Wheels (Tabor Heights Year Two)

by Michelle Levigne

  But there was no outcry. No movement. Also, she realized as they stepped into the office and she could see over the counter, no Tommy. Sammy sat on the floor in the corner where her basket of toys was usually tucked under a chair. She finished putting her last Lincoln Log into the basket and looked up as Simon stepped around the counter, with his arm hooked through Claire's. Chuck did the same with Natalie. She couldn't see the gun Simon held on Claire, but from the way her body seemed to bend sideways, avoiding contact, Claire could feel it pressing against her side.

  "All done, Mommy," Sammy said. She looked at the strangers, wide-eyed and slowly backed up until she ran into the wall.

  "Where's the freak?" Simon said.

  "There are no freaks here," Claire said.

  "Want to bet?" Natalie muttered.

  But not softly enough -- Chuck shoved her against the wall and into a chair.

  *****

  Tommy wheeled into the big storage room and temporary phone room, and pivoted slowly, visually examining the long rows of shelves. Utility cabinets in the back hung open, visibly ransacked. The master control panel for the new phone system hung open, showing cut phone lines. Tommy stared at it for a few seconds, feeling like he couldn't quite breathe when the implications of what this meant crashed through him.

  He pivoted his chair around quickly and sped from the room.

  *****

  Claire held Sammy on her lap at her desk, and Natalie sat on the floor next to them, with Simon towering over them and Chuck leaning back against the wall, at the perfect angle to see most of the lobby without being seen. Natalie wanted to do something about that, but couldn't figure out what.

  "I figure the cripple knows where the drugs are," Simon said, gesturing with his gun for punctuation as he spoke. "Where is he?"

  "I don't know. He was getting my daughter ready to go home."

  "Yeah," Chuck grunted. "Can't depend on the freaks to do anything right."

  "I think you know where your little brother is," Simon said. He waved his gun, gesturing for her to put Sammy down, then hooked his arm through hers again. "Why don't you help me find him? Chuck, stay here and don't do anything stupid, okay?"

  "Like what?" the other man sneered.

  "Like killing the hostages. We might need them."

  "Oh, yeah. Well, I can think of a few things to do with them."

  "Later." He dragged Claire out of the office with the gun tucked between them, pressed into her ribs.

  *****

  Tommy hesitated with his hand on the panel for the automatic door of the men's restroom. He thought he heard a man's voice, but it didn't sound like Brock out there in the hall. He pulled the inner door of the bathroom open and held it back until he rolled far enough past it to get into the little room he always thought of as an airlock, but older generations referred to as the modesty barrier, then pressed carefully on the swinging door that led out into the hall. Paul had re-hung the doors and re-worked the hinges so the door swung out into the hall, instead of into the bathroom. It made maneuvering wheelchairs so much easier. Tommy appreciated it now, because it let him push the door open only a few inches, enough to see out.

  A stranger walked down the hallway with Claire, his arm around her waist and his other hand holding -- was that a gun?

  No, that wasn't a stranger. That was one of the men who tried to drag Franky away this afternoon. The one who shot Paul. Natalie said his name was Simon. Tommy gripped the doorframe and held his breath, while a roar of pure fury caught in his throat. He thought he would suffocate as he waited for the two to pass. No way was he going to play stupid, reckless hero again, and risk getting his sister shot.

  "Now, where would little brother be hiding?" Simon muttered.

  "Tommy doesn't hide from anybody," Claire said. Her voice sounded thin, but it didn't tremble. "He probably doesn't even know you're here yet."

  "I don't care! Where would he be?"

  "Probably in the weight room."

  "The what?"

  "The weight room. You never noticed his arms?" Claire's upper lip curled as they walked past the bathroom door. Tommy wanted to cheer. He'd never loved his sister, her courage, her sense of humor, more than he did that moment.

  "Who looks at a stupid cripple?" Simon grumbled.

  "He has to work out for his health."

  "Who cares? Where's the weight room?"

  When they had vanished around the corner, heading for the other wing of the building, Tommy slipped out of the bathroom, moving slowly to avoid his wheels squeaking on the linoleum. If Simon was here, chances were good so was Chuck. His fingers gripped the metal seat support, hard enough to threaten to leave dents, at the thought that followed -- if Simon had Claire, then Chuck had Sammy and Natalie. How long would they be safe, once they found him and added him to the hostages?

  That question didn't matter -- Tommy wouldn't let them find him.

  He had to delay them until Nikki and Jennifer came back with Gray and Puck.

  "Stupid," he whispered, and dug in his pocket for his cell phone. Then he ducked into one of the rooms that had been set aside for the donations that had come in all that week, and closed the door.

  Nikki answered on the third ring, and Tommy had to bite back a nasty remark about her wasting time kissing Brock in the moonlight, when there was an emergency. She had a right, didn't she? Besides, she didn't know about the danger inside the Mission, until now.

  "Okay, Jennifer and Puck are on their way. I'm calling the police. Can you get an eagle eye on who's where in there, so we have an advantage going in?" Nikki said.

  Tommy almost asked why she was whispering, when Simon and Chuck couldn't possibly hear her.

  "You bet. I'm pretty good at silent running mode. Lots of war games with the rug rats."

  "Yeah, good thing you have lots of practice. Be carefully, Tommy. We'll be praying hard." Then she hung up.

  Praying. Tommy shuddered at the reminder. He hadn't even thought of praying yet.

  Okay, God, You know what I need, what I'm thinking. I can hardly think of anything but pounding those scuzzbuzzards. Help? Please? I'm depending on You like I never have before. Keep them all safe. Don't let the bad guys win this one?

  Tommy took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob, to inch the door open and look out, to make sure it was safe before venturing into the hallway. Then his gaze landed on the pile of crutches in a bin by the door. The shelves full of partially sorted parts and pieces. A wicked grin caught up one corner of his mouth as he took two crutches and stuck them down the back of his chair, then filled a small cloth sack with two handfuls of ball bearings. He decided it was a good thing he read the right kind of adventure stories, that he could see weapons -- strictly defense, of course -- in just about everything around him.

  He glided down the hallway, listening for footsteps, and saw a light flick on, spilling out the doorway of the weight room. That showed where Simon and Claire had gone. He wondered how long it had taken for Claire to pretend to find the keys to the weight room in that massive key ring she carried. He silently blessed his sister for knowing how to delay the enemy. The longer they took wandering the school looking for him, the better the chances of Nikki and Jennifer and their big, mean, trained defense dogs showing up. Claire had to have that as her priority.

  His priority was to get his sister away from Simon. Tommy glanced down the dark hallway, sporadically lit with emergency lights. The next stop, if he was looking for someone in a wheelchair, would be the gym. Lots of room and places for hiding, with all those tables and chairs still standing. The cleanup crew had washed all the surfaces and left the folding and hauling away for another time. He took the chance Simon would go there next, and sped down the hall to get into the room ahead of him.

  The only light came through small windows near the ceiling. The room was a maze of tables and racks of chairs. Tommy waited in the darkness, pressed against the wall just inside the door on the side Simon would be, holding a crutch over hi
s head. He tensed, muscles aching, as the sound of Simon's and Claire's footsteps approached the open door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At the first hint of movement, Tommy swung, slamming the crutch down against Simon's head. The crutch broke and pieces flew in all directions. Simon's legs buckled. He grappled at Claire to keep upright. She broke free. Tommy snatched up the bag of ball bearings from his lap and swung it hard against Simon's head. He staggered against the wall, his legs folding so his knees almost touched the floor, and dropped the gun. Claire snatched up the gun and stumbled backwards, shaking, as Simon collapsed, face-down.

  "Wish I had a horse," Tommy muttered.

  "What?" she gasped.

  "Hey, sis, it's the cavalry."

  "Tommy -- don't." She put out a hand against the wall, supporting herself. In the streaky, faint light, she looked white and her throat worked convulsively as if she would be sick.

  "Where are Natalie and Sammy?"

  "There's another one. He's holding them in the office."

  "Help me get him to the kitchen."

  "But--"

  "We have to tie him up and lock him up. You want him to wake up and start looking for us?"

  Claire nodded, and her hands shook as she tried to put the gun in her pocket. She helped Tommy haul Simon up so he held the man's upper torso with one arm and guided his wheelchair with the other hand. She held his legs so they didn't drag on the floor, and walked backwards down the hall to the next room.

  At the kitchen, Claire bumped the door open with her hip. As soon as they were all the way inside, she let Simon's legs hit the floor and hurried to catch the swinging door so it didn't bang closed. Tommy rolled Simon off his lap with a grimace of distaste.

  "Okay, got any rope?" he said, pitching his voice low.

  Claire shrugged and gave him the gun to hold on Simon, in case he woke up while she searched the drawers. At the third drawer, she pulled out two thick rolls of duct tape.

  "This is all we have."

  "Good." He gestured, and she lifted Simon's ankles so Tommy could wrap them while she took care of his wrists and mouth. "Okay, I called Nikki and she's calling the police. I want you to get out of here while I--"

  "Leave you alone to face them?" She rolled Simon over on his stomach and stood up, towering over Tommy. "I don't think so."

  "I've got the gun."

  "You don't know how to shoot!" Claire winced when her voice, even pitched low, seemed to ring off the stainless steel equipment.

  "Do they have any other guns?"

  "No. I think all they have is the knife the other one is using on Natalie and Sammy."

  "All right then. We have an advantage. I just want you safe, okay? We're holding them off until the cops get here. Okay?"

  "Tommy…" She went pale, drastic enough he could see it amid the shadows of the kitchen, and sank to her knees.

  Terror washed cold over him. "Claire? It's not the baby, is it?"

  "No." She tried to smile. Her mouth was a flat, dark gash across her face. "It's just been a long day, that's all. I don't want my brother and my husband shot on the same day, that's all."

  "Then it won't happen." He nodded at Simon, still unconscious -- at least, he hoped so, and the man wasn't playing possum, waiting until they were distracted to try to escape. "Look, you're playing big sister again, protecting the poor little kid in the wheel--"

  "No I'm not!"

  "Listen, sis, if the other guy sees you, he'll know something is up. If he sees me, he sure won't expect trouble from a stupid little cripple, would he? Who'd think you'd have an attack gimp protecting the place?"

  "If anything happens to you--"

  "What else could happen to me? Gimme your keys."

  "Why?" She dug in her pocket.

  "Trust me." He managed a grin. "For a change."

  "Tommy…" Sighing, she gave him the keys.

  *****

  Chuck was sweating. Natalie noticed it and wondered if that was a good sign or a bad one. She pretended not to see, putting all her energy into keeping Sammy quiet, holding the little girl on her lap at Claire's desk and reading her a story. She heard a rhythmic thudding, and surreptitiously looked around, finally seeing Chuck's left leg jiggling up and down, tapping at the desk where he sat.

  Would nerves make him dangerous, or so jumpy she could defend herself?

  Okay, God, I know we haven't been talking much lately, and I've been so distracted lately, but please, whatever happens, don't let Sammy and Claire and Tommy get hurt? Please? If You put me here to protect them… Where is Tommy? Did he see them and get out and call for help? Are the cops coming already? Please, Lord, whatever happens, don't let these jerks get away? Franky was trying to do the right thing. He deserves a break, and to be safe. And Paul sure didn't deserve getting shot. Please, God--

  "How much you making?" Chuck said.

  "What?"

  "Money. How much do you make?"

  "None of your business."

  He snorted, obviously unaffected by her bravado. "Bet it isn't enough. Not nearly enough for a girl that looks like you."

  One eyebrow raised as he looked her over, head to toe. Natalie felt like something slimy tried to crawl across her.

  "I don't believe you're really a reporter. I'm still betting you're playing a game, horning in on our business."

  "You can think what you want." Her throat went dry but she kept going. Natalie fought not to give in to the panic trying to take over and erupt as a scream. Or a fit of tears. "Doesn't change anything. I'm a reporter, and I'm very good."

  "Yeah? What kind of stories?" His sneer made her want to punch him right in his mouth. "Anything interesting? Any meat on it? Or do you just write a bunch of wimpy feel-good stuff like what was going on today?" He gestured around the office, taking in the entire building.

  "Meat? Like what? Covering a toxic waste scandal? How about a program at Mansfield Correctional to make creeps like you man up and confess--" Her voice cracked and she couldn't go on, but stared into Chuck's sneering face.

  "Confess what?" His voice dropped to a growl as he leaned closer.

  Natalie felt like she stood in two places at one time, past and present, here and the observation room at the Mansfield Correctional facility. She had interviewed some men going through an experimental program where they faced the enormity of the things they had done as part of their rehabilitation. The goal was to make them change, emotionally and mentally, and not return to their past patterns of behavior when they regained their freedom. She hadn't interviewed anyone who wasn't in the program voluntarily, but she had seen many faces from the observation room, looking down on the room where the prisoners socialized and ate. So many faces.

  She had seen Franky, Chuck, and Simon among all those faces. From Franky's remarks about trying to remember where they had met before, and now Chuck's, they had seen her, too.

  "Confession is good for the soul," she managed to say, her throat dry and voice raspy.

  "This ain't no church, sweetheart."

  "Not that you have a soul to--" Natalie swallowed down the surge of fury that pushed her to fight. Just how stupid was she going to be? She looked down at Sammy. The little girl's somber expression clutched at her heart. "Hey, sweetie, what do you want me to read to you now?"

  Sammy shook her head, then flinched as Chuck reached over, yanking Natalie out of the chair. Sammy clutched at her to keep from falling. The lights died, pitching the room into blackness.

  *****

  "Now what?" Claire whispered, unscrewing fuses from the master breaker panel for the building, and handing them to Tommy, who held the flashlight for her to work by.

  "Blind man's bluff?" He shrugged, nearly losing the handful of fuses he held already. "We just want them confused and chasing their tails, and thinking there are a lot more of us. The rest of it, I'm playing by ear."

  "You're insane."

  "You're just now figuring that out? Hey, hey," he murmured, as Claire flung her arms a
round him.

  *****

  Natalie sat on the floor in front of the bench pushed against the glass wall of the office. Sammy whimpered, struggling not to cry. Chuck stood over them, one hand tangled in Natalie's hair while the other swung back and forth, making his knife blade flash in the moonlight and light from the street spilling in across the lobby.

  Claire and Tommy stayed inside the dark line of shadow in the hallway, where they could see into the office, but couldn't be seen. He gestured down the hall at the donations storage room. He waited, keeping watch a little longer as Claire obeyed.

  "Okay, that's it," Chuck snapped. "Get up."

  When Natalie didn't move immediately, he grabbed her by the upper arm and yanked her to her feet, almost knocking Sammy out of her arms. Sammy wailed and clutched at Natalie with a choking grip.

  "Shut that kid up."

  Natalie pressed Sammy close, muffling her sobs. She glared at Chuck, but he wasn't looking at her and didn't react to her defiance. He gestured at the doorway with the knife and pushed her forward. She stepped out into the hall.

  Tommy carefully rolled backwards, trying to be silent and invisible. Chuck and his prisoners had their backs to him now. He gave his wheelchair a harder shove and glided into complete darkness.

  Moments later in the donation room, Claire dug carefully through the bins. When she refused the wooden crutches Tommy offered her, he gave up and rolled to the doorway to keep watch. When she picked up a metal crutch and hefted it, swinging like a baseball bat, he grinned, teeth bared. They moved out, Claire with her crutch over her shoulder, Tommy with his impromptu weapon across his lap.

  Chuck, Natalie and Sammy now headed down the hall directly toward them. Claire moved into an open doorway while Tommy held perfectly still, crouched down in the chair. They wouldn't have much time until Chuck's eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could make out their shapes among the shadows. Tommy held his breath as the three of them got closer. His stomach clenched when they got close enough he could make out the grip Chuck had on Natalie's arm. She would have bruises in the morning, and he hated knowing the man hurt her.