell of fried onions and something sweet. Dirk followed Rose through the doorway and pulled it closed behind him. The metal beneath his feet shuddered as all three moved across it.

Elena did not behave like a woman unfamiliar with the route. She ducked beneath the first pipe before reaching it, avoided a loose section of grating without looking down and knew that the latch on the next gate had to be lifted before it could be turned. None of this seemed important while Dirk was trying to keep up. He assumed fear had taught her the path. Fear is an efficient instructor, and people held against their will become students of every possible exit.

They had nearly reached the steps leading to the neighboring building when the door behind them burst open.

The broad-shouldered man stood on the platform. His gray shirt was dark beneath the arms, and one hand was inside his jacket.

“Stop!” he shouted.

Elena pulled Rose forward. “Do not listen to him.”

The man shouted again, but his words reached them in pieces through the combined noise of the kitchen vents and the truck’s refrigeration unit. Dirk heard only “stop” and “police,” and the second word sounded enough like “please” that he could not be certain which one the man had said.

The broad man began moving toward them, and the platform complained beneath his weight.

Elena reached the steps first. Instead of descending, she climbed over the railing and onto a narrow ledge running along the neighboring building. Rose followed before Dirk could object. The ledge was perhaps eighteen inches wide and two stories above an assortment of metal trash cans capable of making a fall both fatal and unnecessarily noisy.

“Is there another way?” Dirk asked.

Elena was already moving. “Not anymore.”

Dirk stepped over the railing. The ridge beneath his arch still felt wrong, but he did not dare stop to investigate it. With his back pressed against the brick, he moved sideways behind Rose while trying not to look at the alley below. Several feet ahead, the ledge ended at a rusted fire escape. Between the two was an open space wide enough to require a deliberate step and narrow enough to tempt a careless one.

Elena crossed it easily.

Rose reached the gap and froze. “I cannot do that.”

“Yes, you can,” Dirk told her, although he had no evidence to support the claim.

Elena reached back. “Give me your hand.”

Rose stretched across the gap. Elena caught her wrist and pulled with surprising strength. Rose stumbled onto the fire escape, striking one knee against the railing but remaining upright.

Dirk looked back. The broad man was moving along the ledge much faster than a person of his size had any right to move. Dirk placed one hand against the wall and stepped across. The edge of his shoe slipped against the metal. He recovered, landing hard enough to send pain through his ankle.

The fire escape descended into a fenced courtyard behind the adjoining building. Elena moved quickly down the stairs, occasionally glancing below as though expecting someone to meet them. At the bottom, a chain-link gate blocked the only passage to the street.

She grabbed the lock and pulled. “Mateo was supposed to open this.”

The broad man appeared at the top of the stairs.

Rose searched along the fence. “Can we climb it?”

A coil of barbed wire ran across the top. Dirk was preparing to suggest returning up the fire escape—a plan that offered no advantage except postponing the inevitable—when the gate rattled from the other side.

Mateo stood there with a ring of keys. He tried one, then another, glancing repeatedly toward the stairs. The first key failed. So did the second. The third entered the lock but would not turn.

The broad man descended another flight.

“Hurry,” Elena said.

Mateo selected a fourth key. The lock opened.

Elena pushed through before the gate had swung completely clear. A broken bottle lay just beyond it. She stepped beside the glass, cried out and collapsed against the fence.

“My foot.”

Rose knelt beside her. “You’re bleeding.”

Dirk looked but saw no blood, only a thin red line that might have been a cut or the impression left by the edge of the glass. Elena tried to stand and immediately lowered herself again.

“I cannot run like this.”

Mateo pointed toward the delivery truck waiting at the end of the alley. “We have to reach the truck.”

The broad man was halfway down the final staircase.

Dirk did not think about the shoes for more than a second. He pulled off the one he was wearing, retrieved its partner from his hand and placed both beside Elena.

“They’ll be too large, but they’re better than broken glass.”

She pushed her feet into them and tightened the laces. When she stood, the limp had nearly disappeared.

Mateo grabbed her hand, and they ran toward the truck.

Dirk followed in his socks, discovering immediately that an urban alley contains considerably more texture than anyone wearing shoes has reason to imagine. Rose stayed beside him, favoring the knee she had struck against the railing. Behind them, the gate slammed open.

“Marta!” the broad man shouted.

The woman faltered for half a step before continuing toward the truck. Dirk wondered who Marta was, but there was no time to ask.

Mateo reached the delivery truck first and steadied the woman as she climbed into the cargo area. Instead of following her, he ran around the cab and pulled open the driver’s door.

Dirk was only a few yards behind them when the engine roared and the truck began to move. Rose caught his arm and pulled him away as the rear corner swung toward them.

For a moment, the woman stood framed between the open rear doors, wearing Dirk’s green suede shoes. Her expression had changed. The fear was gone, replaced by something Dirk could not identify from that distance. She held his gaze as the truck gathered speed, then reached for the door.

The last thing he saw was her pulling it closed.

The broad man stopped beside them, bent forward and placed both hands on his knees. He stayed that way until the truck turned out of the alley and disappeared.

Dirk braced himself for whatever came next. The man was larger up close than he had appeared on the platform, with thick forearms and a pale scar along the right side of his jaw. He reached inside his jacket.

Rose stepped between them.

The man withdrew a leather case and opened it. A metal badge reflected the afternoon light.

“Charlottesville Police,” he said. “Are either of you hurt?”

Dirk looked at the badge, then at the empty alley. “You are the police?”

“Yes.”

“Elena said you were guarding her.”

The man straightened slowly.

“Her name isn’t Elena.”

To be continued…

Until next time,
George

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It’s been nearly six months since Selena and I spent our 20th Anniversary in Playa Hermosa in the country of Costa Rica. Someone described Costa Rica as like visiting the Niagara Waterfalls, the Grand Canyon, the Amazon River, and Hawaii all in one place. The dramatic landscape is filled with great variance because it is between two continents and two oceans. This convergence of land and water makes the region a great bottleneck, rich in ecological diversity.

The first full day in Costa Rica was spent where you’d expect – the beach. While at the beach I found this green suede sneaker wedged between two rocks. I’ve often wondered what the story is behind that shoe. Who did it belong to? Where did it hail from? How did it get there? The following paragraphs are my imaginary answers to these questions:

The Shoe:

It’d been a few weeks since he saw Rose who decided the two hour drive from Memphis to her sister’s house in Tupelo wasn’t out of the question. She had just suffered for twenty clicks of the annual marathon sponsored by St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital. Twenty-six point two miles translated into five hours of nothing better to do than reminisce about the events of the last year and search for anything that would remind her why this challenge meant so much. The last time Rose and Mary were together was when their father died eleven months earlier. He was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive form of cancer delivered by a brain tumor; lasting only five of the predicted fourteen weeks. Watching the cancer syphon their father’s life was like watching a cruel wino guzzle a bottle he just stole from the corner liquor store. It would be good to see Mary.

To Dirk, the most striking thing about Rose wasn’t her plenteous beauty but the affectionate, placid way she approached life. It was her mild nature he was uncontrollably gathered to the moment they met at the book store on West Main in downtown Charlottesville. Something from Burke’s seemed appropriate for his soon-to-graduate-from-high-school cousin Mitch whom he remembered being a better than average student. Seeing Rose perusing a library of best-sellers a few aisles over seemed predetermined. It was one of those euphoric moments with rays of light accompanied by a cheery crescendoing chord he was sure everyone in the store saw and heard. However, neither light, music nor other patrons seemed to deter Dirk as a book by John Grisham instantly rose to the top of his list of lame gift ideas. As fate would have it, Dirk just finished his transaction when Rose and he met at the exit of the store.

Offering to get the door for her was something her father would have done for her mother, thought Rose. In an instant, Rose was taken to a surreal place watching her deceased parents interact only to be interrupted as quickly as it began by Dirk’s next words.

“So, you like books?”, a question he immediately regretted. Rose’s giggle seemed to relieve at least some of the pressure caused by his shoe fighting with his tongue for space in his ever narrowing mouth.

“Why would you ask that?”  continuing the giggle…

Relieved that his first question wasn’t ignored altogether and knowing the impasse his previous inquest was about to create, he quickly took a different angle.

“I was hoping to get a present for my cousin who’s graduating next week from high school”, he said wondering if she’d even care.

“And, were you successful?”

“Yes, Grisham’s latest work…”

The fact that John Grisham makes a home in Charlottesville made this gift for Mitch a bit too cliche’ but Dirk didn’t care given his present circumstances.

The conversation remained light and exploratory until Dirk and Rose were suddenly snapped into reality by the loud voice of a tennis coach teaching a group of students at Forest Hills Park some nine or ten blocks away from Burke’s Book Store. Dirk was as surprised as Rose at their current location since neither of them lived in that general direction. In fact, Dirk drove downtown for his graduation shopping trip and was in and out of many of the downtown stores. Rose, on the other hand, lived in an apartment on nearby Church Street within walking distance to her job at Martha Jefferson Hospital, the bookstore and the newly discovered Forest Hills Park.

What was it about Dirk that allowed Rose to walk aimlessly with a perfect stranger to a park she’d never been to before? As the thought was resonating in her mind, Dirk asked if he could buy her lunch. “There’s a quaint Chinese restaurant near the bookstore that I passed while shopping”, he offered. “Do you have time to get something to eat?” Rose was familiar with Yaun Ho Chinese Restaurant and had eaten there before. It was quaint, she was enjoying herself and she was hungry… Within moments they were walking again volleying questions like the tennis ball they’d been watching a few minutes before.

Sitting at the table, Rose couldn’t help but notice the resemblance of some of Dirk’s features compared to her father’s. She missed him. It had been three months since he was laid to rest with full military honors at Morningside Cemetery in Brattleboro, Vermont. It was Dirk’s strong yet seemingly gentle eyes that Rose first noticed as they were exiting Burke’s. Next was his square chin that housed straight white teeth. “Daddy’s eyes and chin…” the thought of which brought her an ever increasing sense of comfort and security; things she’d been missing for a while now. Rose’s probing conversation resembled something less than an interview but something more than just casual interest.  The two shared about their childhood, teenaged and young adult lives until the meal began arriving; first egg drop soup followed by a couple other courses.

After lunch, Dirk quickly snatched up the check and distributed the strangely unwrapped fortune cookies. Scanning the bill gave Rose the permission to open her cookie first. “Do not mistake temptation for opportunity” was the equivalent of a fire hose set on a Weber grill with briquettes barely producing white edges. As they were sharing an awkward and nervous laugh together, Dirk reluctantly began to crack open his light dessert comprised of flour, sugar and vanilla. “How could a perfect morning and seeming perfect afternoon be ruined by six lousy words on a little piece of pink paper?”, thought Dirk.  “Who makes up this stuff anyway?”

The next six letters couldn’t have been more disturbing:  HELP ME!

As confusion was beginning to grip Dirk’s countenance, he passed the feeble paper to Rose who after reading it scanned the restaurant for anyone in a desperate situation or hidden cameras thinking possibility they were on a TV reality show and didn’t know it.

“What do you suppose it means”, Rose whispered?

“I’m not sure. Do you think it’s a joke?”

“Hard to say”, not remembering anything about the waitress that seemed out of place. “Look at this paper…it’s white and the note is hand written. What should we do?”

“I’m not sure right now”, said Dirk. “Let’s get out of here and talk about it outside. We can’t risk anyone overhearing us right now.” Near the exit, Dirk made special notice of the cashier as he paid for lunch wondering if she wrote the note or acted strange in any way. “I’m freaked out”, Rose offered as they quickly scampered away from the regal memory being forged at Yuan Ho’s. The thieving hand written note was about to change their lives in ways they were unprepared for.

Outside the restaurant there was a strange sense of normalcy as they stood on the sidewalk trying to decide which direction to go. The warm, humid air outside mixed with anxious sweat slapped Dirk in the face like a soaked dish towel. Two things kept him from running away; one no more obvious than the other.

“What should we do?”, asked Rose. Hesitating for only a moment Dirk said, “I think we should look around. I’ll explore behind the restaurant in the alley and you stay here. Here is my cell number. What’s yours?” The reality of the situation made him regret asking for Rose’s number that way. “If we see anything strange text me or I’ll text you and we’ll meet again. I’m only going to the back of the building.” The couple exchanged cell numbers and Dirk headed to the alley separating Main Street and Maury Avenue while Rose tried not looking suspicious near the front of the restaurant.

The non-public nature of an alley keeps it dingy. The lack of light, collection of trash and narrow passages are enough to add caution to any one’s momentum. Turning into the alley, Dirk was asking himself, “which one of these is Yuan’s?” Since none of the doors were labeled, he found himself counting spaces and comparing them with his very limited knowledge of the store fronts on the street side. “It’s got to be one of these”, Dirk thought choosing one of three doors.

Finally, Dirk narrowed it down to one door concluding a restaurant would be throwing away food that would be dripping grease and juices on the ground, which would collect more dirt, grim and dust than one discarding non-food items. The path in front of this door was darker presumably from collecting more dirt and grim which seemed to match his conclusion. “This has to be the restaurant, but now what do I do”, Dirk silently asked himself as he noticed a rusty ladder five feet from the ground affixed to the side of the building on the opposite side of the alley. The ladder led to a metal deck about two stories above the restaurant door and could provide a decent vantage point in which to view any suspicious activity. Without a moments hesitation, Dirk used his arms to begin climbing the ladder until his feet touched the bottom rung and quickly approached the deck. Getting onto the platform, he sat down; back against the wall, facing the restaurant door and pulled out his cell phone.

Sending Rose a text, Dirk wrote, “Dirk here. In the alley and found a place to watch from about 2 stories up. What are you doing?” After pushing send on his phone Dirk started noticing other things about the alley that might prove helpful during the stakeout. His platform was just one in this series of platforms and one of several other sets of ladders and platforms throughout the alley on both sides. Also, handle-less metal doors seemed to provide egress onto the platforms but would need to be opened from the inside. As he began wondering what was inside his door, his phone vibrated.  It was Rose.

“I’m scared.  I don’t know what I’m doing.” Dirk responded, “Can you come back here? If so, I’ll meet you on the ground and help you up the ladder.” A few seconds later his phone produced this reply, “OK”. Dirk responded, “I’ll meet you in the alley. Come quickly.”

Within seconds, Dirk was descending from his observation deck. He felt like a fish out of water waiting for Rose who decided running would attract too much unneeded attention. Every second seemed like ten and Dirk struggled to act naturally when someone from the other side of the alley opened their door, emptied the trash and looked suspiciously his way before disappearing through the same door.

Just as Dirk was beginning to wonder what happened to Rose, she approached him from the opposite direction he expected which startled him. Together they approached the ladder and Dirk helped Rose get her foot on the first rung. Hearing Rose climb and making sure the no one was watching them make their way to the platform, Dirk grabbed the ladder and started his ascend.

The haste of the moment robbed Dirk of the opportunity to give Rose instructions about how to actually get onto the deck at the top of the ladder which ended about twelve inches above the surface of the platform. Getting onto the deck proved to be a little tricky for Rose who paused until Dirk was right below her and could tell her what to do. “Just get to the top of the ladder, put your hands onto the deck and pull yourself up.” Rose’s beauty was equalled by her frailty. Her upper body strength was barely sufficient to pull herself through the twenty-eight inch square hole cut into the expanded metal deck.

Just as Rose made it to the platform, Dirk heard someone opening the restaurant door. The only part of his body not frozen were his eyes which he used to watch someone wearing a white apron carry out two loads of trash and smoke a cigarette. Seeing the alley door close gave Dirk permission to break his frozen state. Since Dirk was at the top of the ladder, he pulled himself onto the platform. Using the wall for extra leverage, he clipped his heal on the metal deck while he pulled his leg through the opening which jarred his shoe loose and sent it tumbling to the ground below. In Dirk’s mind, the shoe couldn’t have crashed any slower.  The few choices he had at that instant narrowed to one when the restaurant door opened again leaving Dirk and Rose in frozen animation and exposed.  It was the apron wielding restaurant worker coming out to smoke another cigarette.

It takes the average person seven minutes to finish a cigarette. Considering it would take all of one second for the restaurant worker to notice the shoe, he had about four hundred and twenty opportunities to do so.

To Be Continued…