Kingdom

From day one, the Morans were recognized as a family of freaks and oddballs. Mr. Moran, a giant, about six-foot-ten with a flat top haircut, droopy eyes and feet the size of cinder blocks, was known as Frankenstein to the local kids. He picked his nose and ate the boogers, blew loud farts in public, and mumbled to himself constantly as he roamed about in a half-dazed, drag-ass, slow motion shuffle. He had once worked as a subway dispatcher until accidentally putting two express trains on the same track during rush hour, setting them on a potential collision course. Only the fast thinking and quick hands of a coworker saved hundreds, if not thousands, of people from becoming victims of a major disaster that day. Fortunately for the city's subway riders, Mr. Moran was swiftly busted down to platform sweeper, his personnel jacket duly noted, making the possibility of promotion back to the switch room a hopeless fantasy.

Mrs. Moran, a bow-legged, wild-eyed redhead, was about two feet shorter with hairy forearms, and a Bugs Bunny overbite. She had a decent body that she exploited on a delusional scale, often wrapping herself in iridescent hot orange tube tops and skin-tight bright yellow spandex, which shamelessly accentuated her thong panty line. Her make-up was the dictionary definition of overkill, applied with such excess that she usually appeared comical, if not clownish. She spent her days cruising the neighborhood, absently nodding and smiling at no one in particular, while ambushing unsuspecting strangers with pointless conversation that seemed to go on forever. Not long after they moved in, a couple of guys caught her dancing topless at the Blue Orange Bar up on the avenue. Seemingly unaffected by her sudden notoriety, Mrs. Moran continued working there at night until the police closed the place down because the owners were selling drinks to minors.

The Moran's son, Walter, although mentally competent, was an unfortunate casualty of what appeared to be a cruel genetic experiment gone bad. He had his father's flat top skull and oversize feet combined with his mother's diminutive height and color blind approach to wardrobe selection. He wore red and white plaid pants with lime green polo shirts and suspenders to school. He usually had a book in his hand, while most other boys his age were trying to get their hands on girls. As a result, Walter was ostracized by the neighborhood kids, condemned as an outcast, the social equivalent of poison ivy.

Only Marco Rivers, a known psycho and local trouble maker, could attempt to befriend Walter Moran and get away with it.

At fifteen, Marco lived on the streets and rooftops of the Van Der Meer Housing Project. His mother, a perennial welfare cheat and hardcore alcoholic left him alone for weeks at a time while affixing herself to any man who could afford her liquor tab. His father was some one night stand who didn't even know the kid existed. Marco already had a police file jammed with serious misdemeanors, everything from excessive truancy (he had effectively dropped out of school in the sixth grade) to jumping the subway turnstile, shoplifting and unlawful trespass. At his latest court appearance for pulling false fire alarms, the judge told his mother that if they brought him in again, Marco was going off to the Spofford Juvenile Facility until he straightened up. His mother, looking worn out and haggard, aged far beyond her thirty-five years, simply grinned at the judge, and through a hoarse smoker's rasp said, "Go ahead, Holmes. Be my guest."

***

Walter Moran was coming in from the library one day when he saw Marco harassing this girl named Lada who lived across the street. The girl was younger, maybe thirteen or so, cute but stupid, and with a vocabulary like a rap singer. Marco had her in a corner in the lobby and wouldn't let her leave.

"Marco, I ain't fucking around!" Lada shouted. "Let me go!"

"Gimme a kiss and I'll let you go."

"I ain't kissing you. Are you crazy!"

"Here look, I got something I wanna show you."

"No."

"Here, look."

"No!"

"It's a big one. Like a man's." And he started laughing. "Touch it and I'll let you go."

"No, fuck you, Marco, you pervert!"

"Just a quick touch. C'mon."

Seeing no alternative, reluctantly, Lada reached down, closed both eyes, then squeezed him as hard as she could. She yanked on him so forcefully he actually left the ground. Marco screamed a falsetto C note, then howled in pain, curling into a question mark as he dropped to the lobby floor. The girl ran off laughing wildly, flipping him the finger as she disappeared into a grim gauntlet of project buildings across the street.

Marco was still laying there catching his wind when he noticed Walter standing in the doorway, wearing those red and white plaid pants, both hands in his pockets, looking like a midget wrestler.

"Hey, yo! Plaid man?"

Walter glanced over without saying anything.

"You know who I am?" Marco asked.

Walter nodded. He thought Marco looked like a bum with his dirty jeans, muddy sneakers and that faded, worn out leather jacket that he always wore, even in the summer. His dusty brown hair was matted on top, but wild on the sides like a mad scientist. Walter knew who Marco was because he had heard stories, but he had never actually talked to him before. He had always tried to stay clear of people like Marco.

"Got any money?" Marco said.

Walter shook his head, "No."

"Jump up and down."

"What?"

"If I search you, all I find I keep?"

"You ain't searching me, man."

Marco rose from the ground in jerky stages like a malfunctioning escalator, still wincing from the pain that seared through his loins like a hot knife. He noticed that Walter was about four inches shorter, kind of goofy looking but thick, chest muscles like dinner plates, and not the least bit intimidated. Marco tapped Walter's front pocket with his knuckles.

Walter slapped his hand away. Hard.

"I said I ain't got no money," he snapped.

"What's that I felt in there? And don't tell me those are keys."

"It's my mother's money. I had to pay for my overdue library books."

"So, give me a little change, man. She ain't gonna notice."

"No."

"Alright, that's cool. Be like that." Marco stomped away to the other side of the lobby, pretending he was pissed. "Some of us ain't as lucky as you, man. I'm homeless. You know what that is? Of course you don't. You live in luxury here."

"I know what it is."

"You know where I live? I live in the park. You know how cold it gets at night in the park? Of course you don't, you got a nice warm apartment."

"Why do you live in the park?" Walter was curious. He had heard that Marco slept on the rooftops, and in back of the A & P supermarket over on Taylor Street, but he always thought that was just a rumor.

"Because I'm homeless, you idiot."

"Well, why are you homeless?"

"My fucking mother kicked me out."

"Why she do that?" Walter couldn't understand it. He was thinking that even though his own mother was completely off the wall, she'd never kick him out.

"I don't know. Ask her," Marco said with a shrug. Then in a lower voice that underscored his anguish, "if you can find her."

One of the elevator doors opened and a few grown-ups came out yapping their heads off. Marco fell in behind the last guy, mocking his pigeon-toed gait like an annoying street mime. When the group reached the lobby entrance, Marco watched patiently as they filed out, then slammed the door behind them.

"And stay out!"

Walter grinned.

"Old bastards."

Walter began to laugh. Maybe Marco wasn't so bad after all.

"I hate these people," Marco said.

"Me too."

"They're so nosy."

"I know."

"Always calling the cops and getting people in trouble."

"They called the cops on you?"

"Probably. Somebody in this building did."

"How come?"

"I was sleeping on the roof. But, I wasn't hurting nobody, you know?"

"That sucks, man."

"You're telling me. I was minding my own business, man."

Walter started to speak, but paused for a moment, contemplating the wisdom of confiding in Marco. Finally he said, "You know why I don't like these people?"

"Why?" Marco was looking through the lobby window, staring at traffic on the street.

"Because they make fun of my family. The call my dad Frankenstein. Yeah. And they bother my mom too. When we first moved in here, it was bad, man. Real bad. My mom tried to make friends with people but they were so mean to her that she just stopped trying. Even in school, the kids never cut me a break, you know? Always with the name calling and all that stuff."

"Yeah, I know how you feel." Marco massaged his groin while Walter talked. One day he'd run into that stupid girl, Lada, again and when he did, boy would she regret it.

Walter was babbling and rambling, running down the history of his pathetic life. Marco wasn't really listening, just shaking his head in agreement, smiling and nodding like he had a spring in his neck. He was thinking that the kid must have had a few dollars on him if he had to pay a library fine.

"Listen," Marco said suddenly. "I got an idea. You wanna have some fun? Wanna have some real fun and get these people back for all the misery they been causing us?"

"How?"

"Come with me."

Marco opened the door of elevator number one and waited for Walter to follow. When they were inside Marco pushed the button marked "15," the top floor. As the elevator coasted between the second and third floors, Marco jerked the door open, stopping the car with a sharp jolt. He reached into the gap between the wall and the elevator and pulled a lever. The outer door on the third floor opened just enough for him to reach up and pull himself through.

"C'mon, gimme your hands," he said.

Walter reached up, then climbed out with Marco's help. He had expected Marco to drop him, but when he didn't Walter actually smiled, feeling a newfound sense of trust.

"Now comes the fun part." Marco took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around a key. He placed the key across a two pronged electrical connection in the upper corner of the door, creating a full circuit, and the elevator began to move down. When the roof of the elevator was even with the door he removed the key and stopped it.

"C'mon. It's elevator surfing time!"

Marco walked onto the elevator roof. Walter hesitated. It looked dangerous. And dark. He could see a lot of wires and thick black cables. There were three long iron bars welded to the top of the elevator with metal cables attached at both ends. On each wall, left and right, were wrought iron trestles that looked like train tracks. They extended up the full length of the shaft to the top floor. Walter peeked his head inside and looked up. He could see square beams of light angling through small rectangular windows on each floor. A sour, musty aroma like wet newspapers rose from the bottom of the shaft. There was a loud hum and the buzzing whir of gears grinding into motion. He could see elevator number two drifting by in the next shaft, flickering glimmers of light escaping through every pore, as though it was carrying a huge ball of flame. He could hear the voices inside.

"C'mon, man. Don't tell me you're scared?" Marco was sitting on one of the iron roof beams. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. "Close the fucking door and get on already."

Reluctantly, Walter climbed on and released the door. The elevator kicked into motion and they began to rise. Walter could barely see Marco in the darkness, but he could hear him laughing and he could see the red dot glowing at the tip of the cigarette and he smell the smoke which wafted over into his eyes. He could also hear his own heartbeat in his ears because he was nervous and just a little bit scared. Suppose the housing cops showed up and busted them? Suppose his father found out? Suppose something happened and they couldn't get out? All of these thoughts ran through his mind simultaneously.

"Hold onto the big cable in the middle here," Marco said. "And keep your hands away from the sides unless you wanna lose them."

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Walter saw Marco reach back to hit a switch. The elevator came to an abrupt halt.

"Now we wait until somebody gets on."

"What'cha gonna do?"

"You'll see."

Walter laughed. "Hey, you're pretty cool, you know."

"Watch this. You can turn the lights out too." He hit another switch and suddenly the elevator went dark underneath them.

"How did you find out about this?"

Marco didn't respond, just sat there looking at Walter in the darkness like he knew the answer to the riddle of creation. Above them, motors roared in the engine room. In the next shaft, elevator number two sailed by on its way down, en route to the lobby. Marco stood up, holding onto the greasy cables, watching with concentration as it drifted downwards, a square slash of light washing over the gears as it passed the door windows on each floor. He pushed a lever box that was attached to one of the cables, sending their car down as well. Elevator number two stopped on the fourth floor, while Marco and Walter continued to the lobby.

"Get ready. Somebody's getting on."

Through the vent holes in the roof they could see two young girls and an older man positioning themselves inside. There was a sharp jolt as the elevator door closed and the machinery above them began its noisy grind. When they were between the fifth and sixth floors Marco hit the switch and the elevator stopped.

"Hey, what the hell's going on?" the old man said.

"We're stuck!" one of the girls shouted.

They began punching buttons on the console, banging on the elevator door, as if that might somehow force the car to move. One of the girls started screaming. The old man hit the emergency buzzer, which sounded like a loud telephone.

Marco hit the switch and the elevator started up again. Walter covered his mouth as he began laughing uncontrollably. They heard the old man say, "Don't worry, girls. It's okay, probably some kind of electrical short."

Marco hit the switch again. The elevator jerked to a stop.

One of the girls yelled, "Make it stop, it's scaring me!"

"Don't panic, girls." The old man hit the emergency buzzer again, only this time Marco hit the light switch and the elevator went completely dark. Both girls began to cry.

"Aaoooo! AOOOO!" Marco howled.

Walter couldn't control himself, laughing out loud now.

"I'm the ghost of the elevator!"

"You goddam kids, get the hell off there before somebody gets hurt."

"Fuck you, old man. Aaoooo! AOOOOO!"

"Hey, c'mon man," Walter chuckled. "Let them go. The little girls are crying."

"So what, they're assholes."

"C'mon, man. They're just little girls."

Grudgingly, Marco gave in and hit the switch. The old man and the girls got out on the next floor.

"I'm calling the cops, you little bastards!" the old man yelled. "I recognize your voices, and I know your names too!"

"Aw, blow me," Marco said.

The elevator clattered and rattled upwards until it reached the top floor. They could see slivers of sunlight filtering around the edges of a box shaped trap door exit that led to the roof. The elevator was frozen in place. Walter looked over the side at elevator number two in the opposite shaft. It was all the way down on the bottom floor. It looked like a matchbox in perspective with the depth of the elevator shaft. Marco hung from a beam that stretched across the top of the shaft and did some chin-ups with the cigarette clamped between his lips. Walter knew that if the elevator suddenly began to move Marco would be stuck there dangling for his life.

"Hey, get down from that, man!" Walter said.

"Whassamatter, scared?"

"No."

"Ain't nothing to be scared of up here. I'm the king of the elevator! This is my kingdom!"

"How come ain't we moving?"

"We gotta wait for somebody to push a button."

"You can't just push the switch like before?"

"It don't work on the top floor," Marco said. He clicked the switch back and forth a few times for emphasis.

"Suppose nobody pushes the button?" Walter began to worry.

"Somebody'll push," Marco said. He tossed his burning cigarette butt over the side and let it sail down the shaft. "Stop being such a baby."

"You shouldn't have done that. Suppose something down there catches on fire. We'll die up here."

"What's gonna catch on fire, a rat?" Marco laughed. "That's all that's down there. Rats. Big fuckin' rats."

"I wanna get down from here," Walter said.

"Relax already. I was just kidding. There ain't no rats." Marco began to whistle.

"I can't relax. I'm afraid of heights. I wanna get down. I wanna get down now."

"Okay, okay." Marco stepped between the cables and looked over the side into the second shaft. Elevator number two was on the way up. "When the other elevator gets here we'll jump over and go down on that one. Okay?"

Walter shook his head. He wondered what ever made him do this crazy shit in the first place.

The second elevator stopped way down in the shaft around the seventh floor. Then it returned to the lobby. Ten minutes later they were still there waiting. Walter had begun to panic. He felt like they had been there for hours. He started breathing heavy, whimpering like he was getting ready to cry.

"Oh, Jesus," Marco shook his head and laughed. "And I thought you were going to turn out to be a cool guy. You're a friggin' pussy, man."

Walter didn't care what Marco thought. He wanted to get out of there, and that's all that mattered. He wanted to be home and as far away from that idiot Marco as possible.

There was a noise in the shaft as the gears of the second elevator went into action again. Marco glanced over calmly, looking down. The elevator stopped on the fourteenth floor about ten feet down, two feet over. Walter began to wail.

"Listen, we can jump. Just make sure you go on the right side of the cables and everything will be okay. Look at me, it's okay, I've done this a hundred times before."

Walter rose slowly and looked over at the second elevator. He felt like a drowning man staring at a life raft that was just out of reach.

"C'mon, we gotta do it fast before it goes down, otherwise we might be stuck here for the night."

"I-I I'm scared!"

"C'mon, it's easy. Watch."

Walter didn't want Marco to go first because then he'd be up there alone. What if he didn't have the courage to jump? He stepped to the edge and looked down. The distance seemed like forever.

"You want me to go first?" Marco said.

"No. I'll do it. I can do it," Walter said. He wanted to show Marco that he wasn't no pussy. He was a cool guy. And after this, everyone in the entire projects would know that he was a cool guy.

"Go!"

And he jumped.

Marco watched as Walter sailed slightly to the left and landed with a loud thump like big rock landing in mud. The elevator springs creaked from the force of the fall. He was lying face down on the roof, his legs tangled in the cables, arms splayed out to his sides like a scarecrow that had fallen from its post.

"Hey Plaids, you alright down there?"

No answer.

Marco looked down at him for a moment, then realized he wasn't moving. He called the kid's name again, and after a minute or so, he calmly went over and hit the real switch, which set the elevator in motion.

When the two cars were even he stopped, hopped over to elevator number two, and rolled the boy over so that he was on his back. His face was covered with blood, which oozed from a large gash shaped like a red lizard on his forehead. His body felt heavy and limp. He wasn't breathing.

Damn, Marco thought. He didn't even get a chance to scream.

Marco checked the boy's pockets. Four dollars and twelve cents. He got back on top of the other elevator and proceeded to move downwards.

As he came out of the building into a warm burst of sunlight, Marco examined the four crumpled dollar bills. A smile spread on his face when he discovered that one of them was actually a five. He stuffed the money in his pocket, then headed across the street into the projects.