Hostage

Talley climbed back into his car, keeping his head low and the driver's door open. He backed up, then powered into the yard, maneuvering to a stop between Welch and the house to use the car as a shield. Another shot popped the passenger-side window. He rolled out of the car almost on top of Welch. Talley opened the rear door, then dragged Welch to the car. It was like lifting two hundred pounds of deadweight, but Welch moaned. He was alive. Talley propped him upright in the open door, then lifted for all he was worth to fold Welch onto the backseat. He slammed the door, then saw Welch's gun on the grass. He went back for it. He returned to the car and floored the accelerator, fishtailing across the slick grass as he cut across the yard and into the street. He sped back along the cul-de-sac to the corner where the ambulance was waiting. Two paramedics pulled Welch from the rear and pushed a compress onto his chest. Talley didn't ask if Welch would make it. He knew from experience that they wouldn't know.

Talley stared down the length of the cul-de-sac and felt himself tremble. The first flush of panic was passing, and now he had time to think. Now he had time to acknowledge that what was happening here was what had cost him so much in Los Angeles. A hostage situation was developing. His mouth went dry and something sour flushed in his throat that threatened to make him retch.

He keyed the mike again to call his dispatcher. He had exactly four units on duty and another five officers off. He would need them all.

'Chief, I pulled Dreyer and Mikkelson off the minimart. We've got no one on the scene now. It's totally unsecured.'

'Call the CHP and the Sheriffs. Tell them what's going on and request a full crisis team. Tell them we've got two men down and we have a possible hostage situation.'

Talley's eyes filled when he realized that he had used that word. Hostage.

He remembered Welch's gun. He sniffed the muzzle, then checked the magazine. Welch had returned fire, which meant that he might have wounded someone in the house. Maybe even an innocent.

He shut his eyes hard and keyed the mike again.

'Tell them to hurry.'

JENNIFER

Jennifer whispered, 'Daddy.'

Her father held her head, whispered back.

'Shh.'

They snuggled closer. Jennifer thought her father might be trying to pull them through the floor, that if he could just make the three of them small enough they would disappear. She watched Mars peering through the shutters, his wide back hunched like an enormous swollen toad. When Mars glanced back at them, he looked high.

Kevin threw a TV Guide at him.

'What's wrong with you? Why'd you start shooting?'

'To keep them away.'

'We could've gotten out the back!'

Dennis jerked Kevin toward the entry.

'Get it together, Kev. They found the truck. They're already behind us.'

'This is bullshit, Dennis! We should give up!'

Jennifer wanted them to run. She wanted them to get away, if that's what it took; she wanted them out.

The words boiled out of her before she could stop them.

'We don't want you here!'

Her father squeezed her, his voice soft.

'Be quiet.'

Jennifer couldn't stop.

'You have no right to be here! No one invited you!'

Her father pulled her closer.

Dennis jabbed a finger at her.

'Shut up, bitch!'

He turned and shoved his brother into the wall so hard that Jennifer flinched.

'Stop it, Kevin! Go through the house and lock all the windows. Lock the doors, then watch the backyard. They're gonna come over that wall just like we did.'

Kevin seemed confused.

'Why don't we just give up, Dennis? We're caught.'

'It's going to be dark in a few hours. Things will change when it gets dark. Go do it, Kev. We're going to get out of this. We will.'

Jennifer felt her father sigh before he spoke. He slowly pushed to his knees.

'None of you are going to get out of this.'

Dennis said, 'Shut the fuck up. Go on, Kevin. Watch the back.'

Kevin disappeared toward the rear through the entry.

Her father stood. Both Dennis and Mars aimed their guns at him.

Jennifer pulled at his legs.

'Daddy! Don't!'

Her father raised his hands.

'It's okay, sweetie. I'm not going to do anything. I just want to go to my desk.'

Dennis extended his gun.

'Are you fuckin' nuts?! You're not going anywhere!'

'Just take it easy, son.'

'Daddy, don't!'

Her father seemed to be moving in a dream. She wanted to stop him, but she couldn't. She wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He walked stiffly, as if he was prepared to take a punch. It was as if this man in the dream wasn't her father, but someone she had never before seen.

He went behind his desk, carefully placing two computer disks in a black leather disk case as he spoke. Dennis followed along beside him, shouting for him to stop, shouting that he shouldn't take another step, and pointing the gun at his head. Dennis looked as scared as she felt.

'I'm warning you, goddamnit!'

'I'm going to open my desk.'

'I'll fuckin' kill you!'

'Daddy, please!!!'