The Lift

A short story based on a school project I did a while back. A solid and comfortable way to start writing on this forum. Savage critique valued and welcome.

The Lift

A chill winters breeze gripped the cold concrete of the sidewalk, basking in the orange glow of a streetlamp. Rusted, industrial fencing towered on each side of the road, the walls brown and stained, uncared for. As the light flickered with the icy breeze rocking the lamp post, shadows seemed to dance on the walls, but these shadows were the only things animated in this once thriving business park. Indeed, this place seemed abandoned, and as if it had been for a long time. The cracked stone pavements were towered on each side by warehouses and small, brick garages. Signs were faded and weathered with the passing days, and shutters almost devoid of the grey monotone of the steel that would have once shined in the glow of the light. They were brown now, like the stained buildings, like the patches on the sidewalk, like the dying soil in the plant beds that once bloomed with grass and fauna. At the end of the misshapen path, towering behind a roundabout of broken brick that used to hold a prosperous reception, a high rise reached up into the heavens, almost as worse for wear as the rest of its surroundings. The doors were boarded, most of the windows were smashed, and a baggage trolly lay decomposing at the front of the lobby. A large faded sign adorned the entrance... "Welcome to Pleasure Heights Hotel".

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. Seemingly out of place in such an un-maintained environment, a pair of crisp and polished black Oxfords cut through the serenity of the quiet night like a knife. As they approached the base of the streetlight, it illuminated the face of a man in his early forties, a neat goatee adorning his chin, and long chestnut hair falling haphazardly across a weathered and gaunt face. The man was sharp, dressed in a black Italian business suit, and a collar so rigid on his white shirt it was clear it had been starched the night before. Gold cuff links caught the glint of the lamp as he made his way slowly towards the old hotel, a leather briefcase swaying at his side. One could be forgiven for thinking he was on his way home from an important meeting, or on his way to work, but it had been many years since the now destitute buildings had contributed anything to the economy, and it would be many more years until it would be knocked down and something built in its place. The whole complex was just a blight on the landscape, the smell of sewage rising out from the drainpipes and chemicals from the structures standing like sentinels to his advance. Seemingly unconcerned, he whistled away as he walked past the crumbling roundabout, looking quite at ease as he approached the Hotel. One swift kick from his Oxfords was enough to completely shatter the wooden cover on the door, and he ducked through the frame of broken glass shards before the darkness of its interior shrouded him like a blanket.

There was a muffled bang as he placed his briefcase on a floor of cold tiles, and reached inside the jacket of his suit. A flash of silver moved through the air, and then, there was fire - as he placed a zippo on the head of a large cigar he had retrieved from an inner pocket. Drawing air into the bottom of his lungs, he exhaled in contentment, and waited. From the other side of the room, there came a deep cackle as the shadowy silhouette of a figure began to laugh, taking measured and cautious steps towards the new arrival.
"Mario!" came a mans voice, deep and gravelly through the laughter. "It is good to see you!". The business man started, but then responded with a laugh of his own, as the two men filled the abandoned hall with a sound that had not been heard there in generations.
"Don" he replied, taking another deep drag of his cigar. "It's good to see you arrived on time. How did you know it was me? I can barely see my own hands in here." Another deep cackle came from the darkness, as a muscular man came into the small pool of light cast by the opening Mario had made in the door. His arms bulged from the sides of a stained and shabby grey vest. seemingly unconcerned with the chill of the night, and he stood above Mario by a head or more.
"Only you would light up a cuban like it was a torch my friend." he laughed nostalgically. "Here, lets get a bit more light in here shall we?". Seemingly from nowhere, he withdrew two bottles of clear fluid from his waistline. Taking a deep swig of one, he opened the second and poured it on a strip of cloth he ripped from the bottom of his already tattered vest, and proffered it to Mario, grinning widely in the halfhearted luminescence of the room. Mario stared at it for a second, before withdrawing his Zippo again and setting it alight. Moving gracefully for a man his size, Don quickly stuffed the rag in his drinking bottle and threw it across the room, into a mound of shade, where it exploded in a ball of bright flames. The room was plunged into the bright glare of an inferno that licked at a dusty pile of tables and chairs mounted in one corner of the lobby, in what had once been an ornate stone fountain flowing with clear springs that would have reached almost half a foot into the air, welcome happy travellers and families to their shelter for the night. 
Now it was a fountain of flame, and a crude but effective measure of raising the visibility for a setting in which two old friends could meet. Mario embraced Don briefly, laughing as the room was filled with the crackling of the aftermath from Dons' Molotov hitting the upholstery. "Not bad." he remarked. "Are we all set?".
Immediately the brutish figure of his friend seemed to stiffen, and even his tone seemed a little more harsh as he addressed Mario with an inquisitive tone. "Well they're here." He gestured to Mario's briefcase, propped next to his leg, "Did you bring the goods?". Mario took one last drag of his cigar, expelling a light, wispy cloud into the air before flicking it towards the fire. 
"Of course." he remarked, with a sly grin. "The best." Reaching down, he unclipped the two brass fasteners on his case, revealing several packages sealed with electrical tape inside. "Six bricks of Colombian just like they asked for. They'll be paying through the nose for these". Another laugh erupted from Don as he walked towards the flaming pile of furniture and pulled a half burned table from the side of the well. The wood broke in half as he tugged on one of the legs, and he carried half of it, still burning firefly, to the entrance before barring the entrance with it.

"They're on the fifth floor. The Lift still works." he said, turning to stare at his friend once more. "I hope you're sure about this." Mario, seemingly unconcerned, began pacing towards the other side of the lobby, fumbling at his belt as he went. He pressed the call button as he reached the grated doors of the old elevator, and to his surprise, it lit up with a dim yellow glow at his touch, as gears shrieked and a belt trailed along the shaft behind the door from somewhere above him. "They must have a backup generator" he said, ignoring Dons question. "Odd. I never noticed any light coming from this place when I approached... are you sure they're here all ready?". 
"Of course" Don laughed. "There were Bentleys parked in the lot out back. I got here about half an hour ago. I had the time to do some checking. Wouldn't want to be unprepared." He looked on calmly as the lift grinded to a halt and Mario turned to Don and flashed the coat of his suit open at one side. The grip of a pistol was easily visible, his silver desert eagle polished and gleaming in the light of the fire.
"Never" Mario said wryly, as he turned and entered the elevator. Don stooped to one side of the door, yanking a double barrelled shotgun from a crack in a wall as he joined his friend. "Are you sure about this?" he repeated. "These aren't boys we want to f**k about with." Mario remained silent as Don hit the number five and the doors scraped shut. It was the fourth floor before he responded with a grunt. He seemed calm, but Don couldn't help but notice that his free hand strayed to the side of his suit where his pistol lay concealed, as if to reassure himself. Mario knew Don was right, but at $15,000 a brick, it was a risk worth taking. They would walk away with just under $100,000 if this went right.

Author's Note

TBC