Lisa Black - Takeover

“No, no. I just have a situation at work.”

“Don’t give me that shit!”

“Language,” Theresa said automatically, but didn’t blame her. Her daughter had just walked into her own personal Twilight Zone, and they both knew it. Theresa didn’t take her sight off of Lucas, hovering beyond the door. “I have to go. But I love you, Rachael. No matter what, I love you more than anything.”

The last thing she heard before flipping the phone shut was her daughter screaming. “Mom-”

Theresa pushed the “power” button.

She had just terrorized her daughter and might render her motherless before the day was out, and all to save her boyfriend. Looked like the Mother of the Year award would slip through her fingers once more.

To her surprise, Lucas asked, “Are you okay?”

Make your decision.

Then stick to it.

“Keys,” she reminded him, making them jangle for emphasis.

“You stay right where you are. You don’t move, you don’t drop those keys for nothing, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you got a deal. Don’t move.”

She saw the shadowy figure retreat, listened to the bottom tones of a conversation. She heard Lucas say, “I don’t care!” but everything else was unintelligible.

Let him still be able to walk, she thought.

Where was Rachael? She had to be in school, probably in lunch period. Was she screaming at the phone now, demanding that her mother answer her? She’d probably call her grandmother next. Who was sixty-four. With a bad mitral valve.

I may have just destroyed every member of my family.

Paul appeared in the doorway, with the black man in the uniform who had been sitting next to him. Theresa could see why. Paul’s face looked ghost white in the brilliant sun, and he leaned his weight on the other man until they both staggered. The blood-soaked suit coat around his thigh had begun to slip from his hand. They emerged from the door. Usual city noise went on in the surrounding blocks, but this stretch of East Sixth had become as silent as the grave.

Two hostages for one. That’s something, she thought. Cavanaugh should be pleased with that.

Her sweat turned to ice. Paul’s face reflected his bewilderment as his conscious mind receded. He didn’t seem to recognize her at first, but then he stretched out a hand. “Theresa-”

“Step down,” the man told Paul. They had reached the curb.

“Keep walking, baby.” She extended her left arm, and their fingertips met in a touch so light she might have imagined it. Her throat closed up. “Just keep walking.”

The older man tugged at his burden, and they continued their shambling gait across the burning street. She listened to their footsteps, and with each one her heart urged him to take one more.

“Now you come in here,” Lucas ordered her from inside the bank. “ With my keys.”

“I’m going to turn my head to see that he makes it. That’s all-I won’t move anything else.”

“I can just shoot you, you know.”

“Then I drop the keys.” She turned her head, straining her neck, expecting to feel a bullet rip through her heart with every breath. Frank and two other officers emerged from the library building to help the two men, and her spirit lifted a millimeter to hear a siren on the next block. Someone had thought ahead to call an ambulance; maybe Cavanaugh, or Frank.

Her cousin caught her eye over Paul’s shoulder. Shock there, and anger.

“Okay, he’s gone. Now get in here.”

Part One has ended. Time for Part Two.

The light reflected off the glass doors, blinding her, or perhaps the heat had made her faint. If I run, I won’t make it. If I go in, there’s no reason to assume he’ ll kill me. He has plenty of other people to shoot first, and I brought him his car.

Make your decision. Then stick to it.

Slowly, hands still up, she moved toward the door.

Her traitorous body longed for the marble lobby-anything to escape the sun. With its blinding rays blocked from her eyes, she saw him. His skin, the color of caramel, had become shiny with beads of sweat just under the ball cap. He had slender lips and a wiry frame. “You wanted in here awful bad.”

“No,” she corrected him. “I wanted him out of here awful bad.”

He appraised her with light brown eyes. “Hope he was worth it.”

So do I, she found herself thinking. Would Rachael think so? Would her mother?

Up four or five marble steps, she saw the lobby, saw the terrified people cowering in front of the information desk. Saw the pool of red liquid that Paul had left, in a large puddle and then a heavy trail to the door, his living tissue, his lifeblood. The thought of stepping in it… She jumped away with a shudder.

“Give me the keys,” Lucas snapped. “And don’t pass out on me neither.”

She held them out for him to snatch.

He eyed her trousers, the clinging silk blouse. “I’m guessing you’re not hiding anything in there.”

“I’m not a cop. I don’t carry a gun.” The other hostages watched, wide-eyed, except for Brad, who did not look up from Paul’s blood.

“What are you, then?”

“I’m a forensic scientist.”

The lines on his face wrinkled as he broke into a laugh. “A freakin’ scientist. Okay, ma’am, welcome to the club. The hostage club.”

The automatic rifle dipped toward the floor. Her hands began to sink as well.

“However.”

She froze, hands splayed at hip level.

“I obviously screwed up with that guy you just sent out of here, and I’m not big on making the same mistake twice. No excuse for it, my mother used to say. So I’m going to have to pat you down. Be assured I’ll do so with regret as well as the utmost respect.”

She blinked at him.

“That means stand still. Very still, because Bobby over there has you covered. Got it?”

She nodded. Bobby peeked from around the corner, gun at the ready.

He came closer. She could smell aftershave mixed with sweat, as well as a sour, oily smell, perhaps gun lubricant. It felt odd to have a strange man’s hand passing over her body, but he went lightly and quickly and didn’t linger. He took her cell phone and stuffed it into his back pocket.

“Okay. That’s cool. I was lying a little bit, though-I don’t regret it. Now have a seat with the rest of the group over here, and we’ll proceed.”

She headed for Mrs. Ludlow and the little boy. She could not force herself to take Paul’s place, to sit by his blood while it dried to black.

The phone on the reception desk rang.

“That’s probably that negotiator dude. Can’t get rid of him.” Lucas snatched up the receiver. “Thanks for calling, Chris, but I really don’t need you anymore. I’ve got my car, I’ve got my posse, and we’re going to be leaving now.” He listened. “She’s fine… Why?… Yeah, but why?… I’m putting you on speaker.”

He turned. “Are you Theresa?”

She had stopped her motion toward the desk, afraid to move while he’d been distracted by the call, afraid to startle him. “Yes.”

“He wants you to get on the phone.” She knew what he would say. “No. I don’t want to talk to him.” “I don’t really care what you want, ma’am. Get over here.” She began to shake, coming down from the adrenaline rush.

Hadn’t she been through enough today? “No. He’ll yell at me.” “You’re lucky I need a laugh, ma’am, because you’re sure giving me one. But that’s it. Get over here.”

She moved to him, breathing in gasps. The body of the telephone, a black and silver model, perched on the raised ledge of the reception desk. The “in use” light glowed red. Cavanaugh’s voice sounded tinny and much too far away. “Theresa?”