Hostage

by Robert Crais

  Mars said, “We can’t make the microwave work.”

  “What?”

  “We’re hungry. You’re going to cook.”

  “I’m not going to cook for you. You’re out of your mind.”

  “You’ll cook.”

  “Fuck yourself!”

  The words came before she could stop them.

  Mars stepped close, then searched her eyes the way he had when she was tied to the chair, first one eye, then the other. She tried to step back, but he laced his fingers in her hair, holding her close. He spoke so softly that she could barely hear.

  “I told you, that’s a bad thing.”

  “Leave go of me.”

  He bunched his fist, pulling her hair.

  “Stop.”

  He twisted his fist, pulling tighter. His face held no expression except for a mild curiosity. The pain was enormous. Jennifer’s entire body was rigid and clammy.

  “I can do anything I want to you, bad girl. Remember that. Think about it.”

  Mars pushed her through the door, then roughly along the hall and down the stairs. The kitchen lights were on, bright and blinding after so long in the black of her room. Mars cut the tape at her wrists, then peeled it away. She had not seen his knife before. It was curved and wicked. When he turned to the refrigerator, she glanced at the French doors, and fought the urge to run even though Thomas had given her that chance. Two frozen pizzas were sitting on the counter and the microwave oven was open.

  “Heat the pizza.”

  Mars turned away from her and went to the refrigerator, his back wide and threatening. Jennifer remembered the paring knife, pushed behind the food processor when they first invaded her home. She glanced toward the food processor, looking for it. When she looked back at Mars, he was watching her, holding a carton of eggs. It was like he could see inside her.

  “I want scrambled eggs and hot dogs on mine.”

  “On the pizza?”

  “I like it with hot sauce and butter.”

  As Jennifer got a frying pan and a bowl and the other things she would need, Dennis appeared from the entry. His eyes were dark and hollow.

  “Is she cooking?”

  “She’s making eggs.”

  Dennis grunted listlessly, then turned away without another word. She found herself wishing that he would die.

  “When are you going to let us go?”

  “Shut up. All you have to do is make the pizza.”

  She broke all nine eggs into a glass bowl, then put the frying pan on to heat. She didn’t bother with salt and pepper. She wanted the eggs to taste nasty.

  Mars stood in the family room, staring at her.

  “Stop watching me. I’m going to burn the eggs.”

  Mars went to the French doors.

  Him walking away was like a weight being lifted. She could breathe again. Jennifer beat the eggs, sprayed the pan with PAM, then poured in the eggs. She got hot sauce from the refrigerator, then glanced at Mars. He was standing by the French doors, staring at nothing, with his right hand on the glass. She shook hot sauce into the eggs until the eggs were orange, hoping it would poison them, then she thought that she might be able to poison them for real. Her mother had sleeping pills, there was probably rat poison or weed killer in the garage, there was Drano. She thought that Thomas might be able to get the sleeping pills. Then, if they made her cook again, she could put it in the food.

  She glanced over at Mars again, expecting that he had read her mind again and would be watching her, but he had moved deeper into the family room. She looked at the paring knife. The handle was sticking out from behind the food processor, directly beneath the cabinet with the plates. She glanced at Mars again. She couldn’t see his face, only the shadow of his bulk. He might have been looking at her, but she couldn’t tell. She walked directly to the cabinets, took down some plates, and picked up the knife. She fought the urge to glance at Mars, knowing that if their eyes locked he would know, he could tell. She pushed the knife under her shirt into the waist of her shorts and into the bottom of her bathing suit, horizontally so that it lay against the flat of her belly.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting plates.”

  “You’re burning the eggs. I can smell’m.”

  She brought the plates to the stove, feeling the hard shape of the knife low on her belly, thinking that now if they turned their backs, she could kill them.

  Across the house in the office, the telephone rang.

  15

  • • •

  Friday, 11:02 P.M.

  TALLEY

  The Sheriffs had set up a dedicated phone for Maddox and Ellison. It was looped by a cell link from Maddox’s radio car to the command van, where it was hardwired into the Smith’s phone line beneath the street. It provided the negotiators with a cell phone’s freedom of movement while allowing all conversations to be recorded in the van. Martin, Hicks, and everyone else in the van would be listening to every word. Talley didn’t want that.

  Talley took out his cell phone, but he had forgotten Smith’s number and had to ask for it.

  Maddox, watching him, said, “We’ve got the hard line.”

  Talley ignored him.

  “I’m more comfortable with this. You got the number?”

  Unless the Sheriffs had changed the phone block, the Smiths’ phone should still accept Talley’s calls. Ellison read off the number as Maddox watched Talley. Talley knew they thought this was odd, but he didn’t care.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “What?”

  “Out of the blue, you’re back, you’re calling the house. Every call has to have a point. Why?”

  Talley stopped dialing the number and tried to order his thoughts. He had developed a certain amount of respect for Maddox and wanted to tell him the truth, but his fear wouldn’t allow it. He wanted Smith. That’s all he knew. Smith was his link to the people who had his wife and daughter. He considered the house and what might be on the other side of its door, then looked back at Maddox. He needed to say something that would bring Maddox onto his side.

  “I’m scared that Smith is dead. I think I can push Rooney into telling us without tipping him off that the boy called.”

  “If he’s dead, Rooney isn’t going to say shit and the boy would’ve told us.”

  “So what do we do, Maddox? You want to breach the house?”

  Maddox held his gaze, then looked back at the house and nodded.

  “All right, then.”

  Talley redialed the number, then waited for the ring. The front and sides of the house glowed from the banks of white lights that the Sheriffs had erected, the glare so hot that the house seemed washed out and pale. Exaggerated black shadows stretched across the lawn like grave markers. The phone rang four long times before Rooney picked up.

  “That you, Talley? I saw you come back.”

  For the space of three heartbeats, Talley said nothing. That had never happened before, but it took that time for Talley to push aside the anxiety that he knew would be in his voice. He could have nothing weak in his voice. Nothing that might warn Rooney or put him on guard.

  “Talley?”

  “Hello, Dennis. You there in the office, watching us?”

  The shutters flicked open, then closed.

  “I guess you are. Did you miss me?”

  “I don’t like that new guy, Maddox. He thinks I’m stupid, calling every fifteen minutes, pretending he wants to make sure we’re all right, but it’s to keep us awake. I’m not stupid.”

  Talley felt himself grow calm now that he was back on the phone. He had hated it earlier today, but now the familiarity of it strengthened him, just him and the phone and the subject, a small self-contained world where he played a game against the voice on the other end. It surprised him that he felt a confidence that he hadn’t known in years, a deep sense that he could control this world if not the larger one. He glanced up at the helicopters. Red and green angels.

  �
��I came back tonight because we’ve got a big problem out here.”

  Rooney hesitated as Talley knew he would, thinking. Talley knew that what he was about to say would surprise Maddox and Ellison, so he glanced at them and touched his lips. Then he filled the silence that Rooney left, firming his voice to show that he was serious and concerned.

  “I need you to let me talk to Mr. Smith.”

  “We been through that, Talley. Forget it.”

  “I can’t forget it this time, Dennis. These people out here, the Sheriffs, they think you won’t let me talk to Mr. Smith or his children because they’re dead. They think you’ve murdered them.”

  “That’s bullshit!”

  Maddox and Ellison shifted next to him, staring. Talley felt the weight of their eyes but ignored them.

  “If you don’t let me speak with Mr. Smith, they are going to assume that he is in fact dead, and they are going to breach the house.”

  Rooney started cursing and shouting that everyone was going to die and that the house would burn. Talley expected his reaction and let him vent.

  Maddox gripped Talley’s arm.

  “What the hell are you saying? You can’t say somethin’ like that!”

  Talley held up a hand, telling him to back off. He waited for a break in Dennis’s rant.

  “Dennis? Dennis, I’m telling you right now that I believe you, but they don’t. This isn’t up to me, son. I believe you. But unless you give me something to convince them, they’re going in. Let me speak to him, Dennis.”

  Talley was taking a big chance. If Smith was conscious and able to speak, Rooney might very well put him on the phone. If that happened, Talley would still try to get the information about the men in the car, but he knew the odds of that would be slim. Talley’s only hope was that Smith was still unconscious. If Rooney would admit his condition, Talley had a shot at getting Smith released.

  Rooney said, “Fuck you and fuck them! If you try to come in here, these kids are gonna die!”

  “Let me speak to him, Dennis. Please. They think he’s dead, and they are going to come in.”

  Rooney screamed, “SHIT!”

  Talley could hear the frustration in Rooney’s voice. He waited. Rooney was silent and that meant he was thinking; he couldn’t put Smith on the phone, but he was scared to admit that Smith was injured. Talley felt a surge of excitement, but hid it. He softened his voice, made it understanding and sympathetic. We’re both in this together, pal.

  “Is something wrong in there, Dennis? Is there a reason you can’t put Smith on the phone?”

  Rooney didn’t answer.

  “Talk to me, Dennis.”

  Rooney took almost a full minute before he finally answered.

  “He got knocked out. He won’t wake up.”

  Talley knew better than to ask how; it would put Rooney on the defensive, and Talley didn’t want to do that. He had Smith’s situation out in the open, so now he could try to get Smith. Maddox, still watching, raised his eyebrows in a question. Talley nodded, getting there; he repeated the admission for Maddox.

  “So you’re saying that Mr. Smith is unconscious. Okay, okay, I’m glad you’re telling me this, Dennis. That explains things. Now we can deal with it.”

  “They better not try to come in here.”

  They, not you.

  “I think we can work with this, Dennis. Are we talking about a head injury here? I’m not asking how this happened, but is that what’s wrong with him?”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Is he breathing?”

  “Yeah, but he’s out cold. He can’t talk.”

  Now Talley had to move it to the next level. Now he had to get in the house, or get Smith out.

  “Dennis, now I understand why you couldn’t put him on, but you’ve got a guy in there who needs to be in the hospital. Let me come get him.”

  “Fuck that! I know what you bastards will do, you’ll rush the house.”

  Rooney was scared. He was flat-out terrified.

  “No. No, we wouldn’t do that.”

  “Fuck yourself, Talley. You ain’t comin’ in!”

  Talley pressed harder. He knew that he could have suggested sending in a paramedic or a doctor, but he didn’t want anyone going in; he wanted Walter Smith coming out.

  “If you won’t let us come in, then all you have to do is put him outside, right outside the front door.”

  “I’m not stupid! I’m not gonna walk out the door with all the snipers you have out there!”

  Talley saw movement to his side, Maddox and Ellison. He heard Maddox key his radio, telling someone to have the ambulance brought up.

  “No one is going to shoot you. Just put him outside and we’ll come get him. If you save his life, Dennis, it will help you when you get to court.”

  “No!”

  “That’s all it takes, Dennis. Put him outside.” Rooney’s voice rose.

  “No!”

  “Save him.”

  Rooney shouted again.

  “No!”

  “Help me help you.”

  Rooney slammed down the phone.

  “Dennis?”

  Nothing. Rooney was gone.

  “DENNIS?!”

  Maddox and Ellison stared at him, motionless, waiting.

  “What?”

  Talley had been so close, but he had wanted it too much. He had pressed too hard. He had lost.

  DENNIS

  Dennis slammed down the phone, then picked it up and smashed it on Smith’s desk.

  “That fuck! That fuck wants me dead!”

  He was so angry that his head felt swollen and thick. Kevin paced in front of the television with his arms crossed, a nervous wreck. Kevin went to the couch and stared down at Walter Smith.

  “We should let them have him. He’s a lot worse.”

  “Fuck them! They didn’t give us a helicopter, did they?”

  “What does that matter? Look at him, Dennis! I think he’s having seizures.”

  Smith would be still as a corpse, then he would suddenly jerk, his whole body twitching. Dennis couldn’t look at him.

  “You wouldn’t know a seizure if it bit you on the ass.”

  “Look at him. Maybe it’s brain damage.”

  Dennis went to the shutters. Nothing had changed since he’d looked the time before, or from the time before that: The cul-de-sac was filled with cops and cop cars, and more seemed to be coming. Dennis wouldn’t admit it to Kevin, but he was scared. He was hungry and tired, and the smell of the gasoline in the entry was making him sick. His pockets bulged with the money he had stuffed in them.

  Kevin came over to him.

  “Dennis, he’s dying. It’s bad enough we got the Chinaman and that cop, this guy dies they’ll add another murder charge.”

  “Shut up, Kevin. Jesus.”

  “We should talk to a lawyer like that cop said. We need a lawyer to cut us a deal. We can blame Mars.”

  “Don’t let him hear you!”

  “I don’t care if he hears!”

  “Just calm down, Kevin. I’m working on it. I just need some food, is all. Some food and some time. We’ll think of something. The girl is in there cooking.”

  “How can you even think about eating? I’m about to puke.”

  “I saw some Gaviscom in the bathroom. Eat that.”

  “I want to sleep.”

  “Would you shut the fuck up?! The cops will put you in jail, where you can sleep every night for the rest of your life!”

  Dennis knew Kevin was right, but he tried not to think about it. Every plan he hatched had holes big enough to hide a house, and now the cops were threatening to break down the doors. Walter Smith twitched and trembled again. It looked like he was freezing to death, the way you’d shiver if you were sleeping on a block of ice. Dennis felt tears well in his eyes because he was so scared. Here he was, sitting on a million bucks, and he didn’t know what to do.

  Mars and the girl came in with the pizzas, Dennis thinking
that maybe the food would help, but when the girl saw her father, she dropped the pizza and ran straight to her father.

  “What’s wrong with him? Daddy?!”

  Dennis thought his head would burst.

  She dropped down to her knees, leaning over her father but not touching him.

  “Look at the way he’s shaking. Why is he shaking like this? Aren’t you going to do something?”

  Kevin put on the pussy face.

  “Dennis, he needs a doctor.”

  Dennis wanted to smash him.

  “No.”

  The girl glared at him, screaming.

  “He’s ice-cold! Can’t you see this? Don’t you know he’s dying?!”

  Kevin stepped closer, in Dennis’s face now, pleading

  “Please, Dennis. If he dies, we got another murder charge. We’re fucked up bad enough.”

  Dennis was scared. He didn’t want the sonofabitch to die. He didn’t want another murder charge.

  Kevin picked up the phone.

  “Call them. Let them have him.”

  “No.”

  “They’ll like it that you’re trying to help. They might even cut us some slack. Think about it, Dennis. Think.”

  Kevin stepped closer, his whisper more than a plea.

  “If those SWAT guys come in here, you’ll never keep the money.”

  Dennis glanced at Mars, who sat on the floor with a plate of eggs and pizza, eating. Mars met Dennis’s eyes, then made a little smile like he knew it all along, like Dennis didn’t have the balls to play it hard.

  Fuck Mars.

  Dennis wanted the money.

  He took the phone and punched in Talley’s number.

  TALLEY

  Talley was charging his phone off the cigarette lighter in Maddox’s car when the phone rang. He tensed, a jag of fear jolting him because he thought it was the Watchman’s Nokia.

  Maddox said, “That’s your phone.”

  Talley opened his phone.

  “Talley.”

  It was Rooney.

  “Okay, Talley. If you want him, come get him. But just you.”

  Talley had thought it was over, thought he had completely blown any chance at getting to Smith, but here was Rooney delivering him. Talley was dead, but now he lived again. He had a chance at Jane and Amanda!