Deshawn said, “She doesn’t work here. At least not so that I’ve noticed.”
“Is that Souza?” Faith asked. “She could have the kid somewhere else, maybe in a car downstairs.”
A second location. The worst of the worst-case scenarios.
Will got on the radio. “We need a quiet sweep of the garage. Check for Anthony in a parked car.”
The woman pressed the elevator button again. Her hand went back into her jacket pocket. There was something furtive to her movements. She was clearly nervous.
Will clicked on the radio again. He told Amanda, “We might have someone in the elevator. Green jacket. Stand by.”
“10-4,” Amanda said.
“She doesn’t look young, right?” Faith practically had her nose touching the monitor. “The way she carries herself. She’s not talking on her phone or listening to music. It’s too hot for that jacket.”
Deshawn said, “We’ll see her face when she gets on the elevator.”
The doors slid open. Green Jacket didn’t look up as she got on. She kept her head down, hands still tucked deep into her pockets. The doors started to close, but her arm shot out, stopping it.
“Shit,” Faith said. Yet another woman was getting onto the elevator. Tall, blonde ponytail, dressed in a V-necked T-shirt and running shorts. She was trying to wrangle a two-seater baby stroller onto the elevator. An infant was in the front seat. A little girl dressed like a character from the Lego movie slept in the back.
“I don’t like this,” Faith said. “That’s two kids. Two hostages.”
As they watched, Green Jacket leaned down, gripping the front of the stroller and pulling it onto the elevator. There was an exchange of pleasantries before the doors closed. They silently rode up to the third level.
“She’s still not looking at the camera,” Faith said. “Nobody keeps their head down all of the time like that.”
Will held the radio to his mouth. “Green Jacket, getting off the elevator.”
Phil Brauer stood up from the table. He threw away his coffee cup in the trash can. Green Jacket helped the blonde maneuver the stroller out of the elevator, then walked toward the movie theater. Brauer sat down at another table. He put his phone to his ear. Will heard the man’s voice on the radio. “Can’t tell with the hat. She’s got dark hair. Looks about the right age.”
They all leaned closer to the screens. Green Jacket stood in front of the box office. She looked up at the board that showed the movie times.
“Is it her?” Faith asked. “I can’t—”
“Contact,” Amanda said.
Reuben Figaroa was standing up.
The blonde with the tandem stroller stood on the other side of his table.
Virginia Souza.
The bottom girl had cleaned up well. She had dyed her hair honey blonde instead of bleaching it. Her makeup was understated. Her clothes accentuated her body, but didn’t show off too much. The ponytail gave her a more youthful look. She had been here before, taking time to study the other women to make sure she would blend in.
“It’s Anthony,” Faith said.
She was right. Anthony was in the back of the stroller. He was dressed in pink. His legs were folded up underneath him. He was too big for the seat. His eyes were closed. They were shaped like Angie’s. His skin was Angie’s. His jeopardy was Angie’s.
Will clicked the radio. “It’s her. She has Anthony and an infant in the stroller. There’s a second woman, probably backup, three tables over, red shoes.”
Amanda said, “Alpha team, Delta team, lock down.”
She was closing off Legoland and the theater.
Faith asked, “What are they saying? They’re just standing there.”
There was obviously a terse exchange going on between Reuben and Souza. Will saw the man’s fists were tightly clenched. He kept looking at his son, then at Souza, like he couldn’t decide whether or not losing Anthony was worth the pleasure of killing her.
“She told him about her backup,” Faith guessed. “That’s the only reason he’s not on top of her. Red Shoes has to have a gun.”
“The iPad,” Will said, because he knew how these women worked. “Souza wants to put Reuben on the hook for more money. She thinks she can get the iPad from Angie.”
Amanda cut in. “Brauer texted. He can’t hear them. He can’t see what Red Shoes is doing. Can anyone see her hands?”
Will told her, “She’s got her phone in her lap.”
“The purse,” Faith said, because like almost every woman there, Red Shoes had a purse that could easily accommodate a handgun.
Phil Brauer moved his chair, turning sideways. He was holding out his cell phone like he needed glasses to read something, using his peripheral vision to check on Green Jacket.
She was still looking at the box office times. She still had her hands in her pockets.
Faith said, “They’re sitting down.”
Reuben was in his chair. He didn’t slump like before. His shoulders were straight. His legs were so long that his knees reached the other side of the small table. Souza had to keep her chair pulled back so that she could face him. Her mouth kept moving. She seemed blind to the effect her words were having.
Faith said, “This is taking too long. She’s worked men more than half her life. Why can’t she see that he’s about to explode?”
“Just go in.” Deshawn sounded desperate. “Why aren’t you guys moving? Nobody’s armed.”
“You don’t need a gun to throw a baby over the side of that balcony.”
“Jesus.”
Will squinted at the infant in the front seat of the stroller. “Can you tell if the baby is moving?”
Faith shook her head. “Where’s the diaper bag, the sippy cups, the extra blankets, the wipes?”
“You think it’s fake?”
“Why would she bring a baby? They’re too much trouble.” She said it again, “This is taking too long.”
Reuben Figaroa seemed to be thinking this same thing. He had his hands clasped together in his lap. He wasn’t reaching for his duffel bag. He wasn’t talking. He glared at Souza as she lectured him. His anger was like a third person at the table. Will could almost see the crank on his back winding tighter and tighter. Souza either had no idea what she was doing or she assumed that she had all of the power.
Reuben Figaroa didn’t like women with power.
“Red Shoes is getting up.”
The young woman stood and walked toward the escalator. Her phone was pressed to her ear.
Will kept his eyes on Virginia Souza. She was warning Reuben about something, giving him an ultimatum. Her finger jammed into the air. She didn’t seem to notice that her chair was moving, sliding her closer and closer to the table.
Will said, “He’s got his feet hooked around the chair legs.”
“What’s he doing under the table?”
Reuben’s hands were working on something, peeling at something.
Will put the radio to his mouth.
It happened so fast that he didn’t have time to press the button.
Souza’s chair yanked forward, pinning her to the back. Reuben plunged a large knife straight into her throat. Her hands went up. He grabbed her wrists, holding them with one hand while with the other he stabbed her belly again and again underneath the table.
“Shit!” Faith hissed.
Blood poured down Souza’s chair. She slumped over.
Reuben stood with the duffel bag. He reached for Anthony.
“Watch out!” Deshawn screamed.
Green Jacket was drawing down on Reuben. Double barrel, stainless steel Snake Slayer. Two shots from the derringer would send ten .38 special-sized projectiles flying through the air.
Phil Brauer ran toward the woman, but it didn’t matter.
Reuben pulled a Sig Sauer out of his duffel and shot Green Jacket in the head.
“Lock down!” Amanda ordered. “Now!”
Will ran from the room, his rifle s
lamming into his back. Faith was on his heels. They were fifty yards from the atrium, one level below the food court. He felt like he was running on a treadmill as he circled the large opening. Every step forward took him two back. Faith bolted up the escalator to the third floor. Will rounded the far side of the atrium. He slung around his rifle, slid across the floor on his knees, and took up position across from where Reuben Figaroa stood.
The barrel of Will’s rifle rested on the railing. His eye was to the scope. The safety was off. His finger stretched along the trigger guard.
He took a breath.
Forty yards.
He could make the shot in his sleep, but Reuben held Anthony to his chest, his giant arm crushing his son’s ribs. The muzzle of the Sig Sauer was pressed against Anthony’s temple.
Amanda said, “Drop it!”
Her stance was wide. She had her revolver out, fifteen feet from her target. Faith had stopped the escalator. She was lying flat to the stairs. Phil Bauer was kneeling behind a table. They had formed a triangle, trapping Reuben inside. Like Will, they were all looking for a shot. Like Will, they were all coming up short. Anthony covered his father’s heart, his lungs, his belly, anyplace that a bullet could stop him.
Reuben screamed, “Back the fuck up!”
Will looked through the riflescope. Reuben’s finger was wrapped around the trigger. One single twitch and Anthony’s life would be over. Will knew that Amanda was going through the same checklist that he was. If she hit Reuben’s leg, he could still pull the trigger. If she aimed for his head and missed, he could still pull the trigger. If she hit his head, he could still pull the trigger. If she miscalculated by even the smallest fraction, she could end up killing a six-year-old boy.
Amanda said, “You’re surrounded. There’s no way out.”
“Get the fuck out of my way.”
Will tensed. Reuben had an athlete’s reflexes. In seconds, he could flick his wrist and shoot Amanda, and Will would be left with the same bad choices.
Reuben walked toward Amanda. He limped in his knee brace. “Get back, bitch.”
“You don’t want to do this.” Amanda backed up. Will’s view was obstructed as she passed in front of the elevator. “Put the gun down and we can talk.”
Reuben kept walking, Anthony tight to his chest. Will moved counter to him, rifle up, praying for a clean shot.
Reuben punched the button on the elevator. “I’m walking outta here.”
“Put the boy down,” Amanda said. “Put him down and we’ll talk.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
The sound of his father shouting was enough to wake Anthony from his stupor. His eyes went wide as he realized what was happening. He started screaming, a high-pitched sound like an animal caught in a trap.
The elevator doors opened. Reuben got on. Will had a straight line through the glass wall of the elevator. He still couldn’t shoot. Even from this distance, he wasn’t sure the bullet wouldn’t pass through Reuben and kill Anthony.
The doors closed.
Will jogged back around the atrium. The elevator car passed the second floor. He ran toward the next escalator. The stairs were going up. Will shuffled down, his feet tripping on the metal treads. He grabbed onto the rails, lifted his legs, and hurled his body the rest of the way down.
His feet hit the floor just as the elevator doors opened.
Anthony was crying. He squirmed to get out of his father’s arms. Reuben struggled to hold on to the kid and the gun. He was yelling at the boy to be quiet. Will ran at a crouch, using the back of the escalator for cover. The butt of his rifle was jammed into his shoulder. He kept one eye on the sight.
Anthony kept flailing, arms wide. His feet kicked, landing a blow on his father’s bad knee. Reuben dropped him.
Will swung around and pulled the trigger.
The world stopped spinning.
The butt of the rifle recoiled into Will’s shoulder. There was a flash at the end of the muzzle. The cartridge ejected out to the side. The bullet sliced the dense air like a knife cutting open a bag of flour.
Reuben Figaroa’s shoulder jerked back. He slammed against the elevator doors and slid to the floor.
Will followed him down, going to one knee. His trigger finger started to pull back again, but Anthony stopped him.
Reuben had the Sig pointed at his son’s back. His aim was steady.
Will had put the bullet in the wrong shoulder.
Reuben said, “Come here, boy.”
Will was fifteen feet away from Anthony. Reuben was less than two.
“Anthony,” Will said. “Run.”
Anthony didn’t move.
Will slid his knee across the floor, trying to get a better angle. Reuben’s flanks were protected by the deep elevator alcove. The only shot that could take him out would have to come from the front.
“Stop.” Reuben’s eyes tracked back and forth between Anthony and Will, and then Faith.
She was on the other side of the escalator. Another triangle, again with Reuben at the center. Will heard footsteps as more officers approached, but he didn’t dare take his eye off Reuben Figaroa.
“Anthony,” Reuben ordered. “Get over here, boy.”
Faith said, “Anthony, sweetheart. Come to me. It’s okay.”
Will slid over a little bit more. His finger tensed on the trigger.
Reuben screamed, “Now, God dammit!”
Anthony stepped back.
Will took his finger off the trigger.
Reuben wrapped his injured arm around his son. Anthony fell into him, his head blocking his father’s face. The Sig pressed at the boy’s temple. Anthony didn’t struggle. He didn’t speak. He had learned to be still when his father was angry. All of his fear channeled into his lip that quivered like his adoptive grandmother’s, and the look of resignation in his eyes that he’d inherited from Angie.
When she talked to Will about the abuse, she never talked about it. She only gave advice: All you have to do is wait until it’s over.
Anthony was waiting for the inevitable. The screaming. The hitting. The black eye. The split lip. The sleepless nights as he waited for the door to open.
“Back away.” Reuben had to rest the side of his hand on his son’s shoulder. He was panting hard. Blood poured from the bullet hole just below his clavicle. They were at the same impasse as the one upstairs, only now, Reuben was even more desperate.
Will said, “Put down the gun. You don’t want to do this.”
“Shit.” Reuben’s hand started shaking. Blood slipped down his other arm. The muscles were spasming, tensing his chest and shoulders. “What’d you hit me with?”
“Hornaday 60 grain TAP URBAN.”
“Tactial Application for Police.” His eyelids were heavy. His face was slick with sweat. “Reduced penetration for urban environments.”
Will used his back foot to push his knee forward. He couldn’t come from the side. He had to get closer. “Sounds like you know your ammo.”
“You see that Snake Slayer that bitch pulled?”
“Probably had .410 Bonds in the chamber.”
“Lucky I stopped her.” Reuben blinked sweat out of his eyes. Will wondered if the man’s vision was blurring. There were a lot of important things near the clavicle. Subclavian arteries. Subclavian veins. Sara would know. She would record the damage in Reuben Figaroa’s autopsy, because if the man hurt Angie’s grandson, he would not walk out of here alive.
“Let’s talk this out,” Will said. “You’re gonna need surgery. I can help you.”
“No more surgery.” He shook his head. He was blinking more slowly now. His arm was not so tight around Anthony. The muzzle of the Sig had tilted upward, but Reuben could still put a bullet in his son’s brain.
Will moved closer.
Faith made a noise. Anthony looked at her. Will did not. He knew she was trying to wave the boy over.
“Don’t.” Reuben straightened the gun.
Will asked, “What’
s the trigger pull on that Sig? Five and half pounds? Six?”
Reuben nodded.
“Why don’t you move your finger? You don’t want to make a mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes.”
Will slid closer. Ten feet. If Reuben moved just a little to the side, Will was close enough for the head shot. To make one. To receive one. Will couldn’t trust the gun in Reuben’s hand. It was upstairs all over again. Reuben could flick it out and kill Will. He could flick it back and kill Anthony.
Will said, “You’re not doing too well, man.”
“I’m not,” he agreed. The arm around Anthony started to relax again. The boy could pull away, but Reuben could still shoot the gun. At Anthony. At Will.
“Let’s talk this out.” Will repeated. He pushed a few inches closer. The rifle was out in front of him. Thirty-nine inches of weapon. One hand on the grip, the other on the stock. Will slid his hand farther down the barrel. His shoulder would dislocate if the gun went off. He curved his back, buying the illusion of extra space.
Reuben said, “I can’t leave my boy alone.”
Will couldn’t look at the kid. He couldn’t see Angie’s eyes looking back at him. “You don’t have to take Anthony with you.”
“There’s nothing left for him,” Reuben said. “Jo’s gone. My career is gone. That video gets out, and my freedom is gone.”
Will said, “Do you see how close I am?”
Reuben’s eyelids fluttered. He straightened the Sig.
Will said, “I can pull the trigger right now.”
“So can I.” Reuben’s breathing was shallow. His skin had no color. Will could see every single pore in his face, every single follicle of hair. “I’m not going to leave my boy alone.” He swallowed. “Jo wouldn’t want that. Her real mother left her. She would never leave her son.”
Will pushed himself closer. He thought about why Reuben was doing this, how the loss of control had spun out his life. He asked, “How do I stop this, Reuben? Tell me how to save your son.”
“Who killed her?”
Will tried to think of the best lie to tell him, the one that would keep him from murdering his son. That Jo was still alive, that Reuben had something to live for? That Jo was dead, but the woman behind her murder was in police custody? That she was Jo’s mother? That she had tried to ransom her own grandson?
The Kept Woman Page 43
