James Grippando - When Darkness Falls

“Then it has to be me and Paulo.”

An uneasy silence came over the group. It was impossible for Jack to read Paulo’s expression, the eyes hidden as they were behind dark glasses. Finally, Paulo said, “Let’s take it one step at a time. First thing we have to deal with is the demand. Tell me more about the money he wants.”

“He has cash in a safe deposit box in Nassau. He thinks I took it, but I didn’t. I left all but enough to cover his bail right where I found it, back in the Bahamas.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

Jack hesitated. His criminal defense lawyer instincts were kicking in, but the bottom line was that if this lawyer-client relationship hadn’t died with the carjacking, then it definitely took a backseat to the gun Falcon was holding to Theo’s head. “I counted exactly two hundred thousand originally. His bail was ten thousand.”

The cops exchanged glances. Chavez said what they all were thinking: “How on earth does a homeless guy have that kind of money in an offshore bank?”

“Probably not from washing windshields,” said Jack.

Paulo asked, “Any idea why he wants his money now?”

“No. He just wants it.”

“It doesn’t matter why,” said Malloy. “The director has made MDPD’s position on this crystal-clear. We don’t give money to hostage-takers. Period. You learn that in hostage negotiations one oh one.”

“All rules have exceptions,” said Paulo.

Jack said, “Are you saying that you want me to fly to the Bahamas and get the money?”

“How long would it take you?” asked Paulo.

“Are you serious?” said Jack.

“This isn’t going to end quickly, my friend. Last time out, Falcon tied up traffic on the Powell Bridge for almost four hours. It took close to six and a half hours the time before that. And those negotiations were without hostages. So how long would it take you?”

“Theo has a friend who operates a fleet of seaplanes out of Watson Island. If I told him that it was a matter of life and death, I’m sure he would have me there in an hour, if you can arrange clearance. But factor in the ground time, and that’s still four or five hours, round-trip. That’s assuming that I can find someone to let me into the bank in the middle of the night.”

“I have a contact at Interpol who can work with you on that. And the air clearance is no problem.”

Malloy chimed in again. “You can’t give this Falcon a suitcase full of cash.”

“What’s the downside?” said Paulo.

“It’s against the rules.”

“I’m still not hearing a downside,” said Paulo.

Jack was starting to like this guy.

Paulo said, “We have to build some goodwill. My last exchange with Falcon was when I talked him down from the lamppost on the Powell Bridge, only to have SWAT pounce all over him. I have to make up for that. If we can meet his first demand, we reestablish trust. Giving him cash-his own cash, mind you, not ours-isn’t like giving him ammunition.”

Malloy said, “If you give him money, then he’ll want ammo.”

Paulo said, “Last night, Falcon killed a woman and stuffed her in the trunk of an abandoned car that he calls home. So far tonight, he’s shot two police officers, one of them fatally. He has absolutely nothing to lose by killing again. If we can buy back a hostage with his own money, I say that’s a good deal.”

Jack said, “So you want me to go?”

“You mean you’re still here?” said Paulo.

Jack was definitely starting to like this guy.

W all ’em up, wall ’em up, wall ’ em up.” Falcon had been repeating the same words, over and over again, for at least fifteen minutes. It was driving Theo crazy, but he held his tongue.

With Theo’s help, Falcon had turned the room into a makeshift fortress. Anyone coming through the front door would have to pass through a mountain of furniture to reach the hostages. The entire room had been cleaned out, except for the television. There was a crack of light at the edge of the wall and along the top of the window. The drapes were so old and worn that, in spots, the lining had lost its blackout quality. The room brightened every few seconds as the intermittent swirl of police lights seeped in from the parking lot. Falcon had tried the light switch, but they were obviously without electricity. That didn’t stop him from pushing the on-off button on the TV every few minutes, determined to get a picture.

“Can’t you see that the power’s out,” said Theo.

“Shut up!”

Judging from the number of sirens blaring in the past twenty minutes, Theo figured that an army of police had taken up positions outside the motel. He was pretty sure that he’d heard helicopters as well, though he had no way of knowing if they were part of a tactical team or the media. As best he could tell, the police were regrouping. The gunfight was over. It was time to negotiate. Theo hoped that Falcon was lucid enough to realize that police didn’t deal for dead hostages.

Falcon walked to the corner near the window. Minutes earlier, he’d broken through the glass and fired off two quick shots from that same position. He seemed to have a view of the parking lot from that vantage point.

“I can’t breathe,” the woman hostage said. She was seated on the floor with her back to the wall, her hands tied behind her waist, and a pillowcase over her head. It was cold outside, and the room was comfortably cool. Even in the dim lighting, however, Theo’s eyes had adjusted well enough for him to see the tiny beads of sweat glistening on her arms, physical manifestation of her fear and panic.

Falcon started mumbling to himself again. “Wall ’em up, wall ’em up, wall ’em up.”

Theo’s hands were tied, but his head was uncovered. Falcon appeared to be on a mission to find another pillowcase somewhere in the pile of furniture. “Wall ’em up” seemed to be his way of saying that the hostages should be hooded and blindfolded.

“I really…can’t breathe,” the woman said, groaning.

Falcon was pacing furiously, not even listening to her.

Theo said, “You need to loosen the knot around her neck.” Falcon didn’t respond. Theo said, “Hey, did you hear me? She’s going to suffocate.”

“Quiet! I can’t think!” Falcon had a crazed look in his eyes. The room glowed with each flash of police lights in the parking lot, and it gave his face an angry red sheen.

“This won’t get you nowhere, man,” said Theo.

Falcon glared, then turned away and resumed pacing. “Wall ’em up, wall ’em up.”

“I need some air!” the woman shouted.

“Take the pillowcase off her head, jerk-off!”

Falcon wheeled and swung his arm around violently. The butt of his gun made a dull thud as it crashed against Theo’s skull. Theo fell hard to the floor. It was like a one-two knockout punch-the blow from the gun and his head hitting the carpet. “Shut your trap,” he heard Falcon shouting, but sounds and sights were all just a blur. He fought to remain conscious, refusing to close his eyes. He tried to focus on something, anything, to keep his brain functioning. A trickle of blood ran into his left eye, and Theo tried without success to blink it away. His other eye, the one closest to the carpet, was staring at the bathroom door. It was closed. Like the rest of the room, the dark slat at the threshold of the bathroom door brightened with each pulse of colored light from police vehicles in the parking lot. Theo struggled to concentrate. In the intermittent light available, he could see something on the bathroom floor, on the other side of the slat. It was directly in front of the base of the toilet. The lights pulsed again, and he saw something that looked like a shoe. Two shoes, in fact-men’s shoes.