The Jumper

Frankie Henderson stood on the ledge and looked down at the street. There was a good sized crowd starting to gather below. The police were keeping the onlookers back as best they could, but the news-vans were starting to arrive, and there was little the police could do to stop them double-parking in the middle of the street.

Mike Sullivan was there because the Networks were there. Cameras and Mike Sullivan went hand-in-hand.

Frankie Henderson was a ninety year old man standing naked not more than fifteen feet off the ground on the second-floor ledge of a rundown tenement building,

Other than Frankie, it was a slow news-day in Tarzana.

Mike Sullivan tugged the bullhorn out of Captain Tetra’s hand.

“This is Michael P. Sullivan of the Tarzana District Attorney’s Office!” said Mike in a voice he had spent countless hours perfecting.

“Hold on!” said Frankie. He seemed to adjust his hearing-aid, and then called down, “Who?”

Mike repeated his name clearly and from his sternum. He took a deep breath. "Listen closely, because I'm only going to tell you once," he said with the utmost bull-horn authority, “Get down off the ledge!”

“What?” said Frankie. He adjusted his hearing-aid again.

“I said, get down off the ledge!”

“No, no! Before that!”

“I said” said Mike Sullivan, “I'm only going to tell you once! Come down from the ledge!"

“I can’t hear a damn word this fool’s saying,” said Frankie, who again began to fiddle with his hearing-aid.

“I said, this is Michael P.--”

Captain Tetra stepped in front of the DA and said softly, “Frankie, get your ass down off there, would you please?”

“Three hots and a cot, right Cap?”

Tetra nodded his head and Frankie began working his way back in through the window.

-300 Words-