by Jason Dean
Without expression, Bishop watched him disappear. Sayles was there, then he wasn’t. Just gone. Bishop allowed a long breath to escape from his lips.
The sirens were getting much louder now. Probably already at the next block. Looked like from here on in he was on his own. Bishop stared at a spot on the floor for a moment and then at the three people in the corner.
Well, not alone, exactly.
He focused on the woman. Early twenties. Very pretty, if pale. Five-six, slim, with straight blond hair down to her shoulders and large blue eyes. Wearing a long-sleeved baseball shirt and jeans. Gold band on the third finger of her left hand.
She must have felt his gaze on her. She turned her face from the direction of the sirens and stared at him. Bishop thought she looked plenty scared.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
She paused. Swallowed. ‘Sonja Addison.’
Bishop heard the screeching of tyres in the street outside and then the sirens cut out entirely. He turned and saw flashing red lights reflected in the store windows opposite, but that was all. Turning back to the girl, Bishop reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a set of nylon flex cuffs and said, ‘Okay, Sonja. Step over here.’
THREE
‘Leave her the hell out of this,’ Randolph said, taking a step forward. ‘You want a hostage, take me instead.’
Bishop raised the gun. ‘Real decent of you, Randolph, but you’d only slow me down. And you can stop too, Leanne. That money won’t help. Sonja, come over here now.’
The girl looked up at Randolph, said, ‘Thank you, anyway,’ and then slowly walked towards Bishop. He thought she already looked resigned, as though she’d expected nothing less at this point.
‘You’re making a big mistake, pal,’ Randolph said. ‘That lady’s—’
‘Oh, my God,’ someone said at Bishop’s right.
Bishop turned and saw a red-haired man entering the cashier’s room behind John and Leanne. He wore a short-sleeved shirt and tie and had a cell phone in his hand. Bishop knew this was the store manager. Probably come to see what all the noise outside was about. He was gaping at everybody in turn, but his gaze finished up at the gun in Bishop’s hand.
‘You missed all the fun,’ Bishop said. ‘But for now, lose that phone and keep your mouth shut like the rest of these good people. I don’t want to hear another word from anybody unless I ask a direct question.’ He waited as the guy placed the cell on the floor, then said, ‘Okay, Sonja, put one of these loops around your left wrist and pull the slack so it’s tight.’ He waited as she did as instructed, then said, ‘All right, now put your other hand in the second loop.’
Sonja slipped her right wrist through and Bishop put the gun in his waistband and used both hands to tighten it. But not too much. He let go and Sonja dropped both hands to her waist. Holding the gun again, Bishop turned to the counter she’d been standing against and saw a Mexican-style shoulder bag by the window.
‘You keep your car keys in there?’ he asked.
Sonja nodded.
Keeping his eyes on her, Bishop reached in and rummaged around. Then he pulled out a key ring with four keys attached to it. The worn leather fob had a Ford logo in the centre. ‘What model, how old and where’s it parked?’ he asked, tucking them in his pocket.
‘It’s a fifteen-year old Mustang,’ she said. Her soft voice only wavered a little. ‘Just out front and to the right. About four or five cars down.’
Bishop nodded. He knew where it was. ‘All gassed up? Don’t lie.’
‘Tank’s three-quarters full, I think. Please don’t hurt me.’
‘I won’t if you do what I say,’ Bishop said. ‘Take these.’ He handed her Randolph’s keys. Then he turned her so she was facing the entrance. He put his right hand on her right shoulder and felt her flinch at the touch. His left hand pressed the barrel of the gun against her neck. Up close, he could smell the apple conditioner she’d used this morning.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Slow and easy, understand?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and began walking slowly towards the front of the store.
Crouching a little, Bishop matched her, step for step, until they reached the door. He looked through the glass and saw two white Crown Vics parked at angles in the middle of the street. One on either side of the store. Behind the one on the left he saw the heads and shoulders of two male deputies. One held a handgun aimed at the storefront, the other a twelve-gauge Mossberg pump.
Bishop turned to his right. Two more behind the second car. Male and female. Similarly armed. The guy looked to be Bishop’s height. Six, six-one, maybe. Beefy, wearing a moustache. His partner was crouched behind the front fender. Dark-haired, from what he could see. Bishop guessed there’d be others covering the rear. And this was just the beginning. More would come. Further back, a number of people were lining the streets to watch the spectacle. Bishop waited as the cop with the moustache reached into the car, pulled out a bullhorn and brought it to his mouth.
‘You in there. This is the police. We have you surrounded, front and back. Throw out your weapon and exit the store with your hands up.’
Bishop felt the girl stiffen at the amplified words. ‘Not very original, is he?’ he said into her ear. ‘Use the large black key to unlock the door and then push it open. Slowly.’
Sonja looked down and then chose the same key Randolph had used. She inserted it in the lock. Turned it counter-clockwise until it stopped. Then Bishop moved with her as she leaned forward, pushing the door open as far as it would go. Fresh air wafted in. It seemed a hell of a lot warmer outside than he remembered. Or maybe it was just him. But he was impressed with the girl’s composure so far. She was a lot calmer than she had any right to be.
He put his mouth to her ear and said, ‘Tell them your name, that I’ve got a gun pointed at your head and that we’re coming out now.’
Sonja took a deep breath and yelled, ‘Please don’t shoot. My name is Sonja Addison. This man has a gun at my head. He says we’re coming out now.’
Bishop looked further down to the right and saw the dark blue Mustang parked next to the kerb about a dozen yards past the Crown Victoria, pointing north.
The cop placed the bullhorn on the roof and aimed his gun at Bishop. ‘Let the woman go and drop the weapon, mister. Now.’
Ignoring him, Bishop said, ‘We’ll walk to your vehicle now, Sonja, but we’re gonna do it sideways with you in front of me. Like a couple of crabs. Don’t worry, they’re not about to shoot you to get to me.’
‘Look, maybe if you just—’
‘Don’t talk,’ Bishop said. ‘Start walking now.’
He nudged her forward until they were both outside, then Sonja began edging herself towards the Mustang. Bishop mirrored her movements exactly, like they were dance partners. He kept the gun at Sonja’s neck all the way, his head behind hers. He didn’t need to see the cops to know they were there. All he cared about was getting them to the Mustang. Twenty feet away now. Fifteen.
‘I won’t warn you again, mister,’ the cop shouted. ‘You’re just making things worse. Drop the piece. Now.’
Bishop said nothing. Just kept edging his way to the vehicle in tandem with Sonja. He knew the cop was bluffing. There were witnesses all around. Five feet to go. Then three. Then two. When Sonja came to the passenger door, she stopped. So did Bishop. He reached into his pants pocket, found the car keys and handed them to her.
‘Unlock the door and open it.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ she said. Bishop could feel her body trembling. Her hands shook too, jangling the keys. Delayed shock. He’d seen it plenty of times before.
‘Take a deep breath, then put the key in the lock. Don’t think about anything else.’
Bishop waited patiently as she took several deep breaths. Then, after some fumbling, she inserted the key on the second attempt. She unlocked it and pulled the key out. Then she grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.
‘Good,’ he sa
id, manoeuvring them so their backs were to the cops. ‘Now we’re gonna get in together. I’ll be keeping the gun on you as I slide into the driver’s seat, so make sure you stick close. Ready? Go.’
Clutching Sonja’s shoulder tightly, Bishop ducked down and pulled them both inside in less than a second. He slid himself over to the driver’s side, holding on to her all the way. ‘Reach over and pull the door shut,’ he said.
Keeping the gun at her side, he watched Sonja lie across the passenger seat, stretching her arms until her fingers touched the inner door handle. She got a good grip and pulled it until it clicked shut. Then she sat back up again, her body close to his.
‘Now start the engine for me.’
Sonja stared into his light blue eyes, her expression blank, then took another deep breath before inserting the key in the ignition. She turned it and the engine caught immediately. Bishop pressed the button to lock the doors and stepped on the gas, watching as the tachometer needle swept over to the right. The engine still sounded smooth, despite the high mileage. It was a standard 3.8 litre V6 with a manual stick shift. Not as powerful as later models, but a definite improvement over the ’80s version. That had been a bad decade all round, but especially for Mustangs.
He checked the side mirror and saw the deputies had moved to the other side of their vehicle for cover, the other two joining them. In case Bishop decided to pop off a few shots to slow them down. But he had no intention of doing that. He wasn’t an idiot.
Pulling his safety belt across, Bishop said, ‘Move over and buckle up.’
He watched as she edged over and used both hands to pull the belt over herself. Once he heard the click, Bishop stuck the gun into his waistband and pushed the gear stick into second. Then he swung the wheel to the left and stepped hard on the gas.