Three Nights In Mannford

by Cynthia Conner Goyang

  “Well, we didn’t!” James blurted out.

  “And now the press will leave no stone unturned,” Ken Landau said. The face of this normally soft-spoken councilman was red and flushed with anxiety and anger. “They are going to eat his lunch and ours, too. After all, we’ve been covering for him.”

  Lisa Ann nodded sadly, acknowledging that they were in nearly as much hot water as the mayor. She sighed heavily.

  “I knew something like this was bound to happen sooner or later, but this is about as bad as it gets,” Felix Reyes said mournfully. His strong jaw flexed, giving away his irritation. “I was hoping he would get some help.”

  “Fat chance that was ever going to happen,” Ken said.

  “You’re mayor pro tem, Nobles,” James said. “You’re going to need to speak to the media.” The other members nodded in agreement.

  “I know,” Lisa Ann returned the nod and frowned deeply. “All right, gentlemen, let’s put a few words together. Short and sweet.”

  For the next hour, the council worked together to prepare a statement that Lisa Ann would read to the media. When they were finished, she looked at the wall clock. 10:50. Great. Another late-night mess for us. Thanks a lot, Truman.

  They all stood.

  “Gentlemen, shall we dance?” Lisa Ann smiled wryly at the councilmen, unlatched the doors, and stepped out of the chambers — cool as a cucumber — and into a multitude of microphones and flashing cameras. With the councilmen beside her, she stepped up to the podium. She’d earlier slipped out of her gala dress and replaced it with a slim, tailored, navy-and-white sleeveless dress, which accentuated her statuesque frame — exactly the image she wanted. I may be facing the sharks, she thought, but at least I can look good doing it.

  “I am Mayor Pro Tem Lisa Ann Nobles. The other city council members and I have conferred with the Mannford Police Chief and his department concerning the hostage crisis. Just like all of you, we are waiting for information. At this time, we can confirm only that Mayor Henderson is inside the church. We will keep you apprised of more facts as they become —”

  “Mayor Pro Tem! Mayor Pro Tem! What can you tell us about the mayor’s involvement in this crisis?” The reporters shouted, speaking over each other.

  “Is the city council aware that rumors of illegal-drug usage have been swirling around Mayor Henderson for some time?”

  Ignoring their questions, Lisa Ann looked down at the prepared statement. “We will update you as soon as we receive more information,” she said curtly. “Thank you,” She folded the paper in half, deciding at that moment against reading the remainder of their prepared statement. With the paper clutched tightly in her hand, she pushed past the press without another word and left city hall — followed by the other council members.

  “You —” said Jonathon, pointing his gun in the direction of his hostages.

  Al flinched at Jonathon’s words and quickly glanced at Misty and Marquise. Unsure of what was to come, he steeled his jaw, firmly clasped their hands, and then began to pray silently.

  “You —woman — I need you to get up and go check on the mayor. Make sure he’s . . . still breathing.”

  Al spied something in Jonathon’s eyes akin to fear for the mayor’s well-being, perhaps even compassion. Puzzled, he pondered the dichotomy. He looked at Marquise, who was staring back at him. Each protectively held one of Misty’s hands.

  How dare this cruel man ask this of my wife? If he’s so concerned about the mayor, why doesn’t he do it himself? He looked tenderly at Misty. She looked back at him and smiled weakly.

  “I said, go!” Jonathon barked, leveling the gun on Misty.

  Al’s heart nearly beat out of his chest. How far are they willing to go? he wondered. Would they actually shoot us? The possibility angered him. He wasn’t frightened for himself as much as he was for his wife.

  “Don’t worry,” Misty whispered. “It’ll be fine. I’ll go check.” She unwrapped his tight grasp to free her shivering hands. Her damp sneakers squeaked as she made her way cautiously up the aisle toward Mayor Henderson.

  “Help her, Lord,” Al intoned. “Help my Misty.” He kept his eyes focused on her as she cautiously knelt beside the man. The mayor lay curled up, very still. Misty hesitated as she touched his neck for a pulse. She then shook him gently and leaned toward his face. Al strained to hear what she seemed to be saying to him. He was sure that the two in a huddle on the podium were unable to hear the quiet exchange, but he could catch a little.

  “Mayor Henderson? I came to see if you’re okay.”

  Al watched the mayor slowly open his eyes to stare up at the Misty, but he said nothing. Misty sat next to him and took his hand.

  “Lord, help Mayor Henderson. Help him, dear Jesus. There is no problem too difficult for You to solve. Touch Mayor Henderson right now and let him know that You will resolve all of his issues.”

  Though the mayor didn’t move, he watched Misty as she prayed for him. Then he opened his mouth. “Don’t insult me,” he whispered angrily.

  Misty’s eyes suddenly popped open as she stared down at the mayor in shock.

  “Who do you think you are? How dare you! Don’t you know who I am?”

  Just as Al was ready to throw caution to the wind and go to his wife, Mayor Henderson began to laugh. Al glanced up at the podium to see the two men still debating. Al turned to Marquise, who was also observing the mayor’s bizarre behavior. Marquise nudged Al’s arm as the mayor began to speak again.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Here I am, in a horrible situation, lying on the floor.” Again, his shoulders shook with laughter. The tone changed again. “I’m stripped of all dignity. No one’s fault but my own.” It seemed that he spoke more to himself than to Misty.

  Al exchanged a knowing glance with Marquise. Then he began again to pray for his wife, who was still sitting beside the mayor, listening patiently.

  “Life, life,” the mayor said mournfully. “Everyone thinks I’ve lived a charmed life. Not the case! Dad left Mom and me early on. Me and Danielle’s divorce . . . Mom’s passing away . . .” He paused and sighed. “We had a lot of money but no happiness, a lot of trips but no peace, relationships but no love. You’re right, ma’am.” The mayor gripped Misty’s hand hard. “You were right to pray for me. I need all I the help I can get.” His eyes filled with tears and spilled down his cheek onto the carpet beneath.

  “It’s all right, Mayor,” Misty whispered. “There’s a way for this to be made right. You need to let Jesus handle all of this. He can do that for you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the mayor whispered back. “I’m so sorry that you have to see me like this. Sorry that we’ve caused trouble here. I know those two up there are pretty scary, but I’m going to try and get us out of here in one —”

  “Hey, what’s going on down there? Get back up here!” Jonathon demanded. “Is the mayor okay or not?”

  Al’s head jerked around. The men had finished their back-and-forth and now fixed their eyes on the mayor and Misty.

  Misty whispered a quick, “Okay,” to Mayor Henderson.

  “Hey, I just asked you a question,” Jonathon shouted. “Is the mayor okay or not?”

  Misty stood. “Yes, he’s still alive.” She made her way back down the aisle and sat again between Al and Marquise. She glanced at them both, reaching to hold a hand of each.

  “Thank you, Lord!” Al said. “Thank you for my Misty girl.”

  “You the pastor of this-a church?” Deshaun asked, now pointing the gun at Al.

  “Yes, I am,” Al replied, holding the man’s gaze.

  “Don’t be lookin’ at Deshaun like that, you mulatto, nicka — you and Marquise starin’ down your holier-than-thou nose at Deshaun. You don’t know nothin’ ’bout me and my upbringin’. Yeah, Deshaun wadn’t raised up like nobody in this room. This nigga grew up hungry and stankin�
��. No daddy. Mama workin’ three jobs ’fore she got hooked on that crack. Finally killed her crazy tail. Deshaun had to fend fo’ hisself after that. You niggas down there don’t know nothin’ about that. You don’t know nothin’ about me. Lookin’ at me all holier-than-thou!”

  “Man,” Marquise said, “Me or these people sittin’ here aren’t judging you. Nobody is. Me and my older brothers and sisters grew up in some real poverty. No electricity or heat at times in wintertime. We were hungry, too, Deshaun. Daddy got us food if he wanted to. If not, oh well! But I made the decision early on to add to my house, to my community — not take away from it.”

  Like Marquise, Al chose to shake off Deshaun’s denigrating words and speak up. “Deshaun, it’s all about the choices we make, the attitude we take and how we choose to live our lives. If we live for Christ, He helps us along through the good and the bad times. He’ll even turn the bad around for our good and His glory.”

  Al’s glance fell on Mayor Henderson, whose eyes were open and full of tears. Was he nodding his head as well? Al wasn’t sure. The mayor made no other obvious movements but remained curled up on the floor.

  Deshaun shook his head in disbelief. Jonathon seemed to pay little attention. Instead, he paced back and forth as he rubbed the back of his neck. When Al caught Marquise’s eyes, he saw something new there, as though a light had popped on inside the man’s mind.

  “Al, that’s it, man,” Marquise said. “I hear you! That is life, what you just said, man! This whole time — I’ve been missing it. Takes something like this to help me get my head on straight.” Marquise squeezed Al’s and Misty’s hands.

  “You just keep tellin’ yo’self that,” Deshaun said sarcastically and pointed his gun at the three. “Deshaun about finished with yo’ little Sunday school lesson. Deshaun ’bout finished.”

  Al knew that Deshaun was dangerous, but something within him felt emboldened to speak out. “Deshaun, God not only gives you a choice to do something with what you’ve been given, but he also gives you a choice to believe or not to believe.”

  “Don’t be back-talkin’ Deshaun, preacher. I’ll come down there and, ooh-wee . . .” He said, emphasizing each of the words with another shake of the gun, pointed directly at Al.

  Al’s eyes widened. Before he could say anything else, everyone jumped at the ringing of Jonathon’s cell phone.

  “You best put that thang on speaker,” Deshaun demanded.

  Jonathan sneered but complied.

  “Commander Holfield here, Officer Collins,” the voice said. “I’m calling back to check on your well-being, along with the well-being of everyone else in there.”

  Al, again, was shocked to hear the greeting. This man is a police officer?

  “Look, Holfield. Let’s cut the crap. You and I both know that you couldn’t give a rat’s behind about my well-being. We both know that I’m a dead man walking, what with SWAT, tactical teams, and every sharpshooter in the county just outside the doors of this church.”

  “What would you like me to do for you, Officer Collins?” Holfield asked.

  Jonathon separated himself from Deshaun and walked a few paces away. “I want you to hear me out, Holfield. Understand that when I went plain clothes to guard the mayor, my whole life unraveled. Everything! Now, just as I said, I am a dead man walking.”

  “I’m all ears, Officer Collins,” Commander Holfield said. “Talk to me. I don’t know how to help you unless you explain your issues to me.”

  “Homeboy, what you think you doin’?” Deshaun yelled from across the room and then strode closer to Jonathon. “You tryin’ to save yo’ butt and throw mine unda da bus? Is that what you tryin’ to do, man? Deshaun don’t like that, man. If we gon’ get outta here, we all gon’ get outta here together. Don’t be walking away from me like you think I won’t hear you making deals for yo’self. Whispering over in da corner and all. Huh-uh! What you think, Deshaun is a fool? I don’t play dat!”

  “Hold on,” Jonathon said quietly. “All right, Deshaun,” Jonathon growled. He and Deshaun said nothing more as they began to stare each other down. With the tension building, Al wasn’t sure what was about to happen.

  Tyler listened in anxiously and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Man, I can’t believe this is happening to you, Marq. I hope you’re still alive in there, bro. Thanks to the girlfriend’s call to 911, he had learned from the crisis intervention unit team that Marquise was one of the hostages. And although he hadn’t seen Marquise in years, he still considered him a brother. He sighed heavily as his thoughts drifted back to Marquise on one of the days after a big high school football victory. Everyone at their lunch table was waving Marquise over, excited to congratulate him on his three touchdowns. At first Marquise had waved and smiled but then he had stopped next to the table where a kid was sitting by himself. Tyler remembered watching Marquise plant his lunch tray across from the awkward kid. Before long, the shy, poorly dressed kid had looked up through his overgrown oily hair. After a while, he had spoken a few words to Marquise. By the end of the lunch period, the two were conversing and laughing. Tyler smiled at the memory — the first step in his gaining as much admiration for Marquise off the field as on it. Tyler recalled how impressed he was with his football brother, who showered just plain kindness on everyone —footballers, Goths, geeks, cheerleaders, AP students, and learning-disabled kids. Gosh, that Marquise had a lot of love for people — no matter who they were. Please be safe, man, and still be alive.

  Static from the speaker yanked Tyler’s thoughts squarely back to the crisis. Man, who holds hostages in a church? And the mayor? Wow! Frustrated, Tyler wiped his forehead again. Glancing nervously around, he studied the other task-force members who were listening in at the mobile-command unit. It felt as though everyone was collectively holding their breath for someone on the other end of the phone to speak again. Finally, Officer Jonathon Collins’s voice sounded out.

  “Like I was saying, Holfield, it’s getting late. These people we got in here are hungry. We could use some food, too.”

  Tyler grimaced and scratched his head. What? Complete change of topic there, Collins. Ahh, wait a minute, I know what he’s doing. Sounds like he’s trying to negotiate — to gain the advantage over that Deshaun dude.

  “Okay, Officer Collins,” Holfield said. On the whiteboard, the commander quickly scrawled, “Collins trying to help only himself.”

  In response, Tyler and the others nodded their comprehension.

  “We can arrange that, Officer Collins,” Holfield continued, nodding his head knowingly to his staff. “We’re going to send in some food for you. All right? I need you and Deshaun to do one thing for me, though.”

  “What’s that?” Jonathon said.

  Tyler grabbed one of the folding chairs and sat backward on it. He leaned in and listened intently.

  “I want proof of life from those people you got in there. Let me hear each of their voices. You got that, Collins?” Holfield asked.

  Tyler glanced from his commander, to his comrades. Their reactions were all the same. The training that had been drilled into them had kicked in. They were prepared. Each sat, ready and waiting for any eventuality.

  “I heard you, Holfield,” Jonathon answered.

  “You — you first,” Jonathon said. “Come up here. Not too close. Tell this man who you are, and then go back and sit down.”

  “I’m Misty Shepherd.”

  Tyler’s heart broke at the sound of the woman’s voice. It sounded strained but strong. He hoped they didn’t try anything stupid and do something to this hostage.

  “Go sit back down,” Jonathon said.

  “You now!” Tyler heard the other man, Deshaun, shout in the background.

  “I’m Pastor Al Shepherd.” His strong, resolute voice echoed resoundingly over the speaker.

  “And you, nicka,” Deshaun said. “Come up here.”


  “I’m Marquise Taylor.” The usually laid-back voice of Marquise now sounded tense. But at least he was still alive.

  “I ought-a — Ooh-wee!” Deshaun said, presumably to Marquise. “You the reason! You the reason we in this mess.”

  “Calm down, Deshaun,” Commander Holfield said over the speaker. “We’re going to try and get all of this resolved. Just calm down.” Holfield spoke calmly but firmly. “Officer Collins? Where is Mayor Henderson?”

  Deshaun answered first. “He still over there laid out on the floor. Don’tcha worry. Yo’ boy just had hisself a little too much tonight. He happy.” Deshaun laughed harshly.

  “Is that so, Officer Collins?”

  “Yes, that is the case, Holfield,” Jonathon answered tersely.

  “Okay. Well, I heard you all. You’ve got my ear. We’ll get you some food, something to drink. We’re going to get this worked out. You hear? I’ll be in touch.” Commander Holfield hung up the phone and wiped the flood of sweat from his forehead.

  Tyler saw this gesture as an outward sign that his commander was feeling the pressure. Even though Holfield sounded in control, Tyler knew he must be carrying the weight of the entire situation. As for Tyler — his heart beat so hard in his chest that he was sure everyone in the room could hear it. Besides concern for the hostages, especially Marquise, he thought about all the reporters and crowd just beyond the police barricade. If anything went wrong, the commander and his entire team — including Tyler — would be held responsible.

  This is the moment. We’ve got to make this work, he thought.

  He stood, breathed a deep sigh, and clapped his superior officer on the shoulder. He might feel helpless right now, but at least he could encourage Commander Holfield. “Oh, man, you got Collins to give us good information. They’re all alive. That was awesome, Commander Holfield.”

  Commander Holfield nodded. “Gotta do all we can to get everyone out in one piece.”

  Tyler breathed in and out deeply. After a lingering stare of admiration at Commander Holfield, he also glanced at Chris Haney and Dana Rogers. These last few moments were some of the most intense he had ever lived through, bar none. That his comrades were feeling the same was written all over their faces.