Standoff

by Sandra Brown

  Ronnie fired the pistol.

  The bullet shattered the glass door of the refrigerated compartment, making a horrific sound and puncturing a plastic gallon jug. Everything nearby was showered with glass and milk.

  The Mexican man drew up short. Before he came to a complete rest, inertia caused his body to rock slightly forward, then back, as though his boots had become stuck to the floor.

  "Stay back or I'll shoot you!" Ronnie's face was congested with blood. A common language wasn't required to get his message across. The man's taller friend spoke to him softly and urgently in Spanish. He backed away until he reached his starting point, then sat down again.

  Tiel glared at him. "You could have gotten your fool head blown off. Save your machismo for another time, okay? I don't want to get killed because of it."

  Although the words were unknown to him, he caught her drift. Pridefully, his dark eyes smoldered resentment over being dressed down by a woman, but she didn't care.

  Tiel turned back to the young couple. Sabra was now lying on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest. For the moment she was quiet.

  By contrast, Ronnie looked on the verge of losing all self-control. Tiel didn't believe that, in the span of a single afternoon, he could have been transformed from a student who'd never been in trouble into a cold-blooded killer. She didn't think the boy had it in him to kill anyone, even in self-defense. If he had wanted to hit the man who had charged him, he could have easily. Instead he appeared as upset as anyone that he'd had to fire the pistol.

  Tiel guessed that he had intentionally missed the man and fired the gun only to underscore his threat.

  Or she could be entirely, terribly wrong.

  According to Gully's information, Ronnie Davison came from a broken home. His real father lived far away, so visits couldn't have been too frequent. Ronnie lived with his mother and stepfather. What if little Ronnie had had a problem with those arrangements? What if his personality had been twisted by the forced separation from his father, and for years he'd been harboring hatred and mistrust? What if he had been concealing murderous impulses as successfully as he and Sabra had concealed her pregnancy? What if he'd been driven over the edge by Russell Dendy's reaction to their news? He was desperate, and desperation was a dangerous motivator.

  For speaking out, she would probably be the first one he shot. But she couldn't just lie there and die without at least trying to avoid it. "If you care anything for this girl…"

  "I've told you before to shut up."

  "I'm only trying to prevent a disaster, Ronnie." Since he and Sabra had addressed each other, he wouldn't wonder how she knew his name. "If you don't get help for Sabra, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life." He was listening, so she took advantage of his apparent indecision.

  "I assume the child is yours."

  "What the hell do you think? Of course it's mine."

  "Then I'm sure you're concerned for its well-being as much as you are for Sabra's. She needs medical assistance."

  "Don't listen to her, Ronnie," Sabra said weakly, "The pain's better now. Maybe it's a false alarm, after all. I'll be okay if I can just rest for a while."

  "I could take you to a hospital. There's got to be one fairly close."

  "No!" Sabra sat up and gripped his shoulders. "He'd find out. He'd come after us. No. We're driving straight through to Mexico tonight. Now that we've got some money, we can make it."

  "I could call my dad…"

  She shook her head. "Daddy could've got to him by now. Bribed him or something. We're on our own, Ronnie, and that's how I want it. Help me up. Let's get out of here." But as she struggled to get up, another pain seized her and she gripped her distended abdomen. "Oh my God, oh my God."

  "This is nuts." Before Tiel had time to process the command of her brain, she was on her feet.

  "Hey!" Ronnie shouted. "Get back down."

  Tiel ignored him, moved past him, and crouched down beside the suffering girl. "Sabra?" She took her hand.

  "Squeeze my hand until the pain passes. That might help."

  Sabra grasped her hand so hard Tiel feared the bones would be ground to meal. But she endured it, and to gather they rode out the contraction. When the girl's features began to relax, Tiel whispered, "Better now?"

  "Hmm." Then with a trace of panic, "Where's Ronnie?"

  "He's right here."

  "I won't leave you, Sabra."

  Tiel said, "I think you should urge him to call nine-one-one for you."

  "No."

  "But you're at risk and so is your baby."

  "He would find us. He'd catch us."

  "Who?" Tiel asked, although she knew. Russell Dendy.

  He had the reputation of being a ruthless businessman.

  From what she knew of him, Tiel couldn't imagine him being any less unyielding in his personal relationships.

  Ronnie said brusquely, "Get back with the others, lady.

  This is none of your business."

  "You made it my business when you waved a pistol at me and threatened my life."

  "Get back over there."

  "No."

  "Look, lady…"

  He faltered when a car pulled off the highway and into the parking lot. Its headlights swept the front of the store.

  "Damn! Hey, lady!" He walked over to the cashier and nudged her with the toe of his shoe. "Get up. Turn off the lights and lock the door."

  The woman shook her head, refusing to acknowledge either him or the precarious situation.

  "Do what he says," the elderly woman said to her. "We'll be all right if we just do what he says."

  "Hurry up!" The car rolled to a stop at one of the gas pumps. "Turn off the lights and lock the door."

  The woman came to her feet unsteadily. "I'm not supposed to close until eleven. That's still ten minutes."

  If circumstances hadn't been so tense, Tiel would have laughed at her blind adherence to the rules.

  Ronnie said, "Do it now. Before he gets out of his car."

  She went behind the counter, her mules slapping against her heels. At the flip of a switch, the lights outside were extinguished.

  "Now lock the door."

  She click-clacked over to another control panel behind the counter and threw a switch. With an audible snap, the door locked electronically. "How do you unlock it?" Ronnie asked her.

  He was smart, Tiel thought. He didn't want to get trapped inside.

  "Just flip this here switch," the cashier replied.

  The cowboy and the two Mexican men were still lying facedown on the floor, their hands on their heads. They couldn't be seen by the man approaching the door. Tiel and Sabra were also out of sight in the aisle between two rows of shelves.

  "Everybody stay put." Ronnie duck walked to the elderly lady and grabbed her arm, lifting her to her feet.

  "No!" her husband cried. "Leave her alone."

  "Shut up!" Ronnie ordered. "If anybody moves, I'm going to shoot her."

  "He's not going to shoot me, Vern," she said to her husband.

  "I'll be all right, as long as everyone stays calm."

  The woman followed Ronnie's instructions and crouched down with him behind a cylindrical cold-drink cooler. From above the rim, he had a clear view to the door.

  The customer tested the door, discovered it locked, and called out. "Donna! You in there? How come you shut off the lights?"

  Donna, cringing behind the counter, remained mute.

  The customer peered through the glass. "There you are," he said, spotting her. "What gives?"

  "Answer him," Ronnie instructed her in a whisper.

  "I'm… s-sick," she said, loud enough to carry through the door.

  "Hell, you ain't got nothing I ain't already had. Open up. All I need is ten dollars' worth o' gas and a six-pack o'

  Miller Lite."

  "I cain't," she called out tearfully.

  "Come on, Donna. Won't take two shakes, and I'll be on my way. It ain't quite 'leven yet.
Open the door."

  "I cain't." She unraveled at the same time her voice rose to a full-fledged scream. "He's gotta gun and he's gonna kill us all." She dropped down behind the counter.

  "Shit!"

  Tiel didn't know from which man the expletive had come, but it echoed exactly what she was thinking. She was also thinking that if Ronnie Davison didn't shoot Donna the cashier, she just might.

  The man at the door backed away, then stumbled as he turned and ran for his car. Tires screeched as the vehicle shot backward, then spun around and pulled onto the highway.

  The old man was chanting, "Don't hurt my wife. I beg you, please don't hurt Gladys. Don't hurt my Gladys."

  "Hush, Vern. I'm all right."

  Ronnie was angrily yelling at Donna for being so stupid.

  "Why'd you do that? Why? That guy will call the police.

  We'll be trapped here. Oh, hell, why'd you do that?"

  His voice was tearing with frustration and fear. Tiel thought that he was probably as scared as the rest of them.

  Maybe more so. Because no matter how this situation was ultimately resolved, he would be faced not only with legal consequences, but with the wrath of Russell Dendy. God help him.

  The young man ordered the cashier to come from behind the counter to where he could see her.

  Tiel didn't know whether or not she obeyed him. All her attention was centered on the girl, who was in the grip of another contraction. "Squeeze my hand, Sabra.

  Breathe." Isn't that what women in labor were supposed to do? Breathe? That's what they did in the movies. They huffed and they puffed and… and they screamed the house down. "Breathe, Sabra."

  "Hey! Hey!" Ronnie shouted suddenly. "Where do you think you're going? Get back over there and lie down.

  Hey, I mean it!"

  Now wasn't the time to be provoking the rattled young man, and Tiel intended to tell whoever was doing so to cut it out. She glanced up, but the reproach died unspoken when the cowboy knelt down on the other side of Sabra.

  "Get away from her!" Ronnie jammed the barrel of the pistol against the cowboy's temple, but it was ignored and so were the young man's shouted threats.

  Hands that looked accustomed to handling tack and fence posts were placed on the girl's abdomen. They kneaded it gently.

  "I can help her." His voice was scratchy, like he hadn't spoken in a long time, like West Texas dust had collected on his vocal cords. He looked up at Ronnie. "They call me Doc."

  "You're a doctor?" Tiel asked.

  His calm gaze moved to her, and he repeated, "I can help her."

  CHAPTER 3

  You're not touching her," Ronnie said fiercely. "Take your lousy hands off her."

  The man called Doc continued to press the girl's abdomen.

  "She's in either the first or second stage of labor.

  Without knowing how much she's dilated, it's hard to gauge how close she is to delivering. But her pains are coming frequently, so I'm guessing-"

  "Guessing?"

  Ignoring Ronnie, Doc patted Sabra's shoulder reassuringly.

  "Is this your first baby?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You can call me Doc."

  "Okay."

  "How long since you first started noticing the pains?"

  "At first I just felt funny, you know? Well, I guess you don't."

  He smiled. "I have no personal experience of it, no. Describe to me how it felt."

  "Like right before a period. Sort of."

  "Pressure down there? And twinges like a bad case of cramps?"

  "Yes. Real bad. And a backache. I thought I was just tired from riding in the pickup so long, but it got worse. I didn't want to say anything." Her eyes moved to Ronnie, who was hovering over Doc's broad shoulders. He was hanging on every word, but he kept the pistol trained on the people who were lined up like matchsticks on the floor.

  "When did these symptoms start?" Doc asked.

  "About three o'clock this afternoon."

  "Jesus, Sabra," Ronnie groaned. "Eight hours? Why didn't you tell me?"

  Her eyes began to tear again. "Because it would have ruined our plans. I wanted to be with you no matter what."

  "Shh." Tiel patted her hand. "Crying will only make you feel worse. Think about the baby coming. It can't be much longer now." She looked across at Doc. "Can it?"

  "Hard to say with first babies."

  "Your best guess."

  "Two, three hours." He stood up and faced off with Ronnie. "She's going to deliver tonight. How easy or difficult the labor and birth will be rests with you. She needs a hospital, a well-equipped delivery room, and medical personnel.

  The baby will also need attention immediately after it's born. That's the situation. What are you going to do about it?"

  Sabra cried out with another pain. Doc dropped down beside her and monitored the contraction by placing his hands on her abdomen. The steep frown between his eyebrows alerted Tiel to trouble. "What?" she asked.

  "Not good."

  "What?"

  He shook his head, indicating that he didn't want to discuss it in front of the girl. But Sabra Dendy was no dummy. She picked up on his concern. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

  To his credit, Doc didn't talk down to her. "Not wrong, Sabra. Just more complicated."

  "What?"

  "Do you know what breech means?"

  Tiel's breath caught. She heard Gladys make a tsking sound of regret.

  "That's when the baby…" Sabra paused to swallow hard. "When the baby is upside down."

  He nodded solemnly. "I think your baby is in the wrong position. Its head isn't down."

  She began to whimper. "What can you do?"

  "Sometimes it isn't necessary to do anything. The baby will turn on its own."

  "What's the worst that can happen?"

  Doc looked up at Ronnie, who'd asked the question. "A cesarean section is done, sparing the mother and child a grueling delivery. A vaginal delivery is dangerous, and can be life-threatening. Knowing that, will you let someone call nine-one-one and get Sabra some help?"

  "No!" the girl cried. "I won't go to a hospital. I won't!"

  Doc took her hand. "Your baby could die, Sabra."

  "You can help me."

  "I'm not equipped."

  "You can anyway. I know you can."

  "Sabra, please listen to him," Tiel urged. "He knows what he's talking about. A breech birth would be extremely painful. It could also endanger your baby's life or cause serious defects. Please urge Ronnie to take Doc's advice.

  Let us call nine-one-one."

  "No," she said, shaking her head stubbornly. "You don't understand. My daddy swore that neither I nor Ronnie would ever see our baby after it's born. He's going to give it away."

  "I doubt if-"

  But Sabra didn't allow Tiel to finish. "He said the baby would mean no more to him than an unwanted puppy he would take to the dog pound. When he says something, he means it. He'll take our baby, and we'll never see it.

  He'll keep us apart, too. He said he would, and he will."

  She began to sob.

  "Oh, my," Gladys murmured. "Poor things."

  Tiel glanced over her shoulder at the others. Vern and Gladys were sitting up now, huddled together, his arms protectively around her. Both were looking on sorrowfully.

  The two Mexican men were talking softly together, their hostile eyes darting about. Tiel hoped they weren't plotting another attempt to overthrow Ronnie. Donna the cashier was still lying on the floor facedown, but she muttered,

  "Poor things, my ass. Almost killed me."

  Ronnie, having reached a decision, looked at Doc and said, "Sabra wants you to help her."

  He looked as though he were about to argue. Then, maybe because time was a factor, he changed his mind.

  "All right. For the time being, I'll do what I can, starting with an internal examination."

  "You mean her…"

  "Yes. That's what I mean. I need to know how f
ar the labor has progressed. Find something for me to sterilize my hands with."

  "I've got some of that waterless hand wash," Tiel told him. "It's antibacterial."

  "Good. Thanks."

  She made to get up, but Ronnie halted her. "Get it and come right back. Remember, I'm watching."

  She returned to the spot where she had dropped her satchel, her soft drinks, and her sunflower seeds. She retrieved the plastic container of hand wash from her satchel. Then, getting Vern's attention, she mimicked holding a video camera up to her eye. At first he looked perplexed, but then Gladys nudged him in the ribs and whispered in his ear. Nodding vigorously, he hitched his chin in the direction of the magazine rack. Tiel remembered they'd been browsing there when the robbery commenced.

  She returned with the bottle of hand wash and handed it to Doc. "Shouldn't she have something beneath her?"

  "We've got some bed pads in the RV."

  "Gladys!" Vern exclaimed, obviously mortified by his wife's admission.

  "They would be perfect," Tiel said, remembering the disposable protective pads she'd seen on Uncle Pete's bed in the nursing home. They prevented the staff from having to change the bed linens each time a resident had an accident. "I'll go get them."

  "Like hell," Ronnie said, dashing that idea. "Not you.

  But the old man can go. She," he added, pointing the pistol at Gladys, "stays here."

  Gladys patted Vern's bony knee. "I'll be fine, honey."

  "You're sure? If anything happened to you…"

  "Nothing is going to happen to me. That boy's got more than me to worry about."

  Vern levered his rickety body up off the floor, dusted off the seat of his shorts, and moved to the door. "Well, I can't walk through glass."

  Ronnie nudged Donna again, who instantly began imploring him to spare her life. He instructed her to shut up and unlock the door, which she did.

  At the door Ronnie and the elderly man exchanged a meaningful look. "Don't worry, I'll be back," the old man assured him. "I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my wife's life." And, although Ronnie Davison was fifty pounds heavier and half a foot taller, he issued him a warning. "If you harm her, I'll kill you."

  Ronnie pushed open the door and Vern slipped through. His attempt at a jog was unintentionally comical.