The Hardest Part (A James Bishop Short Story)

by Jason Dean

  ‘You in there. This is the police. We have you surrounded, front and back. Throw out your weapon and exit the store with your hands up.’

  Bishop felt the girl stiffen at the amplified words. ‘Not very original, is he?’ he said into her ear. ‘Use the large black key to unlock the door and then push it open. Slowly.’

  Sonja looked down and then chose the same key Randolph had used. She inserted it in the lock. Turned it counter-clockwise until it stopped. Then Bishop moved with her as she leaned forward, pushing the door open as far as it would go. Fresh air wafted in. It seemed a hell of a lot warmer outside than he remembered. Or maybe it was just him. But he was impressed with the girl’s composure so far. She was a lot calmer than she had any right to be.

  He put his mouth to her ear and said, ‘Tell them your name, that I’ve got a gun pointed at your head and that we’re coming out now.’

  Sonja took a deep breath and yelled, ‘Please don’t shoot. My name is Sonja Addison. This man has a gun at my head. He says we’re coming out now.’

  Bishop looked further down to the right and saw the dark blue Mustang parked next to the kerb about a dozen yards past the Crown Victoria, pointing north.

  The cop placed the bullhorn on the roof and aimed his gun at Bishop. ‘Let the woman go and drop the weapon, mister. Now.’

  Ignoring him, Bishop said, ‘We’ll walk to your vehicle now, Sonja, but we’re gonna do it sideways with you in front of me. Like a couple of crabs. Don’t worry, they’re not about to shoot you to get to me.’

  ‘Look, maybe if you just—’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ Bishop said. ‘Start walking now.’

  He nudged her forward until they were both outside, then Sonja began edging herself towards the Mustang. Bishop mirrored her movements exactly, like they were dance partners. He kept the gun at Sonja’s neck all the way, his head behind hers. He didn’t need to see the cops to know they were there. All he cared about was getting them to the Mustang. Twenty feet away now. Fifteen.

  ‘I won’t warn you again, mister,’ the cop shouted. ‘You’re just making things worse. Drop the piece. Now.’

  Bishop said nothing. Just kept edging his way to the vehicle in tandem with Sonja. He knew the cop was bluffing. There were witnesses all around. Five feet to go. Then three. Then two. When Sonja came to the passenger door, she stopped. So did Bishop. He reached into his pants pocket, found the car keys and handed them to her.

  ‘Unlock the door and open it.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can,’ she said. Bishop could feel her body trembling. Her hands shook too, jangling the keys. Delayed shock. He’d seen it plenty of times before.

  ‘Take a deep breath, then put the key in the lock. Don’t think about anything else.’

  Bishop waited patiently as she took several deep breaths. Then, after some fumbling, she inserted the key on the second attempt. She unlocked it and pulled the key out. Then she grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

  ‘Good,’ he said, manoeuvring them so their backs were to the cops. ‘Now we’re gonna get in together. I’ll be keeping the gun on you as I slide into the driver’s seat, so make sure you stick close. Ready? Go.’

  Clutching Sonja’s shoulder tightly, Bishop ducked down and pulled them both inside in less than a second. He slid himself over to the driver’s side, holding on to her all the way. ‘Reach over and pull the door shut,’ he said.

  Keeping the gun at her side, he watched Sonja lie across the passenger seat, stretching her arms until her fingers touched the inner door handle. She got a good grip and pulled it until it clicked shut. Then she sat back up again, her body close to his.

  ‘Now start the engine for me.’

  Sonja stared into his light blue eyes, her expression blank, then took another deep breath before inserting the key in the ignition. She turned it and the engine caught immediately. Bishop pressed the button to lock the doors and stepped on the gas, watching as the tachometer needle swept over to the right. The engine still sounded smooth, despite the high mileage. It was a standard 3.8 litre V6 with a manual stick shift. Not as powerful as later models, but a definite improvement over the ’80s version. That had been a bad decade all round, but especially for Mustangs.

  He checked the side mirror and saw the deputies had moved to the other side of their vehicle for cover, the other two joining them. In case Bishop decided to pop off a few shots to slow them down. But he had no intention of doing that. He wasn’t an idiot.

  Pulling his safety belt across, Bishop said, ‘Move over and buckle up.’

  He watched as she edged over and used both hands to pull the belt over herself. Once he heard the click, Bishop stuck the gun into his waistband and pushed the gear stick into second. Then he swung the wheel to the left and stepped hard on the gas.