Free Adrenaline by Bill Eidson Page A

the things she said.
    Geoff looked over at Jansten. The old man was looking up at Harrison still, his face unreadable.
    And then the old man winced.
    Harrison’s wife screamed out, and Geoff looked up to see everything he had worked for fall apart.
    Harrison was slipping.
    His right foot broke free, and then, trying to recover, he jammed his foot hard against smooth rock and shoved his leg out entirely. He screamed, his words incoherent as he hung from one hand—and then he lost that altogether and began sliding down the rockface.
    Dern reached out for him.
    “No, Steve!” Lisa cried.
    Dern caught him by the harness and tried to pull him close, tried to provide with his own body the purchase Harrison so desperately needed. And for a moment, it seemed he had succeeded. Harrison’s downward slide stopped. He tried to find something in the rock, some support. But in his panic, Harrison succeeded only in kicking Dern’s legs free from the rock.
    The two of them began to fall.
    Geoff watched the others around him—even Jansten—throw themselves onto the belay line. Above them, Harrison clung to Dern and their combined weight ripped away the first protection point. The two of them fell a good dozen feet before slamming against the wall. They both came away dazed and bloody, Harrison now hanging on to Steve’s legs.
    “Let it free, let it free,” the guide was calling to the others as he paid out rope, trying to get Dern and Harrison down as fast as possible. Then the guide’s bottom protection broke free. He and Lisa were hauled away from the others up the face themselves, kicking against rock. They quickly let themselves down and paid out more line.
    The last chock broke free just as Dern and Harrison reached the ledge. The two of them slid down the last twenty feet, grabbing for whatever they could. Harrison fought the wall in pure panic; Dern kept his balance and shoved away at the last second so he could roll away from the boulders at the very base.
    Harrison wasn’t so successful. Geoff saw him hit a rock, and his ankle twisted flat in a way nature never intended. There was an audible popping noise, like heavy pottery breaking.
    He screamed like a girl.
    Geoff shook his head. “Shit.”
    Harrison’s wife wrapped her arms around her husband, crying his name. He shoved her aside, and yet, she came back to him.
    Geoff looked around, saw them all staring at him. Dern, his face bloodied and white with anger. Dern’s wife, all of the others. Harrison looking at him through the tears and trying to be manly about the whole thing and failing miserably. He said, “I almost made it, man. I almost made it.”
    “But you didn’t,” Geoff said.
    “Neither did you,” Jansten said. He was smiling coldly, the tough old bastard Geoff had always known. “You’re out, Geoff.”
     
     

 
    Chapter 8
     
     
    Later that day, Carly began her rounds. Out of the Combat Zone, down a few blocks to the bar, and then a turn around Berkeley Street. Back up Commonwealth into the Public Gardens, then back to the bar again.
    Dressed in hot pink, offering love in fifteen-minute increments.
    Most times on that circuit, something happened. She would get a signal, a wave from some guy, and she would service him as he drove around the Garden. Other times, she brought the johns back to the room. That meant more time, more risk, more games from the men, and more money for her. It also meant more conversation, too. Sometimes that was okay. Sometimes she just had a sense a guy was lonely and just wanted to be with somebody. Sometimes a guy had a fun attitude and talked to her as if she was along for the ride too, not just her tits and ass.
    But, all and all, the rides around the Common with her head in some guy’s lap meant the least time for the money and there was something to be said for that.
    Nasty girl, she thought, as she approached the bar and saw herself in the mirrored window. She hated the silly blond wig and skintight bodysuit.