Escapade

by Susan Kyle

  “What the hell have you done to my newspaper?” Ward exploded. He’d called Amanda into his office after he’d thumbed through the paper he hadn’t yet had the time or presence of mind to read. “We’re a weekly, not a daily, we aren’t supposed to be competing! And I told Bob Vinson he could have the page two spot that he’s always had! You’ve moved him to the obit page!” He looked at the sheets, horrified. “My God, you’ve taken out Tartoni’s Pizza Parlor ad!”

  “Indeed I have,” Amanda said, leaning back against the desk with her arms folded. In a neat gray pantsuit, and her hair in a chignon, she looked every inch the executive. The contrast between her and Ward Johnson in baggy slacks and a frayed knit shirt was blatant. “Tartoni hadn’t paid for his ad in six months.”

  “He was having financial problems!” Ward exclaimed.

  His proprietory attitude, and the vicious anger he was showing toward her, put an end to her sympathy for him. It was her newspaper, and he was trying to tell her she had no right to run it!

  “You might not have noticed,” she began, “but we’ve been having financial problems ourselves. And no wonder. Did they teach you in journalism school that you can give free advertising and keep the doors open?”

  He flushed. “I didn’t go to journalism school. I got my education in the school of hard knocks!”

  “Then you weren’t knocked hard enough,” she said angrily. “You run this office like a weekend hobby! You wouldn’t raise prices, even when every other newspaper in the state did. You very nearly let the job press die because you wouldn’t update your printing prices. You wouldn’t make clients proofread and okay printing jobs before they were put on the press. We lost money hand over fist because of that. Worse, you kept old paper for printing that was worthless in spots where new paper should have gone, and you practically gave away photocopies. You probably had to, because nobody knew how to get the machine to put out decent copies. Even if they had, you were too cheap to buy toner to keep it running properly. It does now, and you’re going to notice that we’re attracting a lot of new customers. You wouldn’t add new people, you wouldn’t give raises to the old ones… my economics professor in college would have loved you as an example of every ‘don’t’ in business!”

  “This is my business,” he began hotly.

  “This is my business!” she flashed back. “It’s been in my family for a hundred years, and I’m going to own forty-nine percent of it year after next! On paper you work for me, mister, and don’t you ever forget it! I have enough legal control even now to kick you right out the door if you don’t show a profit. And I will. Josh and I agreed that we need two managers. When we get the details sorted out, you’ll manage the newspaper, and I’ll manage the job press. But believe me, if you don’t hold up your end, I’ll get someone who will!”

  “Who do you think you are?!” he raged, red-faced.

  “Harrison Todd’s daughter,” she said with cool insolence. “Your boss.”

  “I’ll go to Josh Lawson,” he threatened.

  “I already have,” she replied, and watched him melt. “Josh and I are of one mind on your recent behavior,” she said meaningfully. “You are now here on sufferance. I suggest you get into your assigned slot and do the job you were hired to do. Run the newspaper to show a profit, not as a charity.”

  His fists clenched by his side. “You’ll regret this,” he said, his voice rasping.

  “No, I won’t. But you might, if you don’t straighten out your life. Just one more thing. There will be no more late working hours here, Mr. Johnson. The doors close at five. For everyone,” she added.

  He swallowed. His eyes darted through the open doorway to Dora, who stood there, hesitating to interfere. She turned away and avoided looking at him. He’d had a hell of a week. Scotty hadn’t stopped drinking and popping pills since his mother’s death. He’d made threats but, fortunately, had been too drunk to carry them out. Still, there had been something ugly in the way he’d looked at Ward that morning, and he’d made a very odd remark about how he would “get Daddy where it hurts.”

  Now he had Amanda Todd on his neck. He still could hardly believe the change in her, from frightened bookkeeper to manager. She was more than a match for him now. She was like her father, and he’d only just found it out.

  “All right,” he said stiffly, swallowing his pride. He couldn’t afford to lose his job, and she’d all but ousted him. “All right. I’ll make a few changes.”

  “I have every confidence in you, Mr. Johnson,” she said politely. Pushing away from the desk, she returned to her office.

  She sat down behind her desk and breathed rhythmically for five minutes, trying to slow her heartbeat. She’d never been so scared in her life, but apparently you could bluff anyone if you worked at it. At last she grinned, pleased with herself as she’d never been before.

  Later there were a few heated glances from Ward and nervous looks from Dora. But by and large it was business as usual for the rest of the morning.

  Ward had an unexpected visit from a Georgia newspaper editor he’d met at a conference earlier in the year. The man, along with his wife and two teenaged sons, toured the operation, remarking that it looked well run and prosperous.

  Amanda was hard-pressed not to thank him for the compliment that Ward accepted.

  “We have a weekly newspaper up in the Georgia mountains,” the visiting editor murmured, smiling through his mustache. “My mother-in-law owns it, but it’s sort of a family operation. One of these days, though, I’m going to get out of the newspaper business and write books.”

  “I think anyone who can run a weekly newspaper can do anything,” Amanda said, grinning.

  “They tell me it has something to do with full moons,” the visiting editor said, and he and his wife exchanged loving smiles.

  Amanda excused herself, touched by the obviously happy relationship the visitors had. She would never know those secret smiles that loving couples exchanged or the joy of a marriage that lasted for years and years. She would grow old alone. And all because Josh couldn’t settle for less than perfection.

  She was still brooding about Josh as it neared lunchtime. Ward had shown his visitors out and gone to the back to check on some negatives with Tim. Amanda was standing up at her desk, looking out into the reception room, when the opening of the front door caught her attention. She glanced toward it curiously just in time to see the same disheveled young man she’d met several nights back waving a gun around the office.

  She started to move. He jerked around and pointed the gun right at her, leveling it shakily with both hands. “C-come out of there!” he ordered. “Quick!”

  She edged around her desk and out the door past him on unsteady legs. His pupils were dilated. He was shaking. He was on something, and his eyes told her that he meant business. This was no bluff. She thought almost hysterically that Josh could forget the arguments now, because the whole staff was about to be murdered here.

  “Scotty!…”Ward burst out when he saw the boy. “You fool, give me that gun!”

  Scotty pointed the gun at him and then, suddenly, shifted it to Dora, who walked out to see what the fuss was about.

  “You slut!” he shouted at Dora. “You filthy slut! You killed my mother! She died because of you!”

  Dora went white and caught the door facing.

  “And you, you horny old fool, you were never home, and she’s why!” He laughed sarcastically at Dora. “She’s fat and old and ugly. Is that the best you could do?”

  “Scotty, you need help,” Ward said, trying to be calm. He moved forward.

  “Don’t,” Amanda cautioned him. “Don’t dare.”

  Ward stopped. Scotty looked at her and blinked. He even smiled. “Smart lady. You’re Miss Todd.” He nodded. “He complains about you all the time. He says you’re trying to get his job. Good for you. He never does anything except watch television. When he isn’t humping the fat lady, that is.”

  Dora went white and red alt
ernately. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice squeaking.

  “You had a husband and two little kids,” he muttered. “Didn’t you think about them? Poor little kids, some mother they got!”

  Dora bit her lip. “If you want to shoot me, go ahead,” she said hoarsely. “But you won’t… you won’t hurt my boys?”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Lady, you’re the one I came here to kill,” he said. He lifted the gun and pointed it at her. “Only you. This is for my poor mother, you stupid slut!”

  Amanda knew that he was going to fire the gun. It was make a jump for it or watch Dora die.

  She never knew where she got the strength to push forward and knock his arm just as he fired. The pistol, an automatic, discharged three times in the struggle, and the shots brought screams from two subscribers who’d just pulled up in the parking lot.

  Scotty went wild. He swung the pistol barrel, catching Amanda’s shoulder, and knocked her down. He fired at the ceiling and the glass in the front window, shattering it.

  Amanda stayed on the floor, cursing silently as she held her bruised shoulder and flinching at the shots. She couldn’t let him shoot Dora, but her action had caused something in his brain to snap. They were all going to die. She’d never see Josh again. She whispered his name and closed her eyes.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” wailed Scotty. He backed up and grabbed Lisa around the neck, the pistol to her jaw. “Don’t come near me,” he said hysterically. “If you come near me, I’ll kill her!”

  Everyone froze. Scotty backed away with Lisa until he reached the steps that led down through a hall into the print shop. He locked the door and then pushed Lisa away from him. He had them cornered, Amanda and Ward and Dora and Lisa, all at gunpoint, in the one office.

  “Sit down,” he said, gesturing toward the floor as sirens approached. “Hurry!”

  He was nervous and wild, and they knew better than to make him more nervous. The automatic held several shots, and he’d used only five. He had at least enough left, Amanda reasoned, to account for every one of his hostages.

  A police car screeched to a halt in front of the building and a door opened. A voice called out to them through a bullhorn. “This is the police. Throw down your gun and come out with your hands in the air.”

  “Fat chance!” Scotty yelled, and laughed. He was enjoying himself now. For the first time he had his old man in a tangle. “I’ve got hostages!” he called.

  Amanda looked at Ward and could have cursed him blindly. It was going to be a long day.

  Josh flew in from Nassau just after lunch, his head throbbing from too much business, to confront Ward Johnson about Dora. First he tried to find Amanda, without success. Next he tried Mirri, who had apparently gone off on her honeymoon; no one answered the telephone at her office.

  Now, tired and irritable, he buzzed Dina. “Still no answer at Johnson’s office?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” she replied. “I called the telephone company. They’re going to send someone out.”

  He frowned. “Doesn’t it strike you as rather odd that the phone at a newspaper office would be out this long without it having been reported?”

  “I wondered about that. There’s… Just a moment, sir.” After a pause she came back on the line, sounding not at all like her usual efficient self. “Mr. Lawson, it’s Ted. He wanted to know if you’d heard that some madman is holding the staff of the Gazette hostage.”

  He was on his feet and in her office before she could repeat herself.

  “I won’t be in this afternoon,” he said.

  She watched him go out and turned back to the phone. “Ted, he’s on his way over there. Are they all right?”

  “So far. The guy’s on dope and high as a kite. I’m sorry Amanda’s in there with him. It looks bad, Dina.”

  “Poor Mr. Lawson,” she said softly.

  Scotty was enjoying his play for power. He waved the gun around and watched with pure pleasure as his father chewed on a thumbnail. His mother had suffered because of this man. He wanted his father to know how it felt to be helpless and alone.

  “This won’t accomplish anything,” Amanda said, holding the arm he’d injured as she sat against the wall with her colleagues. “You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”

  “You talk too much,” he said.

  “Someone hasn’t talked to you enough,” Amanda continued quietly. “Would your mother want you to do this?”

  “Of course she would!” he exclaimed, astonished. “She hated him! He gave her nothing but heartache. This… woman of his was the last straw. She cried.” He seemed to puff up with outrage as he looked at his pale- faced father. “She cried, damn you!”

  He pointed the pistol at Ward, who went paper white. “Don’t shoot him,” Dora pleaded, sliding close to Ward. “Kill me, but don’t hurt your father!”

  Ward looked at her, stunned that she cared that much. He didn’t know what to say, but his eyes were eloquent, “Dora, don’t, honey,” he said gently. “Don’t.”

  “Why couldn’t you love my mother?” Scotty cried at him. The gun in his hand shook. “Why!”

  Ward looked up at him. “Your mother never wanted me in the first place,” he said coldly. “She wanted money and position. I just wanted to run a country newspaper. I could never do anything right in her eyes.”

  “She was a saint!”

  “She was a selfish, whining drunk!” Ward raged. “And you know it! You’re heading down the same road she took, can’t you see?!”

  “I ought to blow a hole in you,” Scotty said with cold determination. He aimed the gun right at Ward’s chest. “It would be so easy. All I have to do is pull the trigger…”

  “Scott Johnson!” called a voice through the bullhorn.

  Scotty jerked around, wild-eyed. “What?!” he yelled.

  “I’m the police negotiator,” came the reply. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Yeah? What about?”

  As he spoke, the power went off. The telephone had long since been shut down. Now the office went dark.

  “Turn that back on!” Scotty yelled.

  “Come out and talk to me,” the negotiator returned.

  “Like hell!”

  A big black limousine pulled up just past the roadblock, and Josh got out of it. He found the officer in charge and drew him to one side.

  “I own this place,” he told the officer without pausing to elaborate. “There’s a back door through the print shop and a hallway that leads to the newspaper office where he’s holed up. If you’ve got a man who can pick a lock, you can get in behind him.”

  “I’ve got one,” the watch commander said tersely.

  “Are they all right in there?” Josh asked.

  “So far, so good. We don’t know what he wants. He’s done some shooting, but we don’t think he’s shot anyone yet.”

  Josh’s face hardened. “Oh, God,” he said as thoughts of a wounded Amanda filled his head.

  “Is there a gun in that office besides the one he’s got?” the watch commander asked.

  “Not that I know of. The manager won’t have one in the building. I can sketch the layout for you, if it would help,” he offered, trying not to think about Amanda in that building with a madman. All around the streets, shopkeepers and pedestrians were trying to get a look across at the action. Motorists slowed as they passed the police and sheriffs cars.

  “It’s a sideshow,” the police officer muttered while Josh penciled in a notebook the man had produced.

  “Just consider that he’s holed up in a newspaper office,” Josh replied with black humor. “What a story they’ll have when it’s over.”

  “I hope they all get to write it.”

  “My God, so do I,” Josh seconded.

  He stood and smoked a cigar while the negotiator tried to talk Scotty out of the building. But Scotty was enjoying himself and wouldn’t budge. As the day wore on, though, he began to show signs of withdrawal, and he got more nervous by the m
inute.

  “I need a drink,” he said uneasily at last. “Is there a bottle in here anywhere?”

  “No. You know I hate liquor,” Ward said coldly.

  He went to the door and yelled, “I want some liquor. Get me a bottle of whiskey. Now!”

  “Finally,” the negotiator said on a sigh. “An opening!”

  They sent for a bottle of whiskey. It was doctored first, of course. A new seal was put on so that it would look as if it hadn’t been tampered with. And if the boy was as desperate as he sounded, he wouldn’t be looking at it very closely.

  “Are they crazy?” Lisa gasped when they put the bottle of whiskey next to the door and left. “They’re crazy!”

  “No, they aren’t.” Scotty chuckled. “They’re smart. They know what I’ll do to you people if they don’t give me what I want. God, I need a drink!”

  He eased to the door, looked out, and swept up the bottle. He checked the top. They couldn’t inject anything into a metal cap without it showing, and if they’d opened it, the tax seal would be broken. It wasn’t.

  “Good boys,” he mused. He moved back inside and ripped off the seal. “Nice brand, too. High quality. I couldn’t afford this,” he added, glaring at his father.

  Ward, who’d been a newspaperman for a long time, knew almost certainly what the police had done. He didn’t blink an eye.

  “Don’t drink it,” he told his son. “You’ve had enough.”

  It was a calculated risk, and it worked. Scotty glared at him and deliberately upended the bottle, swallowing two large mouthfuls.

  Ward averted his eyes so that his son wouldn’t see his triumph.

  “That’s pretty good.” Scotty nodded. “Pretty good.” He swallowed some more.

  Ward checked his watch without being obvious. The stuff would take several minutes to work. He hoped everyone outside realized that and wouldn’t take any foolish chances.

  Amanda’s arm was throbbing. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. It all seemed unreal somehow, except for the throbbing of her shoulder. Only days before she’d been in Josh’s arms for one long night, touching heaven. Now she was faced with death. She remembered too well what Josh had said to her at the last. If it was true, and all he felt for her was desire, he probably didn’t miss her at all. She’d die, and his life would go on without interruption. That hurt most of all.