Page 36 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Thrown for a Loss

down escalator that had stopped—a few shoppers were coming up
the other side, looking back with shock and horror on their faces.
About a dozen others were milling around the landing and the railing
of the escalator well, some crying, some staring like vultures at the
victims. A typical accident scene with its survivors. I’ve seen plenty. I
finally got the phone out and called central security. Couldn’t say
much, don’t remember what, and I wasn’t going to waste my breath
on explanations. I needed to maintain order and give assistance
where needed, as the manual says.
“Get away from the escalator!” I commanded. “Stand back!”
They saw my uniform and moved. Slowly, but they moved,
enough for me to get to the landing and see what was going on down
there on the frozen escalator treads. But just as I realized we had a
real mess on our hands, somebody went flashing past me, dropping a
shopping bag and leaping over the plastic advertising placard on the
end of the median between the up and down escalators. It took me
by surprise, a totally unexpected stunt. I thought it was some idiot
high school track star showing off. That strip of metal is not much
more than a foot wide, and it’s studded with knobs to keep the youth
of America from doing exactly what this one was trying to do, run
and jump and slide down a deadly obstacle course. Now I would
have to make an arrest as well as help the paramedics.
“Hey,” I yelled. “Stop!” My flashlight worked very nicely as a club.
That’s how it was designed, dual-purpose. I unsnapped its holster.
The runner somehow made it down to a couple of people almost at
the bottom, vaulting off the rubber handrail to a smooth stop a
couple of treads behind them. Maybe the kid was a gymnast, as well,
I thought. Too bad. He was going to spend the night in jail for
interfering with a licensed security guard. Then he turned to face me
and I had a second shock: the short hair and sweat suit had fooled
me. It was a woman, and not all that young. She couldn’t have been
surprised to see me from the front. I’m big, but I don’t look like a
man from any angle.
“Metro police!” She yelled back at me, and lifted up her sweatshirt
so I could see the badge clipped to her pants. “Call for the medics
while I triage these people!”
I must not have responded fast enough, or maybe my jaw was still
hanging open.

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