“I will decide what to grab and when!” Rixey replies “SOMEONE is going to be held accountable for this malfeasance! Maybe it will be you.”
“Accountable? Malfeasance? Get over yourself! If you go in like that, we’ll block your access to my Uncle’s safe room. Right Arkaby?” “Um.”
“Arkaby?” In every case there comes a moment when you find yourself standing at the fulcrum of a decision point; a moment of hard choices.
“Arkaby?” Everything that happens from that point will be irrevocably determined in an instant. Your hopes, your dreams, your immortal soul.
“Arkaby!” On the one hand, the boss I detest is appropriately demanding access to the scene of the crime to bring a perpetrator to justice.
“ARKABY!” On the other hand, the woman I love is intent on protecting her father’s twin from consequences of his own worst inclinations.
“ARKABY!!” “No need to shout. Before anyone grabs anything or anybody, let’s find Farley’s safe room.” The Concierge says “Ah! Here we are.”
We stand before a large metal door with no handle or obvious opening mechanism. Rixey says “This is the safe room? How do you open it?”
The Concierge says “Only Farley can open this door from inside.” “There’s no way to open it from out here?” “No.” “No other entrance?” “No.”
“No tunnels underneath, airducts overhead or conduits on the side?” “All sealed.” “Can you call Granger and ask him to open up?” “No phone.”
Regi says “Arkaby, I didn’t see this door when we were here before.” “It must slide into the wall. It was open when your Uncle took us in.”
Rixey paces back and forth. “There must be some way short of explosives to open this door.” The Concierge says “Why don’t you try knocking?”
Rixey walks up to the door and pounds on it with his fist. No response. He says to one cop “Give me your club.” He knocks again. Nothing.
“We’ll have to blast it open.” The Concierge says “You can’t. It’s a blast-proof door.” “Blast proof? Who has a personal blast-proof door?”
“In this case Farley Granger. It cost us a fortune to install it. You couldn’t afford to blast it down.” “Sure I could.” “No, you couldn’t.”
I say “Listen to him. He bills at hospital rates.” Rixey and the police exchange glances. “We’re not leaving until you open this door.”
Regi says “We can’t have that.” She goes up and slides the blast door to her left. “That wasn’t so hard.” Another door appears behind it.
“Damn! This is the door I remember. Farley locked and bolted it when we left.” Rixey says “Can you open it?” “I can’t. It’s really locked.”
Regi jiggles the door handle which remains unyielding. “Should I knock again?” “Don’t bother.” Rixey turns to his cops. “Break it down.”
The cops look at each other. One says “Break it down?” “Yes.” “You want us to break down this door?” “YES!” “We didn’t bring any equipment.”
The other cop says “We can call the Demolition Squad. They have surplus Pentagon stuff they could bring.” “Just break it down yourselves!”
(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)