Hostage

by Robert Crais

  Her father’s eyes flickered as if he were dreaming, back and forth, up and down. He made a soft whimpering sound, but his eyes didn’t open. Thomas hunched beside her, whispering.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s not waking up. He should be awake, shouldn’t he?” This wasn’t supposed to be happening; not in her house, not in Bristo Camino, not on this perfect summer day

  “Daddy, please!”

  Mars knelt beside her to feel her father’s neck. He was large and gross. She could smell him. Sweat and vegetables.

  “Looks like brain damage.”

  Jennifer felt a rush of fear and nausea, then realized that he was toying with her.

  “Fuck you.”

  Mars blinked uncomfortably, as if she had surprised and embarrassed him.

  “I don’t do things like that. They’re bad.”

  Mars walked away.

  Her father’s wound pulsed steadily, but the bleeding had almost stopped, the clotted blood and injured flesh swelling into an ugly purple volcano. Jennifer stood, and faced Dennis.

  “I want to get some ice.”

  “Shut up and sit your ass down.”

  “I’m getting some ice. He’s hurt.”

  Dennis glared at her, his face red and angry. He glanced at Mars, then at her father. Finally, he turned back to the shutters.

  “Mars, take her into the kitchen. Make sure Kevin isn’t fucking off back there.”

  Jennifer left without waiting for Mars, and went to the kitchen. She saw Kevin hiding behind the couch in the family room so that he could see the French doors. She wanted the backyard to be crowded with police officers and vicious police dogs, but it was empty. The pool was clean and pure, the raft that she had been enjoying less than thirty minutes earlier motionless on the water, the water so clear that the raft might have been floating on air. Her radio sat on the deck beside the pool, but she couldn’t hear it. It had all happened so fast.

  Jennifer opened the cabinet beneath the sink. Mars kicked it shut.

  “What are you doing?”

  He towered over her, his groin only inches from her face. She slowly stood to her full height. He was still a foot taller, and so close that it hurt to look up. Jennifer smelled the sour vegetables again. It took all of her strength not to run.

  “I’m getting a washcloth. Then I’m going to open the freezer for the ice. Is that all right with you?”

  Mars edged closer. His chest brushed the tips of her breasts. She did not let herself look away or step back, but her voice was hoarse.

  “Get away from me.”

  Mars stared down at her, his eyes unfocused, almost as if he couldn’t see her. A vacant smile played at his lips. He swayed, his chest massaging gently against her breasts.

  She still would not let herself step back. She summoned her strength again, and spoke clearly.

  “Get away from me.”

  The vacant smile flickered, then his eyes focused as if he could once more see her.

  She opened the cabinet again without waiting for him to answer, found a cloth, then went to the freezer for ice. It was a huge black Sub-Zero, the kind with a freezer drawer on the bottom. She pulled it open, then scooped ice into the washcloth. Most of it spilled onto the floor.

  “I need a bowl.”

  “So get one.”

  Mars walked away as she got the bowl. He went into the family room, and asked if Kevin had seen anything. She couldn’t hear Kevin’s answer.

  Jennifer chose a green plastic Tupperware bowl, then saw the paring knife on the counter, left from when she diced a slice of onion for the tuna. She glanced at Mars, but Mars was still with Kevin. She was terrified that if she reached for the knife they would see her, and then she thought that even if she had the knife what would she do with it? They were older and stronger. She glanced up again. Mars was staring at her. She averted her eyes, but saw from the corner of her eye that he stayed with Kevin. Her shorts didn’t have pockets and her suit top didn’t have enough material to cover the knife. Even if she took it, what would she do with it? Attack them? Puhlease. Mars came back to the kitchen. Without thinking about it, she pushed the knife behind the Cuisinart mixer her mom kept on the counter.

  Mars said, “What’s taking so long?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Hang on.”

  Mars went to the refrigerator and pulled it open. He took out a beer, twisted off the cap, and drank. He took a second bottle and tipped it toward her.

  “You want one?”

  “I don’t drink beer.”

  “Mommy won’t know. You can do anything you want right now, and Mommy won’t know.”

  “I want to go back to my father.”

  She followed him back to the office, where Mars gave the second beer to Dennis at the shutters. Jennifer joined Thomas at their father beside the desk. She scooped ice from the bowl into the washcloth, then made an ice pack and pressed it to her father’s wound. She cringed when he moaned.

  Thomas edged closer and spoke so softly that she could barely hear him.

  “What’s going to happen?”

  Mars’s voice cut across the room.

  “Shut up!”

  Mars was staring at her. Slowly, his gaze moved down along the lines of her body. She flushed again, forcing herself to concentrate on her father. She knew he was playing with her, just as he had before.

  The phone rang.

  Everyone in the room looked at the phone, but no one moved. The ringing grew louder and more insistent.

  Dennis said, “Jesus Christ!”

  He stalked to the desk and scooped up the phone, but the ringing continued.

  “What the fuck is this? Why won’t it stop?”

  Thomas said, “It has more than one line. Press the blinking light.”

  Dennis stabbed the blinking light, then slammed down the phone. The ringing stopped.

  Dennis went back to the shutters, grumbling about rich people having more than one line.

  The phone rang again.

  “Fuck!”

  The public address voice from the street echoed through the house.

  “Answer the phone, Dennis Rooney. It’s the police.”

  TALLEY

  Hunkered behind the front wheel of his radio car, Talley listened to the ringing in his ear as a helicopter appeared. It spiraled down for a closer look until Talley could see that it was from one of the Los Angeles television stations. They would have heard about Kim and Welch by monitoring police frequencies. If the helicopters were here, the vans and reporters would be close behind. Talley covered the phone and twisted around to see Jorgenson.

  “Where are the Sheriffs?”

  “Inbound, Chief.”

  “Get back on the horn and request air cover. Tell them we have news choppers coming in.”

  The phone inside the house was still ringing. Talley thought, Answer the phone, you sonofabitch.

  “Tell Sarah to call the phone company. Get a list of all the lines to the house and have them blocked except through my cell number. I don’t want these guys talking with anyone on the outside except for us.”

  “Okay.”

  Talley was still giving orders when the phone stopped ringing and a male voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  Talley waved Jorgenson quiet, then took a breath to center himself. He did not want his voice to reveal his fear.

  “Is this Dennis Rooney?”

  Who are you?”

  “My name is Jeff Talley. I’m with the Bristo Police Department, out here behind the car in front of you. Is this Dennis Rooney?”

  Talley specifically did not identify himself as the chief of police. He wanted to appear to have a certain degree of power, but he also did not want to be seen as the final authority. The negotiator was always the man in the middle. If Rooney made demands, Talley wanted to be able to stall by telling him that he had to check with his boss. That way Talley remained the good guy. He could build a bond with Roone
y through their mutual adversity.

  “That cop was going for his gun. That Chinaman pulled a gun, too. No one wanted to shoot him. It was an accident.”

  “Is this Dennis Rooney? I want to know with whom I’m speaking.”

  “Yeah. I’m Rooney.”

  Talley felt himself relaxing. Rooney wasn’t a raving lunatic; he didn’t start off by screaming that he was going to murder everyone in the house.

  Talley made his voice firm, but relaxed.

  “Well, Dennis, I need to know whether or not anyone in there needs a doctor. There was an awful lot of shooting.”

  “We’re cool.”

  “We can send in a doctor, if you need it.”

  “I said we’re cool. Aren’t you listening?”

  Rooney’s voice was strained and emotional. Talley expected that.

  “Everyone out here is concerned about who’s in there with you, Dennis, and how they’re doing. Do you have some people in there with you?”

  Rooney didn’t answer. Talley could hear breathing, then a muffled sound as if Rooney had covered the phone. He would be thinking it through. Talley knew that thinking things through logically would be hard for Rooney during these next few minutes. Rooney would be pumping on adrenaline, frantic, and scared. Finally, he came back on the line.

  “I got this family. That isn’t kidnapping, is it? I mean, they were already here. We didn’t grab’m and take’m someplace.”

  Rooney’s answer was a good sign; by showing concern for the future, he revealed that he did not want to die and feared the consequences of his actions.

  “Can you identify them for me, Dennis?”

  “You don’t need to know that. I’ve told you enough.”

  Talley let that slide. The Sheriff’s negotiator could press for their names later.

  “Okay, you’re not going to tell me their names right now. I hear that. Will you at least tell me how they’re doing?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “How about your two friends? You don’t have a man dying on you, do you?”

  “They’re fine.”

  Talley had gotten Rooney to admit that all three gunmen were in the house. He muted the phone and turned to Jorgenson.

  “All three subjects are in the house. Tell Larry to call off the house-to-house.”

  “Rog.”

  Jorgenson radioed his call as Talley returned to Rooney. Overhead, a second helicopter joined the first and positioned itself in a hover. Another news crew.

  Talley said, “Okay, Dennis, I want to explain your situation.”

  Rooney interrupted him.

  “You been asking me questions, now I’ve got a question. I didn’t shoot that Chinaman. He pulled a gun and we were wrestling and his own gun went off. That Chinaman shot himself.”

  “I understand, Dennis. There’ll probably be a security camera. We’ll be able to see what happened.”

  “The gun just went off, is what I’m saying. It went off and we ran and that’s what happened.”

  “Okay.”

  “So what I want to know is, that Chinaman, is he okay?”

  “Mr. Kim didn’t make it, Dennis. He died.”

  Rooney didn’t respond, but Talley knew that images of shooting his way out and possibly even of suicide would be kaleidoscoping through his head. Talley had to give him a vent for the pressure.

  “I won’t lie to you, Dennis; you guys are in trouble. But if what you said about the struggle is true, that could be a mitigating circumstance. Don’t make things worse than they already are. We can still work our way out of this.”

  Kim having pulled a gun would mitigate nothing. Under California law, any death occurring during the commission of a felony was murder, but Talley needed to give Rooney some measure of hope. It did.

  Rooney said, “What about the police officer? He went for his gun, too.”

  “He’s still alive. You caught a break there, Dennis.”

  “Don’t you forget I’ve got these people in here. Don’t you guys try to rush the house.”

  Some of the edge had gone from Rooney’s voice.

  “Dennis, I’m going to ask you right now to let those people go.”

  “No way.”

  “You’re ahead of the game as long as they’re not hurt. The police officer is alive. You said Mr. Kim pulled a gun on you. Just let those people walk out.”

  “Fuck that. They’re the only thing keeping you from blowing us away. You’ll kill us for shooting that cop.”

  “I know you’re feeling that way right now, Dennis, but I’m going to give you my word about something. We’re not going to storm the house. We’re not coming in there by force, okay?”

  “You’d better not.”

  “We’re not. But I want you to know what you’re facing out here. I’m not telling you to threaten you; I’m telling you to be straight up. We have officers surrounding the house, and this neighborhood is locked down. You can’t escape, Dennis; that just isn’t going to happen. The reason I’m out here talking to you is that I want to get out of this thing without you or the people in that house getting hurt. That’s my goal here. Do you understand that?”

  “I understand.”

  “The best thing you can do to help yourself is to let those people go, Dennis. Let them go, then surrender, everything nice and peaceful and orderly. If you’re cooperative now, it will look better for the judge later. Do you see that?”

  Rooney didn’t respond, which Talley took as a positive sign. Rooney wasn’t arguing. He was thinking. Talley decided to terminate the contact and let Rooney consider his options.

  “I don’t know about you, Dennis, but I could use a break. You think about what I said. I’ll call back in twenty minutes. If you want to talk before that, just shout, and I’ll phone you again.”

  Talley closed the phone. His hands were shaking so badly that he dropped it. He took another deep breath and then another, but they didn’t help to steady him.

  Jorgenson said, “Chief? You okay?”

  Talley waved that he was fine.

  The helicopters were still up there. They had set up on fixed points in a hover. That meant they were using their cameras.

  Talley put the phone in his pocket, told Jorgenson to call if anything changed, then backed his car out of the cul-de-sac. One conversation with a scared twenty-two-year-old kid, and Talley wanted to vomit. Larry Anders was waiting at the intersection along with two more of his officers: Scott Campbell and Leigh Metzger. Campbell was a retired Bakersfield security officer who signed on with Bristo to supplement his pension. Metzger was a single mother who had spent eight years on the San Bernardino Police Department as an instructional officer. She had almost no street time. Seeing them gave Talley no confidence.

  “Jesus, Larry, are the goddamned Sheriffs coming here on foot? Where are they?”

  “Sarah’s been on the phone with them, Chief. She says you should call.”

  Talley felt his stomach clench.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. She also says that the newspeople want to know what’s happening. They’ve got reporters at the minimart, and they’re on their way here.”

  Talley rubbed his face, then checked his watch. It had been fifty-three minutes since Junior Kim was shot. Fifty-three minutes, and his world had collapsed to the size of a subdivision.

  “When the newspeople get here, let them into the development, but don’t let them come here to the cul-de-sac.”

  “Ah, there’s an empty lot by King and Lady, something like that. Can I put them over there?”

  “Perfect. And don’t let them wander around. I’ll get over there in a few minutes and make a statement.”

  Talley went to his car, telling himself that everything was fine. He had established contact, found out that all three subjects were in the house, and no one was shooting. He opened his car and felt the heat roll out as if from an oven. He was so drained that he didn’t care. He radioed his office.

&nbs
p; “Give me some good news, Sarah. I need it.”

  “The Highway Patrol is sending six patrol units from Santa Clarita and Palmdale. They should be about ten minutes out, and inbound now.”

  Patrol units.

  “What about a tactical squad and the negotiation team? We need to get those people deployed.”

  Talley sounded strident, but he didn’t care.

  “I’m sorry, Chief. Their response team is hung up in Pico Rivera. They said they’ll get here as soon as possible.”

  “That’s just fucking great! What are we supposed to do until then?”

  “They said you’ll have to handle it yourself.”

  Talley held the mike in his lap without the strength to lift it.

  “Chief? You still there?”

  Talley pulled the door shut, started the engine, and turned on the air conditioner. Anders and Campbell looked over when they heard the engine start, then seemed confused when he didn’t pull away. He turned the vents so they blew the cold air into his face. Talley shook so badly that he pushed his hands under his legs, feeling frightened and ashamed. He dug his fingers into his thighs and told himself that this wasn’t Los Angeles, that he was no longer a negotiator, that the lives of the people in the house did not rest with him. He only had to hang on until the Sheriffs took over, and then he could go back to his orchard and the perfect peace of its stillness. It was only a matter of minutes. Of seconds. He told himself that anyone could hang on for seconds. He told himself that, but he didn’t believe it.

  4

  • • •

  Friday, 4:22 P.M.

  DENNIS

  Dennis slapped down the phone, livid with an anger he could barely contain, shouting, “Fuck you!”

  Talley thought he was an idiot, all that shit about wanting a peaceful resolution and promising not to storm the house. Dennis knew the score when it came to cops: A cop was down, so somebody had to pay. The bastards would probably assassinate him the first chance they got without ever giving him a chance to stand trial. That bastard Talley probably wanted to pull the goddamned trigger himself. Dennis was so pissed off that he felt sick to his stomach.

  Mars said, “What did they want?”

  “What do you think they want, Mars? Jesus, they want us to give up.”