Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

“Freddy, this isn’t good. Maybe you should stop now. No one’s been hurt too badly. Maybe we can convince the warden to let bygones be bygones if you let everyone loose.”

“Warden ain’t gonna forgive and forget, are you?” Freddy asked Pulliams. The warden didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought. Nah, Charlie, we’re in this for the long haul. It’ll be freedom or death.”

“I got freedom coming up, Freddy. I’m gonna get paroled real soon. How about letting me walk on this?”

“Can’t do it, bro. You know I ain’t good at expressing myself.”

“You talk fine. You’re a bright guy.”

“Not like you, Charlie. I wouldn’t know the words. I’m gonna need you to talk for me.”

Charlie glanced over at the women. They were terrified. The guard was trying hard to stay cool, but Warden Pulliams was sweating badly. Charlie felt sorry for them. He also felt sorry for himself and pissed off at Freddy for getting him into this mess.

Charlie’s relationship with Freddy was complicated. They were best friends, but Charlie disapproved of almost everything Freddy did. If it weren’t for the bonds they’d forged since childhood, Charlie would have stayed miles from Clayton. Still, there was no denying that he would have been badly injured several times if Freddy hadn’t protected him, so he did owe Freddy for that. If Freddy released him to negotiate he could run, but that would probably mean that the hostages would die or a SWAT team would come in blazing and Freddy would die, and he didn’t want that on his conscience.

“Okay, bro. I’ll help you out here, but you have to promise me that you won’t hurt anyone.”

“Hey, if someone gets out of line, I’ll draw the line.”

“True enough, but I’ll have a hard time selling your program if I can’t assure the negotiators that all of the hostages are unharmed.”

“I see your point.”

“Great. So, what’s your plan?”

This was a difficult question for Freddy to answer, since he had acted on impulse without a strategy.

“Well, we tell the motherfuckers to let us out of here or we kill these motherfuckers.”

“Okay, that’s a start, but where do you want to go once you’re out?”

This was an even tougher question. Freddy hadn’t been too many places besides prison. Then he remembered a television show that had featured a hostage situation.

“A tropical island, man. I want to go to a tropical island. And I want a jet and one million…nah, make it two million dollars.”

Charlie nodded several times. “That sounds doable,” he lied.

A tentative knock on the storeroom door startled everyone.

“Get the fuck back, motherfucker, or I’ll start cutting on these bitches,” Freddy yelled.

“It’s me, Jack Collins,” the trustee librarian answered in a shaky voice. Collins was a seventy-year-old lifer who had been a fifty-two-year-old bookstore owner until he shot his brand-new, twenty-year-old wife and her lover. “They told me to talk to you, Freddy.”

“What do they want?” Freddy asked.

“They want you to let everyone go. They won’t hurt you if everyone’s okay.”

“You tell them I ain’t letting anyone out until my demands are met. If they don’t meet my demands, people are gonna die. I got them all covered with paint thinner. If I don’t get what I want we’re gonna have an old-fashioned barbecue in here.”

“What…what do you want?”

“My man, Charlie, knows our demands. Who’s out there with you?”

“Nobody. Just me.”

“You better be telling the truth or we’re gonna have crispy-fried librarian for dinner.”

“Don’t hurt anyone, Freddy. Okay? I’m the only one in the library.”

“I’m sending out Charlie. He’ll tell them what we want. And I’d better get it.”

“IS FREDDY INSANE?” Collins asked when he and Charlie were far enough from the storeroom so Freddy couldn’t hear him through the door.

“Are you referring to his mental state or his plan?” Charlie answered bitterly.

“The question was rhetorical,” said Collins, who knew that Freddy was a head case and that Charlie knew what “rhetorical” meant.

“I don’t know why Freddy does this shit,” Charlie complained. “But then neither does he, half the time.”

“Well, you better do something. McDermott’s in charge. He’s got the prison locked down and SWAT is on the way.”

Michael McDermott, the assistant warden, was a deeply religious man, who had started as a guard and worked his way up to his present position as second in command. McDermott despised Warden Pulliams and he hated the inmates. He had no faith in rehabilitation and viewed incarceration as punishment for sin. The assistant warden longed for the good old days when flogging, chain gangs, and sweatboxes were the rage.

McDermott was waiting outside the library door, cradling a shotgun across his massive forearms and glaring down at Charlie from six feet five inches above ground. Several armed guards stood behind him, but none were as big. McDermott was a bull with a thick neck, broad shoulders, and tree-trunk torso and legs.

“Who’s this?” McDermott asked Collins.

“Charlie Marsh, sir,” answered the trustee, his voice quivering. “He’s Clayton’s cellmate.”

“Okay, Marsh. What’s going on here?”

“Mr. McDermott, sir, I just want to say that I had nothing to do with this. I’m up for parole in…”

“Did I ask for your life story, Marsh?” McDermott said in a tone that would have been a bone-chilling growl if it had come from a rottweiler.

“No, sir. I just wanted you to know that this was all Freddy’s idea. See, he doesn’t think so well at times, and this is one of them. We were working on a legal writ when Warden Pulliams stopped at our table with these three ladies. Next thing I know, Freddy’s got a knife and he’s threatening to kill one of the women if the warden doesn’t do what he says. Now, the warden, the women, and a guard are tied up in the storeroom.”

“Let’s go in and take him out,” suggested a buzz-cut guard who was almost as big as McDermott.

“With all due respect, sir, that might not be wise,” Charlie said. “Freddy doused everyone with paint thinner. He’ll set them on fire if you storm the room. But listen, I think there’s a way out of this.”

“Talk,” McDermott ordered.

“Freddy and I grew up together. We’ve been close since elementary school. I know exactly how his mind works. Freddy has a short attention span, real short. He gets crazy ideas and acts on them without thinking, but he loses interest fast. You can get everyone out of this unharmed if you have a little patience.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Freddy’s got demands. He wants a jet plane to fly him to a tropical island and two million dollars.”

McDermott laughed harshly. “Where’d he get that from, TV?”

“Probably, or some movie. But he’s fixed on these demands, and once Freddy is fixed on an idea there’s no way to change his mind until he gets bored. So we have to make him think you’re trying to put the deal together and let me work on him. I’ll try to get as many people out of there as I can, and I’ll try to talk Freddy out as soon as I see he’s losing interest.

“I don’t want anyone hurt. Freddy is my best friend. He had a real rough time growing up and it screwed up his mind. Also, he’s not too smart. If it’s possible, I want to keep him, the warden, the guard, and those ladies alive.”

“What’s in this for you?” McDermott asked.

“Nothing. I’m only in on a credit card fraud beef. I’m up for parole real soon. I just want everything back the way it was before Freddy went off on those people.”