by Anna Martin
“Hello,” Tyler said, not wanting to keep up the charade for too long. He was aware Matthew was listening intently, even if he was doing a good job of destroying more of the store. “Matthew was expecting some beers after he let the kids go, and they haven’t turned up yet.”
“Tyler. We can’t give him beer.”
“How long do you think it will take to get some here?”
“Let me talk to him.”
Tyler held the phone out. “They want to speak to you,” he said to Matthew.
If he knew his boss, Tyler was sure there would be trained hostage negotiators already on the case. If not in person, then calling in from outside, giving Sheriff Coleman advice.
Matthew was breathing hard, his whole body coiled with tension.
“Tell the cocksucking cops to do their job and get me some fucking beers.”
Tyler slowly brought the phone back up to his ear. “Call me back when you have the beer outside,” he said, then hung up.
“Put the phone back on the counter,” Matthew snapped.
Tyler did as he was told, holding his hands up, then sank to his knees once more. The older guy, Tyler vowed to get his name too, clapped him on the shoulder.
AS IT approached midday, Matthew destroyed three phones while talking to the negotiator outside. The last one he threw on the floor and put three bullets in. That left only two phones for them to contact the outside world, while it got hotter and more tense inside.
Matthew’s beers turned up, and Tyler took the opportunity to help Paula, the older lady, get to the bathroom. Matthew wasn’t happy about it, but since one of the kids had peed themselves, he reluctantly let Tyler take her into the tiny employees’ bathroom.
He’d already figured out from David, the store clerk, that the only other way in or out of the building was the delivery entrance, which was padlocked from the inside. The keys were kept in the office, for safety, and there was no window in the bathroom.
Even though his attempt to find an escape route had been a dud, Tyler was satisfied that he’d at least explored the possibility.
Over the next hour he convinced Matthew to let them take bathroom breaks in turn, then let Tyler collect bottles of water and soda and snacks from the counter. The department had only delivered a six-pack of beer, but combined with whatever else Matthew was taking, it seemed to be enough to tip him into a drunken melancholy.
Tyler watched Paula as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, his arm coming around her back in a comforting embrace. Tyler hadn’t made them any promises, hadn’t assured them they’d all get out safely. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lie to them.
The two young men were curled up on the floor, pretending to sleep, or at least trying to rest. All he could do for them was to stay steady, stay strong, and get them out alive.
“Hey, you. Chatty guy.”
Tyler slowly rose up from behind the counter again. Matthew was standing in the chips aisle, swaying slowly with the gun hanging from his fingers.
“I want more beer.”
“You want me to call and ask for it?”
“’Course I do, you dumb fuck. Tell them I’m not talking to them no more. Tell them I want Callie down here.”
Tyler picked up one of the phones, noticed that the battery was almost dead, and cursed his luck as he swapped it for the other.
“Who’s Callie?” he asked as he dialed.
“My whore wife.”
Tyler felt a little pinch in his stomach—he’d been right. This was all over a broken relationship.
This time he had to go through to the sheriff’s department and get them to patch him through to Ted, since he didn’t have the number memorized, and Matthew had already wrecked his phone.
“We’re working on a way in,” Ted said as soon as he answered.
“Matthew wants another six-pack of beers and to talk to his wife, Callie,” Tyler said evenly.
“He’s not getting them. Hand me over.”
“Matthew doesn’t want to talk to cops anymore,” Tyler said. He forced himself to take a calming breath. “He wants to speak with his wife.”
“We tracked her down. She says she doesn’t want anything to do with him. She filed for divorce, claims he beats her and the kids.”
So Matthew had kids. Tyler didn’t know whether he could make anything of the knowledge. He filed it away for reference anyway.
“How soon can you get the beers?”
“He’s drunk already?” Ted asked.
“Yes.”
“We’re working on a way in, Tyler. Keep people safe.”
Tyler ended the call and put the phone back on the table.
“They’re working on it,” he said simply.
He didn’t expect the furious rage Matthew flew into, screaming himself hoarse and smashing jars of pasta sauce along the aisle. Tyler couldn’t help but let his mind see a thick river of blood.
OVER THE next few hours, Tyler worked on keeping the little group of people calm. One of the teenagers had stirred and was clearly working himself into a panic attack. He let Paula handle it; she had a calm, soothing voice that the kid seemed to be responding to.
The late afternoon sun was battling with the shoddy AC and with the shutters down, the room was getting swelteringly hot. Matthew’s beer hadn’t arrived, but Tyler had seen him taking two white pills, and God only knew what they were.
Matthew wasn’t exactly mellow; he’d taken to pacing up and down the aisles of the store, waving his gun around and muttering to himself. Tyler caught the name “Callie” a few times, along with a string of expletives. Tyler wasn’t surprised the ex-wife hadn’t shown up. He didn’t blame her.
He knew his department, and he knew they would be working like crazy to try to figure out an end to the standoff that didn’t result in someone getting hurt. He’d been involved in major incidents before, never like this, though, and never on the other side.
“Where are the cops?” one of the kids hissed at Tyler. “Goddamn cops everywhere except when you need them.”
“They’re out there,” Tyler said in a low voice. “They’re working on it.”
“They’re not working on shit. They’re gonna let the fucking maniac kill us all.”
“No one’s going to get killed,” Tyler said firmly.
He’d thought about trying to be the hero, of trying to take Matthew down and get the gun off him. But he knew how often people who attempted those kinds of moves ended up hurt themselves, and he didn’t want to put the others at risk. Plus it seemed Matthew had come with enough extra ammo in his back pocket, and Tyler had a strong suspicion Matthew had no intention of walking out alive.
This was a final, desperate cry for help.
Tyler didn’t like it one bit. If Matthew was going for the “suicide by cop” route, he would likely not care who he took with him on his way down.
From this side, it felt like nothing was happening outside. Negotiations had stalled. The beer hadn’t helped the situation but hadn’t particularly harmed it either, so that was something. Tyler wanted to keep building the relationship he’d started with Matthew, knowing this was a key part of taking down a hostage situation, but Matthew wasn’t interested in engaging in small talk. He wanted beer, and to speak to his ex-wife, and to get his own way. Tyler could only facilitate that to a very small degree.
As they approached school pick-up time, Tyler prayed that someone was watching out for his baby. Lie to her, he thought, sending that message out into the universe. He never wanted June to be scared because of what he did for a living.
Tyler closed his eyes and focused on breathing. He hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours, and he was so, so exhausted. Physically and emotionally.
The last working phone on the counter started to vibrate with an incoming call.
“Someone better answer that,” Matthew said in a singsong voice.
Tyler reached up and pulled the phone off the counter.
“Stand t
he fuck up, asshole. I want to see you.”
He did as he was told, answering the phone while looking around the store.
“Hello?”
Even though he’d been stuck in here for hours, it was still a shock to look around and see the destruction that Matthew had managed to wreak. It looked like a tornado had hit.
“Tyler, it’s Ted.”
“Hi.”
“The ex-wife is still refusing to get involved. There’s a solid no on getting more beer in.”
“Okay,” he said, forcing his voice to be calm and even.
“Is he still armed?”
“Yes.”
Matthew looked over from where he was pacing. “What are they saying?”
Tyler looked him straight in the eye. “They’re trying to get hold of Callie.”
“Where’s my fucking beer?”
“They can’t get you any,” Tyler said.
He saw the red haze of anger settle around Matthew’s face. Tyler wasn’t expecting it, but wasn’t entirely surprised either, when Matthew raised the gun and shot him.
TYLER WASN’T sure if he screamed.
Someone was screaming.
His shoulder was on fire.
Why was he still conscious?
He was still conscious, and he’d been shot.
Then his colleagues burst through the shutters, shouting instructions, and one of the goddamn teenage boys had ripped his shirt off and was pressing down on Tyler’s shoulder, hard, and there was smoke in the air, and Paula was sobbing and the kid—God, just a kid—was yelling at Tyler to look at him, to concentrate, and….
Everything went black.
Chapter Nineteen
MAX HAD so much grown-up work that he needed to do. He needed to go to the grocery store, get his license plates on the truck changed to West Virginia plates, and make an appointment with a doctor here who could change the tubes on his hearing aids. All of those things involved people, though, and he really wasn’t in the mood for people.
Somewhere around midmorning he stumbled down to the studio and set up work on his ugly desk. He’d ordered a light box and an angled drawing table from Amazon for his sketches, but they hadn’t arrived yet. He wasn’t that much of a princess that he couldn’t work on his regular ugly desk, though.
Max was up-to-date with most of the sketches for his clients who were booked in. Some of the designs needed minor adjustments, and he’d get to those. For now he just wanted to draw.
Premade designs were occasionally a good way of bringing in new business. Even if it wasn’t the exact thing a client wanted, they could spark off ideas and convince people he was the right person to do their tattoo. Plus he offered good discounts if customers stuck to what he’d drawn, so it worked out well for everyone.
He was working on expanding his portfolio with bolder color designs. The recognition for his more delicate watercolor and sketch style tattoos was picking up. Now he had to build his brand and show off the other things he could do.
When he’d worked under Buzz, Max had been forced to study the classics. The bold lines and bright color of “Sailor Jerry” Americana tattoos weren’t for him personally, but he could appreciate their place in tattooing history.
For the rest of the morning, he worked on mermaids and skulls, ships and anchors, roses and daggers, and an American eagle with the Stars and Stripes behind it that he’d offer as a Fourth of July special.
Even though he knew it was a terrible habit to fall into, Max headed down the street to the bakery for lunch, because he had fallen desperately in love with their Monte Cristo sandwich, and he was weak.
Today Bella was working alone behind the counter, and the kitchen out back was spotlessly clean.
“Morning,” Max sang as he stepped into the almost empty shop. He frowned. That wasn’t normal.
“Hey, Max. What can I get you?”
“The usual.”
Oh God, he had a usual. He really needed to join a gym.
“Have you heard what’s going on?” Bella asked.
“Nope. What’s the hot gossip?”
“Someone’s holding up the convenience store, down on Twelfth Street.”
“What? Seriously?”
Bella nodded as she turned back to the counter with his sandwich, wrapped up in their distinct pink-and-white-striped paper bags.
“They called in extra cops from out of town to handle it. Apparently the guy has hostages.”
“Shit.” Max shook his head. “That’s fucking crazy. I’ll have to ask Tyler about it later.”
“You’re good friends with the deputy, huh?” Bella said with a wink, taking Max’s money and turning to the till.
“It’s good to have friends, Bella,” Max said primly. He stuffed the change into his pocket and winked at her. “Have a good day.”
As he walked back to the studio, he shot off a quick message to Tyler, not wanting to call him while he was in the middle of his night-shift sleep. At least Tyler was at home, not caught up in whatever madness was going on.
AROUND TWO in the afternoon, Max’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but he’d been using his personal phone for studio business, so he had to answer every call. It was a nightmare.
“Yo. This is Max.”
“Hello, Max. This is Angela Reed.”
“Hey, Ms. Angela, how’s it going?”
Max leaned back in his chair, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tossed a stress ball in the air.
“Max, I need to ask you a favor.” She sounded off. Max dropped the ball and leaned forward again.
“What’s up?”
“Is there any way you could please pick Juniper up from school?”
“Of course.” He glanced at the clock. He still had half an hour until school got out, plenty of time to get over there. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure if you heard, but there was an incident at a convenience store this morning.”
Max’s stomach pitched and dropped. “I heard.”
“Tyler got caught up in it.”
“Holy shit. Sorry. But shit. What’s going on? Is he okay?”
“He’s in the store with a few other people. Dana is with Casey at a doctor’s appointment, so her boys are in extracurricular activities. And Geoff and I are heading back from Richmond. I called the school, and you’re the only other person on the approved list to pick up June.”
“Yeah,” Max said absently, his heart pounding. “That’s fine. What should I do with her? Just take her home?”
“I think that would be for the best. I’ll have someone meet you there to see what she wants to do. If you can avoid telling her anything….”
“I won’t upset her,” Max said.
“I’ll have Geoff come over as soon as he can.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can watch her. Just… Angela… let me know what’s happening? Please?”
“Of course. Thank you, Max.”
She hung up, and for a long minute, Max just stared at his phone.
Tyler was potentially in trouble. And by the sounds of it, Angela had at least figured out that there was something going on between Tyler and Max.
That was a problem for another time. Max left his work wherever it had fallen and quickly locked up the studio, then turned off the lights before running upstairs to change and grab the keys to the truck.
He forced himself to take a deep breath before locking the door to the apartment behind himself. This was no time to freak out.
SOME OF the roads through the town had been blocked off, and knowing why just made Max sick to his stomach. He’d set his phone to vibrate and stuck it in the cup holder, so he’d know if Angela sent him a message. So far it had stayed silent.
The line to get into the elementary school was ridiculous, so Max parked a few streets over and walked back. He didn’t want to contribute any more to the air pollution, even if he did seem to be the only one who felt this way.
Max was quest
ioned at the door and asked for his ID before he was allowed to go through to June’s classroom. He was pretty sure security had never been this tight when he was a kid, and was actually impressed at how seriously the school took the kids’ safety.
June, one of a dozen or so kids still left in the classroom, sat at a table, quietly coloring. It was a strange contrast to the mayhem he’d walked into the week before, almost as though the kids knew they needed to chill out this afternoon.
“Hey, June,” Max said easily. She lit up when she saw him.
“Hey, Max.”
“Your dad got caught up with something at work, so I’m collecting you today.”
“Yeah?” she asked brightly.
“Yeah. Can you go get your bag for me please?”
He went to quietly speak with June’s teacher while she gathered her things. It wasn’t his place to comment on what was going on with Tyler, and she seemed to have already been given a heads-up that neither Tyler nor Angela would be collecting June today, so at least he didn’t have any issues.
“Ready?” he asked June when she came over to give him a hug.
“Yep.”
He took her hand and let her swing it between them as they walked back to the car.
“How come you picked me up?” June asked.
“Your dad got busy with something. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Can we practice signing?”
“Sure can.” Max had been practicing himself, in front of YouTube videos and online tutorials, wanting to get better so he could keep up with June. He was the one with the hearing loss, and she was definitely better than him at learning ASL.
“What’s my Daddy doing?”
“I don’t know,” Max said truthfully. “You know he has an important job.”
“Yeah. Keeping people safe.”
“That’s right.”
“Are we going back to your house?”
“Not tonight,” he said. “I’ll take you home, and we can have a snack.”
“What sort of snack?” she said, suddenly suspicious.
“How about… apple slices with peanut butter?”
