Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10)

by David B. Smith

  I gotta take a chance. Slowly he slid over until he was just a couple of feet away from him. “Listen, Don,” he began, his voice low and earnest, “I need to talk to you.”

  His movements jerky, the robber dabbed at his nose, which was dripping badly now. “What?”

  “Why don’t we just go out there?” Bucky’s voice had a pleading tone to it. “Please? I know you need help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They think they know who you are.” He took a deep breath. “Is your name Terry? Terry Reynolds?”

  For a moment unmistakable panic flickered in his face, then too late he tried to cover it with a look of disdain. “No way! What are they talking about?”

  “It is Terry, isn’t it?” He forced himself to keep his gaze riveted on the bank robber. “And they said you were on heroin.”

  The man said nothing.

  “Are you?”

  After a long pause, the robber nodded. For the first time his shoulders slumped in fatigued despair.

  Bucky leaned forward. “Look. You need help. If we go out there right now, they can get you in a program. Get you taken care of.” He lifted his good hand in a sympathetic gesture. “You didn’t hurt anybody in here. And I’ll do all I can to get them to go easy on you. Honest.”

  No response.

  Sensing that he was getting through to him, Bucky continued, “I’ll tell you something. I’m really afraid that if we don’t go out there on our own, they’re going to get you. And I don’t mean arrest you.” He paused. “They’ll kill you.”

  The last three words finally brought a reaction, “They kill me, we both die, kid.”

  No longer feeling fear, Bucky nodded. “Well . . .” He searched for words. “I’m not afraid to die.”

  Curiosity in his face, Terry stared at him.

  “I mean it. I’m a Christian. If I die now trying to help you, that’s OK. I’m ready. I’ve got eternal life promised to me.” He swallowed hard. “But, man, you’re not ready to die. No way. And if we don’t go out there ourselves, this whole thing is going to end with you dead. I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.”

  Chapter Eleven: Late Supper

  Reynolds sat on the floor digesting Bucky’s words. Suddenly he no longer appeared to be a threat. The gun dangling from his trembling fingers was just a tiny part of the whole pathetic picture. For a moment Bucky felt a surge of sympathy. “What do you think?”

  His eyes now red with the unmistakable evidence of drug withdrawal, Terry focused dully on the young bank teller. Slowly he shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “How come?”

  The gunman’s little cough turned into a long gasp. “Hey, I go out there and it’s jail . . . and it’s getting’ off H cold turkey. No way.”

  “But you’ve got to. Like I said, it’s either that or . . . get carried out on a stretcher.” He forced the last words out reluctantly.

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Shaking his head, Bucky persisted, “Nothing will work.” He shifted to ease the discomfort in his broken arm. “I mean, look, there’s no way you’re going to come up with a plan they haven’t got a hundred ways to counter. Those guys are pros, and you’re not. ‘Specially when you’re – you know – strung out with this drug thing.”

  Terry’s face muscles twitched. “We can still make it,” he insisted.

  Bucky sighed. “Look around you,” he blurted. “Even right now, they can see in here pretty good. With all the lights on and everything. Sooner or later they’re going to pick you off.” He breathed a prayer that Terry would realize the hopelessness of his situation.

  The robber sat up straight. “Oh my God – the lights!”

  Bucky’s heart sank as he realized his error. What have I done?

  Terry’s eyes darted in fear. “Where’s the switch?

  With the gun pointed at him, Bucky had no choice. “Over by the wall.”

  For a long moment the gunman licked his lips nervously, dabbing at his nose once again. “You ease over and hit the switch. I’m staying here.” Without another word, Terry slid down until he was prostrate on the floor. “Go. Nice and slow.” He coughed once. “Remember, I still got this gun ready. If anything happens, I’m not going alone.”

  Regretting his bad judgment, Bucky edged toward the light switch. Lying on the floor, Terry provided no target.

  The bank branch plunged into sudden darkness. The street lights outside could just be seen through the heavily curtained windows. For the first time they could make out the outline of two police cruisers parked just outside.

  Almost immediately the phone rang. “Yeah, we broke their hearts.” Terry’s voice was suddenly cheerful again. “You get it, kid.” He chuckled to himself.

  With a sigh Bucky answered. “Stone here.”

  “What happened?”

  The young teller gulped sheepishly. “He told me to turn out the lights.” He didn’t elaborate.

  The police sergeant muttered a short oath. “Man, that really stinks. Next bathroom break you took, we were gonna do it.”

  Strangely, Bucky felt an odd sense of relief. Despite the robber’s death threat, he felt a tug of concern for the young man’s life. Somehow there must be a way to extricate himself from the situation without getting Terry killed.

  The sergeant’s voice revealed an increasing frustration. “Well, does this guy have any ideas? Does he still want a car?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you find out if it’s who we think it is?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bucky could hear the officer relaying the information. “So it’s really him. That means the clock is really ticking. He probably hasn’t had a fix for hours.” The policeman’s voice was low. “Something needs to happen soon, kid. ‘Specially for your sake.”

  “I know.” Without another word, Bucky hung up and went back to where the bank robber was still lying on the floor.

  “Any news?”

  Eyeing the pistol, Bucky sat down. “No.” He pursed his lips. “You were right about the lights.”

  “See? Just give me some time. I’ll get us outta here.”

  “What about food?”

  Terry gestured impatiently. “Forget food.”

  “We gotta eat.” Bucky tried to reassure the jumpy robber. “Like I told you, if you’re going to keep me in here, then you’ve got to let me have something. And you can’t think straight if you’re hungry. It’s for your own good.”

  A sigh. “Well, how do we do it?”

  “I don’t know. Just order something, I guess. McDonalds or whatever.”

  Terry gave a short laugh. “Yeah, and how do we get it in here? I ain’t lettin’ you go out to pick it up, smart guy.”

  “Oh, I know.” Bucky thought hard. “Can’t we . . . I don’t know.”

  “Like I said, forget it.”

  The knot in Bucky’s stomach tightened. “Look,” he implored, “we order some food. I unlock the front door. Somebody sets it just inside the door and leaves. What’s wrong with that?”

  A fit of sneezing delayed Terry’s response. “What’s wrong with that? Nothing, except for you taking off when you unlock the door. That’s all.”

  “I already told you I wouldn’t leave.” Bucky gestured impatiently.

  “Yeah, well, I ain’t gonna give you two hundred chances to prove how noble you are. You’re stayin’ away from that front door,”

  Bucky frowned. “Maybe someone could bring it in to us.”

  “Forget it. Some chief of police wearing a Mc­Donalds uniform. I’m not stupid. The door stays locked, and that’s it.”

  Several minutes went by in silence. The ache in Bucky’s stomach had settled into a dull kind of pain. More dangerous, he realized, was the possibility of getting light-headed and making another serious mistake of judgment.

  “I’m getting a drink.” He looked at Terry. “Do you want some water or something?”

  The robber hesitated. “Yeah. Sur
e. But stay low.”

  Without getting to his feet, Bucky slid over to the water cooler in the hallway. He drank two quick cups of water, then ran a third into a second paper cup for the gunman.

  The bank robber’s hand trembled as he took the drink.

  Bucky eased back into his sitting position. “Look,” he said, “if you’re all worried about the door and me unlocking it, you may as well face up to the fact that the bank manager’s out there and he’s got a key to the front door too.”

  The fatigued man digested this information. “What’s your point?”

  “Well, it’s just that having the door locked isn’t your big worry. I’m in here, and you’ve got the gun. That’s all you need to think about.”

  Terry seemed to accept this. “So?”

  “So why can’t we get some food in here?”

  “I said . . .”

  “Look. We tell them what we want. They let us know when they’ve got it and stand back, I unlock the door. And then somebody we know brings it in. They leave, we lock back up. You’ve got things covered the whole way.”

  “No!” Terry spat the word out.

  “Why not?”

  “‘Cause I said so. I’m not takin’ any chances.”

  In exhausted frustration Bucky rubbed at his eyes. “But what are we gonna do then? You know you don’t have any ideas. Do you?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” He sighed heavily. “Who’ve you got in mind?”

  Bucky thought. “I got a couple friends from the baseball team.”

  “No!”

  “How come?”

  The young man pulled himself to a squatting position, switching the heavy revolver to his other hand. “I got you figured out, kid. Some cop’ll be in here posing as your friend. With a gun tucked in the Big Macs.”

  “I told you you could trust me!” Bucky lashed out, not caring anymore. “Didn’t I stay here when we let the girls out?”

  Terry nodded reluctantly.

  “Well, come on, then. Let’s get some food. Maybe you’ll be able to think of something then.”

  At last Reynolds surrendered. “What the . . . aaah, go ahead. Next time they call in, you set it up.” He grunted an unhappy curse to himself.

  Even though Bucky’s stomach was still in knots, the prospect of a meal helped ease the tension. Maybe it would lead to some way of resolving the hostage crisis, he thought . . . without sacrificing the life of the hapless bank robber. He glanced over at Terry, who had slumped down again, the gun still pointed in Bucky’s general direction.

  A few minutes later the phone rang. Quickly Bucky explained the situation. Sergeant Davis brightened. “That’s great, kid! Maybe we can hit him this time.”

  Bucky’s heart leaped to his throat. “Please, no tricks,” he murmured, his voice low. “Just deliver us the food.”

  He could hear the police officer hesitate not knowing whether Bucky was bluffing or not. “Who do you want us to use to send the stuff in?”

  Bucky thought. Originally he had considered Dan or Sam, but Terry’s violent reaction made that impossible. “Well, maybe my girlfriend.” He corrected himself. “I mean, this girl I was dating. Her name’s Deirdre.”

  There was a short silence. “Real tall young lady, blonde?”

  Bucky gasped. “What?”

  The officer chuckled. “Right here. She just got in about five minutes ago. Heard it on TV and drove over to see you. We were going to let her call in in a sec.”

  “Is she really . . .”

  “In the flesh.” The sergeant sounded impressed.

  “Hold on.” Bucky turned to where Terry sitting. “My old girlfriend is out there. She could bring the food in to us.”

  The bank robber gave a slight nod. “Whatever you want, kid.”

  “What do you want to eat?”

  The man pondered. “I dunno. Big Mac, fries. Shake, I guess. Strawberry. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” Bucky relayed the order.

  “What about you, Stone?”

  “Oh, fries and a salad’s okay. And a shake too.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. An absurd thought popped through Bucky’s mind: Was the officer totaling up their bill?

  “OK, Stone. Give us about ten minutes.”

  Bucky sat back down next to Terry and looked directly at the frail man. “Food’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

  Reynolds nodded without speaking. Outside Bucky could hear one of the patrol cars start up and head down the street. For a moment he thought about Deirdre. Oh, God, don’t let this be a mistake!

  He turned back to Terry. “Listen, when this girl brings the food in, she’ll just set it inside the door and then leave.”

  The gunman nodded.

  Bucky took a breath. “Please . . . please, don’t let anything go wrong.” His voice had an urgent ring to it. “If you do anything to hurt her, so help me . . .” He left the thought unfinished. “Let’s just eat some food . . . and then you’ve got to come up with something to get us out of here. All right?”

  A fresh attack of coughing seized the robber. It was nearly a minute before he regained his composure. “Don’t worry, kid. I won’t hurt your little friend.” Even in his deteriorating state, his voice was mocking.

  Several minutes later the welcome telephone ring interrupted their thoughts again. It was a different voice this time. “Supper’s here.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “My name’s Barry. I’m Sgt. Davis’ deputy. Now listen, Stone. It’s dark out here, and we’re not going to take any chances. Your girlfriend’s bringing the food in, and we don’t dare try anything then. But after she leaves, if you get an opportunity, jump! That’s about the best we can offer right now.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “OK, then. Whenever you’re ready, go ahead and unlock the door.”

  Bucky hung up. “They’re ready.”

  Terry nodded, his whole body twitching. “OK,” he whispered, “let’s go over there.” He motioned with his gun toward the front door. “Nice and slow. Stay close to me.” Aiming the revolver unsteadily at Bucky, he muttered hoarsely, “I . . . really don’t want to use this.”

  Slipping the key into the lock, Bucky unlatched the door and quickly moved back. “OK,” he whispered, sensing the barrel of the gun close to his head.

  “Back up! Over here,” Terry motioned, “away from the line of fire.” Bucky obeyed. “Here she comes.”

  Bucky stared as the door slowly pulled open. Standing there in the doorway was a tall familiar figure.

  “Bucky?” Even whispering, Deirdre’s voice had a powerful impact on him. Oddly, he found his eyes were moist.

  “Yeah. We’re back here.” He raised his voice just enough to be heard. “Just set it down and go, OK?” His voice shook.

  “OK.” For a moment she strained to see him in the darkness. Then she vanished, the heavy door back in position.

  For the second time that evening he saw the tantalizing freedom of the outside world. Through the slightly opened door he had spotted street lights and traffic, along with the police barricades and squad cars. Even now he could still see just a glimmer of the late evening through the door that was still invitingly unlocked.

  “I’ll get the food,” Terry muttered, his gun still pointed at Bucky. “You lock that door back up.” He gave him a warning glance. “Nothing funny now.”

  Quietly Bucky eased over to the front door, the key in his hand.

  Just as Bucky reached the entrance, a sudden burst of coughing startled him. He turned to look as the bank robber reached for the two fast-food bags. Great body-racking coughs seized him, and he fell helplessly to the floor, clutching at his abdomen as the withdrawal spasms convulsed his whole body.

  The gun suddenly spun across the room a good fifteen feet from where Terry lay helplessly on the carpet.

  Chapter Twelve: An Open Door

  Bucky gasped. All the fear of the past hours suddenly exploded in one gut-wrenching moment. He could li
terally feel his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed down at the bizarre situation.

  The heavy revolver had come to a rest under the assistant manager’s desk, well out of reach. Terry was still on the floor, his body shaking with the coughs of drug withdrawal.

  His hand resting on the handle of the door, Bucky hesitated. Outside, just inches away, was the freedom he had been praying for all evening. Safety . . . Mom and Dad . . . maybe even Deirdre.

  Go! Without thinking he began to push the door open, then suddenly stopped. Gasping for air, Terry feebly motioned and tried to speak.

  “No . . . don’t . . .” Another wave of coughs shook his body. “Please . . .”

  Get out! Now! a voice inside him screamed. He shook his head and began to push on the door for a second time.

  All at once what he had said earlier rang in his ears. I promise you I’ll stay.

  Bucky froze. The gun was still out of reach and the bank robber, now convulsed in his drug withdrawal, was no longer a threat. Still . . .

  The police sergeant’s words came back to him. Promises don’t mean a thing when some nut’s got a gun in your ear.

  Without knowing exactly why, Bucky stepped back from the door. Turning slowly, he walked over to where the man was still slumped over. “Are you OK?”

  Terry gasped for breath. “Water. Please.”

  Numbly Bucky filled a paper cup and brought it over. “Here you are.”

  The cough subsided as he drank. “Oh . . . boy.” He shuddered, the rasp in his throat still rattling ominously. “I didn’t think . . .”

  Suddenly he jerked. “The gun! Where . . .” He looked around, fear in his eyes.

  Bucky said nothing. Trying to appear calm, he carefully avoided looking at the desk where the revolver lay, still in plain sight.

  Slowly the robber sat up. An expression of awe replaced his twisted desperation as he studied Bucky’s face. “You . . . could have left,” he muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  “I told you I wouldn’t,” he said simply.

  Terry continued to stare at the young bank teller. “Why would you do that?” He finished the cup of water and, almost gently, set it down. “Why didn’t you leave? What. . . kind of guy are you?”