The sign reads Danger – Live Explosives. Danny and I ignore it as we duck under the black and yellow Do Not Cross tape and step into the entrance hall, which is deathly quiet now all the tenants have moved out. Tower Block #3 has a bad reputation, even by local standards: muggings, burglaries and all the unsolved murders. It’s a good thing it’s finally being demolished, if you ask me. But not until 2pm this afternoon.
As we enter the lift and the doors close, Danny asks, “How much cash do you think is up there?”
“Dunno,” I say with a shrug. “A million?” Rumor has it that, before he died, the tenant in apartment 10/2 stashed a lottery win in the walls… Or under the floorboards… Or behind the bath… Depends who you ask.
This afternoon those winnings are going to be blown to smithereens. Such a waste.
“I heard it was more like…”
Danny stops dead as the lift grinds to a halt between floors 8 and 9. The ceiling lights flicker madly. I start pressing buttons on the wall, to no effect.
“We’re stuck,” Danny whispers, clearly thinking about 2pm.
There are tools in my backpack – a crowbar and hammer we were going to use on the door of apartment 12. We can pry open the doors or even get out through the ceiling. I tell him to stay calm…
And that’s when something drops onto the lift roof.