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"Excuse me." McCall stepped in front of D.J. as she made a move toward the door. |
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"What?" D.J. snapped, the constant shout of "Jump! Jump! Jump!" wearing on her nerves. |
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"I've been a crisis counselor for the last five years." |
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"Figures," D.J. muttered. |
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McCall ignored her. "I think maybe I should go up with you. I might be able to help." |
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"Good idea," Lou put in. "Take him up with you, Halloran. Sounds like the boy knows what he's doing." |
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D.J. scowled. "All right. Let's go before the guy decides to follow their orders." She jerked her head toward the crowd. "Instead of mine." |
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They entered the building to the continued chant of, "Jump! Jump! Jump!" |
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As the security guarda young man in his twenties who looked like he played football for the local collegecame toward them, D.J. flashed her badge. |
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"Oh, good. Never thought I'd be glad to see the cops," he said. "I don't know what to do. They keep calling from upstairs, asking for help. I'm just a rent-a-cop, man. I don't know nothin' about jumpers." |
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"Relax," D.J. said. "I'll handle it. Where is he?" |
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"Tenth floor. Office Ten-ten. Department of Revenue. Weird dudes, all of 'em. Suits and ties, brief-cases all the time." The guard followed them as they walked toward the elevators, continuing to talk even when the doors started to slide shut. "I guess this one got sick of auditing people's lives, bein' sus- |
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