The Ex

by Margaret Ferguson

  “Uh, uh, uh,” he scolded, opening the case and rifling through it, before removing two pairs of scissors. When he nodded, I tentatively stepped away from him and made my way in the direction from which the loudest cries came. My eyes studied the room, always returning to him, while he followed my every move, his AR on the hostages the entire time. Then, as if he needed more insurance, he reached down and grabbed the young woman cowering in the corner by her arm and dragged her to himself. Arnold held the gun against the whimpering, terrified girl before stepping back and pressing himself against the wall. He now had a 180-degree vantage point of the entire room while staying out of view from those outside.

  If anyone undiscovered tried to leave, he would see them. Anyone attempting to rush him, he could intercept. Some might survive when he was taken down, but most of the survivors so far were women, except a few young men—including those wounded, plus the still hidden soldiers. Few were in any shape to attempt such a rescue. Of course, there was AJ to consider. My eyes continued searching for an opening—any opening—that might allow me to end this thing. Only, the Alpha was smart, keeping his back against the wall.

  Crazy, not stupid.

  “Arnold Benson. This is the Killeen Police Department Crisis Unit. I’m here to listen to you and make sure everyone stays safe. We need to establish communication. Will you please answer the phone?”

  I turned to our Alpha, Arnold Benson, and shook my head. An ordinary name for an average looking man. Only, not so ordinary, I noted, as he held a hostage in one arm and a live grenade in the other.

  I moved quickly toward, and knelt beside a young soldier, twisted and bloodied in the rubble between the truck and the broken brick partition that had fallen on him. Kneeling by his side, I checked for a pulse. It was faint, but noticeable. The gash in his head was deep and covered in masonry debris and dust, his face covered with blood. When I lifted up his eyelid, his pupils were fixed and dilated. I breathed out and quickly opened the emergency kit.

  A boot landed next to me, and I side-glanced it, then immediately turned my attention back to the wounded young man. “You gonna just stand there or you gonna help?” I asked, a dash of sarcasm added for effect.

  “Naw,” he said over my shoulder. “Just here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, like try and get away. Or find another weapon.”

  I pressed several gauze pads to the cut on the boy’s scalp, wrapping the wound carefully with cotton tape. Suddenly, I remembered this kid. I closed the emergency kit and shook my head, discouraged. Less than an hour ago, people were singing to him. Now, he was possibly near death in a place where he had felt safe. When I’d done all I could for him, I rose, only to find myself toe to toe with AJ.

  Since he stood a good five inches shorter than me, I looked down on him. This was the closest I’d been to him since he and his father killed a perfectly good truck driving it through the front of the building. He glared right through me, as though daring me. I thought of all the things I wanted to say to him. All the things I wanted to do to him. I side-glanced his partner before meeting his stare again. Then, I merely sighed and moved on to the next closest victim, my shoulder bumping his, my sheer stature pushing him aside.

  AJ followed me, standing over me when I knelt down. A moment later, I felt the rifle against the base of my skull, the cold metal of the muzzle pressed painfully behind my right ear. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath before turning. I glared up at him. “Look. Either shoot me or stay the hell out of my way,” I insisted, brushing the rifle away again like I was swatting at a fly.

  I turned back to the unconscious young woman before me, silently hoping that the last thing her parents ever saw wasn’t my brain matter splattered all over their daughter’s body. Finally, thankfully, the sound of AJ’s boots crushing broken glass into the concrete floor receded as he slowly moved away from me.

  Just to my right, a head popped from behind another brick wall. It disappeared, then another appeared before disappearing as well, reminding me of a whack-a-mole game my nephew and I used to play at a local family pizza parlor. What was meant to separate stations had quickly become a place of refuge. When they appeared again, I slowly shook my head and without being too obvious, motioned with my hand for them to keep low.

  When I turned to my left, two young corporals—female—lay injured on the other side of a wall, having valiantly administered their own aid. And though one was mobile, she sheltered in place, refusing to leave her fellow soldier-at-arms. I commended them on their bravery and told them to stay put until I, and hopefully, others could come up with a plan to get us out of here.

  Around the corner lay an older woman, alone and trembling. Mumbling incoherently through bluing lips and perspiring profusely. Yet, when I felt her forehead, her skin was cold to the touch. I opened her eyes to find her pupils fully dilated. I lifted her hand to examine her fingernails, then exhaled in frustration. The woman was in shock. Having nothing to cover her with, I glanced around the room, then back down at the now silent woman. What was I thinking?

  “Please answer the phone, Benson, so that we know how we can help,” the voice repeated every few minutes, as the phone bleated incessantly behind me.

  “She needs a medic,” I called over my shoulder.

  “No medics,” AJ yelled back.

  “Then I need something to cover her up.”

  “Put a Band-aid on it and move on!” he reiterated.

  I knew what to do, having dealt with it multiple times in the field. Only, we weren’t in the field, and I didn’t have what I needed to save her. “I can’t treat her here,” I confessed under my breath to no one in particular. Then realizing my misstep, I stroked her head. “I’m going to get you some help,” I added, feeling somewhat helpless. Somewhat hopeless. I dropped my head in dismay, just before rising and taking a step toward our captors. “We’ve got to do something, or these people are going to die,” I reasoned, glancing about at the wounded around me.

  “Everyone dies,” AJ said dryly.

  The words stopped me in my tracks, grating at my very soul. And, yet in them, I found the strength I needed. I scoffed and shook my head, eyebrows raised and looked straight at Arnold. “Like father, like son,” I replied, with as much rancor and sarcasm as I could muster.

  When he didn’t respond, I continued. “I’m guessing AJ stands for Arnold, Jr. Am I right?”

  I felt them contemplating me as I measured my breathing and my next words carefully. I exhaled, focusing my attention on our alpha. “I don’t believe you want any of these good people to die.”

  Arnold furrowed his brow as he continued to study me.

  “Benson, we need you to answer the phone,” the voice repeated from beyond the rubble.

  Arnold glanced at his son, then back to me. I lowered my head and my voice. “Look,” I sighed, “I’m not a doctor. I’m just a cook, with some basic Red Cross training,” I lied. “If you wanted them to die, I don’t think you would have asked me to help them,” I reasoned. “Come on, guys. Give me something, here,” I pleaded, arms out. “And,” I drew in a deep breath for confidence. “And I promise I will do everything in my power to help you get what you want. Whatever that is.”

  A wry smile crept up Arnold’s lips as his son began to mock me. “You?” he chortled. “Help us?” AJ turned to his father. “He’s going to help us,” he snickered, snorting through laughter.

  I took a step toward them until AJ raised his gun, stopping my advance. “That’s far enough,” he snapped, as the smug smile disappeared from his face. To assure I took him seriously, he showed me the grenade in his palm.

  I held up my hands and took a step back. “Hey, man. I’m just doing what you told me to do.” When he didn’t respond, I rubbed my brow in utter defeat and sighed.

  Suddenly, he smiled complacently, and pulled hard on the pin, causing everyone near to stop what they were doing, including breathing. Most people assume at this point that they have only a few seconds until they
are blown to kingdom come. So, everyone within fifteen feet of him wriggled or rolled or shimmied as far away as they could get. Now, all grenades, and in this case, an M-67, have a delay element. Once the safety pin is pulled, as long as the spoon and striker haven’t been released, it won’t detonate. I, being familiar with this particular grenade, didn’t panic, but merely watched and waited. And, after five seconds, when we didn’t all die, everyone breathed again with relief.

  AJ laughed maniacally. He never had any intention of releasing the thing. At least, not yet. The gesture was more of a warning. Or maybe, in this case, his demented version of a joke.

  Think, damn it. Think! These people needed better care than I could give them. Not to mention that I was now obviously dealing with a seriously unhinged individual in possession of live grenades.

  The voice outside repeated its request as the phone continued to ring.

  “Some of these folks are going to die if they don’t get some real help, now,” I reiterated. “Let them come in—”

  “No!” AJ hollered.

  “Then, let me take them out,” I began, only Arnold stopped me.

  “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You’ll just have to do what you can.”

  “But, I don’t have the tools.” My words were thick with frustration. “Or the skills.”

  Then, from somewhere behind me, a tiny, familiar voice softly chirped, “I do.”

  Chapter 19

  Crap! I twisted around suddenly, cringing inside as Mary Beth walked right past me, ignoring me altogether, as though I weren’t there. I reached for her, only she sidestepped me, making a slow beeline to Arnold. The gunmen appeared as surprised as we were by the slender dark-haired beauty that walked right up to them, seemingly unafraid, as though introducing herself at a party, ignoring the rifle suddenly turned on her.

  Arnold, probably fearful this was some sort of ruse, gripped the girl tighter, the muzzle of his weapon pressing into her cheek. Though Mary Beth wasn’t intimidated, her pace slowed as she continued her advance.

  When Mary Beth arrived before the tearful girl, she looked down at her and smiled compassionately, the simple gesture meant to reassure the young woman that everything was going to be all right. Tentatively she reached out, touching the gunman’s arm. “I’m a nurse,” she said, faintly, the mere utterance mysteriously softening his intimidating demeanor. Or maybe he was simply as baffled as we all were at her audacity. I watched with concern, and amazement, as her gentle voice momentarily deflated the threat, calming him.

  Yet—had I seen her coming, I would have warned her. I would have stopped her.

  Damned hard-headed woman!

  For a brief moment in time, I’d had some semblance of peace knowing she was hidden away, unbeknownst to our captor. Only, now, she had put herself directly in harm’s way, becoming another bargaining chip, should things go south.

  “I’m a nurse,” she repeated. “And, I’ll help you under one condition.”

  I closed my eyes and dropped my head. What the hell was she thinking? When I looked up again, I found Arnold merely glaring at her, stupefied.

  “I don’t think you are in any position to bargain,” AJ stated, dryly.

  In a small, almost imperceptible motion, Arnold raised his hand to quiet his son. “Go on.” He seemed intrigued as to what the curious dark-eyed woman had to say. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the catch to this little arbitration. “And in exchange?”

  “There are three children in the kitchen,” she began, casually kneeling before him. “Their father is dead.” She let that one hang in the air before adding, ”And, now, I’m asking you—no, I’m begging you, to please let them and their mother go.”

  “No!” AJ said quickly. “No one leaves.”

  Arnold glanced outside, watching the movement, measuring his response. I stared at her incredulously as our captor furrowed his brow. A moment later, Mary Beth’s demeanor changed. She reached out her hand, lightly touching his. “Please, Arnold, I want to help. But,” she added softly. “I need you to do this.” She tilted her head in that mysterious feminine fashion that generally assures that a woman gets her way. You know—one of those innate traits that most of you born with a vagina has.

  “No,” AJ reasoned. “Don’t let her play you, Dad.”

  “You need to do this,” she urged.

  “You need to move back,” AJ insisted, stepping toward them.

  Her voice softened further as she knelt before Arnold in one final plea. “Please?”

  And in that instant, I saw his resolve weaken. His head rolled back as he exhaled loudly, until it became a guttural growl. All that was missing was an expressive

  “fine!” He continued to stare at her, sizing her up. Contemplating her. And, it was in that moment I could see Mary Beth was actually reaching him.

  I watched as Arnold glanced around the room, then outside before looking down at the woman who had been brave enough—or foolish enough—to approach him, though humble enough to pleadingly kneel at his feet. He looked down at her, stone-faced, and with a simple, slight nod, gave her, her answer.

  “What are you doing?” AJ snapped. “You aren’t actually buying this, are you?”

  Arnold leaned over and smiled at Mary Beth. “Now, just wait a second, AJ. This lovely lady here may have just given us the edge we need to begin our little negotiation.”

  Mary Beth nodded in appreciation before whispering, “Thank you, Arnold.” She gently patted his hand, then stood and walked confidently back to the kitchen.

  “But—” AJ argued, only to have his father raise his hand again to silence him.

  I could see the growing humiliation on AJ’s face.

  “You,” he called to me. Then he motioned with his gun. “Answer the phone.”

  I looked at him incredulously. “And tell them what?”

  He waved his weapon toward the phone without a word.

  My shoulders drooped as I made my way to the bar, AJ’s eyes and rifle following my every step. When I reached the counter, I closed mine, if only for a second, and inhaled deeply.

  When I turned, Arnold slowly slid up the wall, tightening his grip on the young woman with him. He dragged the poor girl the length of the bar, stopping a few feet away before nodding my direction, his gaze guiding me to the phone system.

  “Well, here we go,” I breathed out before picking up the handset. Tentatively, I held the phone to my ear, listening. Then I pressed the speaker button.

  “This is Special Agent Ryan with the Killeen Police Department Crisis Unit. I’m here to listen to you and make sure everyone stays safe. Am I speaking with Arnold Benson?”

  Arnold didn’t respond as my eyes wandered throughout the room. I saw a head with an Army cap peer from inside the ladies’ restroom. When she saw me, I matched her gaze, slowly shaking my head until she retreated back inside, with who knows how many others.

  “Arnold Benson, can you hear me?”

  Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons crooned over the sound system, as an old black and white video played on multiple screens. Other televisions displayed football commentators mutely discussing stats and players, speculating on what would happen in the day’s upcoming games that no one in the restaurant would be watching.

  “Is anyone there?”

  I sighed, our eyes still locked on one another.

  “Can anyone hear me?”

  Arnold held the girl tightly from behind, his hand on her neck, his gun still in her face. Our eyes met, and he kept them there, still contemplating me, I’m sure. Then, slowly, he nodded to me.

  “Can anyone—”

  “Yeah,” I interrupted. “We can hear you.

  “Who am I speaking with?”

  I waited for Arnold to nod. When he did, I responded. “Name’s Eddie.”

  “Eddie,” his voice softened. “Are you one of the men from the truck?”

  No nod. I didn’t reply.

  “Hostage?”

  Arnold slow
ly shook his head, so I didn’t respond.

  “Is Arnold Benson with you?” Arnold’s eyes continued to hold mine.

  “Yes,” I replied. “He can hear you.”

  “Arnold, this is Derrick Ryan. I’m here to help see us through this. How are ya’ll doing in there?”

  I tilted my head waiting for Arnold to respond. When he didn’t, I said, “I’ve been better. Thanks for asking,” I added, maybe a little too sarcastically.

  “Arnold,” the negotiator began. “My job is to help resolve this for you. Maybe you and I can talk this out. I’ll get all my guys to lay down their weapons, and you can just walk right out here, and we’ll talk. Okay? One on one.”

  Arnold slowly shook his head.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I relayed.

  “Then, maybe you’d be open to me coming over there. Just me. We’ll talk and see if we can resolve this, face to face.”

  I glanced at Arnold, who stared right through me, as though in a trance. So, I turned to AJ, whose eyes anxiously bounced between his father, the first responders outside, and the bound hostages. When they landed on me, he shrugged.

  “I don’t think he’s interested in talking right now.”

  “Is there anything you need in there?”

  Many moments ticked by without him responding, so I took a chance, blurting out, “Yeah. Medical supplies.”

  “We can send a team in—”

  Arnold broke from his daze and began to shake his head. “No,” I interrupted. “Just the supplies,” I stressed. “We have a nurse,” I added, dropping a breadcrumb. Arnold leaned over and whispered something into my ear. I looked at him incredulously before exhaling. “And a media crew.”

  “That’s a pretty big ask,” Ryan responded, not sounding too surprised. “What are you willing to give us to help make that happen?”

  Arnold nodded toward Mary Beth. “We’ll send out a family,” I responded. “A mother and her three small children.” I’m confident at that point that high-fives were going up all around the command center, as everyone felt they’d just won a tremendous victory. Though, I wasn’t so sure that was the case.