by Geonn Cannon
Hatcher remained silent.
"All right. My main concern is for those hostages. I want to make sure they're safe and comfortable. So right now, all I'm going to ask is if I can send in some food, some bottled water or sodas, just to keep them comfortable. You don't want a bunch of hungry people on your hands, I'm sure. There's a deli down the street, I can have some sandwiches in about half an hour."
Hatcher looked at the hostages. "Anyone vegetarian? Keep kosher? Speak up. Any allergies?" No one responded, so Hatcher said, "Thirty sandwiches. Half ham and swiss, half turkey and cheddar. Half white, half wheat. Sodas. And chips. Half an hour."
"All right, I'll take care of that for you. I'm glad we're talking, Zeus. It gives me hope that this will have a reasonable solution. We'll speak again when the sandwiches are ready."
Hatcher disconnected the call and walked around the counter.
"Thirty?" Lance said.
"So he won't be sure how many people are in here."
"Right," Lance said. It was good thinking; it was probably the only reason Camden had offered sandwiches.
Lance watched Hatcher eye the hostages. Two of the women, the tellers, were huddled on either side of Torri as if she were their savior. She watched Hatcher without a bit of fear, obviously willing to take their place if he wanted a human shield. He pointed at the woman he had held at gunpoint. "What's your name?" She whimpered and slid closer to Torri. "I'm not going to hurt you," Hatcher said. "I just want to know your name."
"Carey Drake," Ares said. He was still behind the counter, and he held up a photograph from Carey's station. "Her name's Carey."
Hatcher crouched in front of her. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted earlier, Ms. Drake. It was reprehensible. I allowed my baser instincts to take control of me and I want to apologize."
She stared at him in disbelief and then nodded once.
Hatcher stood up and looked at the rest of the group. Two of the men were sitting close together, their hands clasped at their sides. Hatcher walked past them to the teenager. The boy had shaggy brown hair and was trying his best to look unafraid. The dark-haired man next to him, his father, straightened when he realized Hatcher was staring at his son. "Hey. You leave him out of this."
Hatcher looked at the father. "You are not in charge here, sir." To the teenager, he said, "What's your name?"
"Martin Collins-Stark. You're not going to get out of here, you know. Don't you watch TV?"
Hatcher smiled and it lit up his entire face. "You know, I make it a point to watch as little TV as possible. Why don't you enlighten me?"
"The cops are going to take you down. The cops always win, man."
"Stop talking to him, Martin," his father said through clenched teeth.
Hatcher said, "I'm just having a conversation with the boy, Mr. Collins-Stark."
"The name is Bryden," the man said. "Dr. Bryden."
Hatcher furrowed his brow. "Divorce? That's a shame. How long has it been, Martin?"
"I asked you not to speak to him," Bryden said.
"Martin, when the food arrives, I'd like you to be the one to go get it for us."
Bryden shot to his feet. "No way in hell." Hatcher turned away from the boy, swept Bryden's legs out from under him and shoved the man to the floor. Bryden hit the marble floor hard, all the air knocked from his chest. He couldn't draw a breath because Hatcher's foot was suddenly on his throat. It was the second time in a handful of hours Lance had seen him pull the move, but it was still shocking how quickly it deactivated a situation. Hatcher stared into Bryden's wide, green eyes, but spoke to Martin. "Son, I would like you to be the one to go get it for us. You'll bring it into the bank, and then I'll let you go. This is a hostage situation; it's no place for a young man. Do you understand me?"
"Yeah. Yes, yeah, sure. Whatever, man. Don't hurt my dad."
Hatcher released Bryden, who clutched his neck and scooted back against the island. Hatcher crouched, bent down, and whispered something in Bryden's ear. Bryden flinched, bent away from Hatcher, and then nodded rapidly.
"I'm glad we could come to an agreement." He stood and walked past Lance. "Artemis, keep an eye on them."
Lance turned and watched as he went back into the safe deposit vault. A few seconds later, she heard the whirring whine of his drill as he started to dig into the face of another box.
#
Chapter Twenty-Two
Morpheus returned to the vault and came out a few minutes later with large canvas bags weighed down with cash. Nemesis sat on the ledge of the brick wall around the plants. She had her legs crossed in front of her, feet tucked under her knees, and her MAC-11 lay across her lap. She had pushed her mask up, revealing a face almost as pale as the cotton, but it let Lance see her brilliant green eyes. She was smiling, watching the two men who had been holding hands earlier.
"You two are a couple."
One of the men, a blond with horn-rimmed glasses, shifted uncomfortably. He looked at his loafers and tried to ignore the question. His partner, a lanky man with thin brown hair, said, "Yeah, we're married. You got a problem with that?"
"Not at all," Nemesis said. She pointed at Aphrodite. "I spent last night with her. I was too excited to sleep, so she offered to calm me down. Didn't work though." She bit her bottom lip and looked lovingly at Aphrodite.
Lance was still shocked at the man's declaration that they were married. She crossed the floor and got a look at their left hands. Sure enough, both men wore a ring on the third finger of their left hands.
"Now isn't the time, Nemesis," Aphrodite said.
Nemesis lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "She told me not to talk about it."
"Maybe you shouldn't be talking at all," Ares said. He had finished with the tellers counters and had carried a handful of things out to the waiting area. He picked up a small Smurf figurine and said, "Who does this belong to?"
The African-American teller, who had regained her wits after Hatcher's apology, said, "It's mine. You got a problem with the Smurfs?"
"Wendy Morrow," Ares said. "You don't have any pictures up in your cubicle. No family? No loved ones?"
"I don't need photographs to remember I'm loved."
"That's a nice sentiment." He tossed the Smurf to her and she caught it. "But you know I don't buy it. Why would you put a freaking cartoon character in your cubicle and not your boyfriend? Your husband? Your fucking cat? I don't think you have anyone. No one's picture."
"Leave her alone," Torri said.
"We don't have anything else to do," Ares said. "We might as well get to know each other." He pushed his mask up to reveal his face, dark stubble clinging to his jaw. Lance remembered the first time she saw him, thinking his eyes were like cigarette burns in the middle of his face. They were smoldering now, as he stood in front of Wendy Morrow and looked down at her. "Stand up."
Carey clutched Wendy's sleeve. "Wendy..."
"Come on," Ares said. "Nothing wrong with getting to know each other. We're just going to have a nice little talk."
Lance started across the room with her gun ready. If he wouldn't listen to reason—
Aphrodite came out of nowhere, appearing next to Ares before anyone realized she was moving. She grabbed his crotch with one hand, pressed her Beretta against his chest, and forced him back. Ares' face twisted in pain as she twisted her handful. "I think you know each other well enough, don't you?"
"Fucking bitch," Ares whimpered.
Aphrodite let him go, but she kept the gun in the middle of his chest. "If you try to do anything again, I'll switch hands. Do you understand what I mean?"
Ares looked down at the gun and pictured it below his belt. "Yeah. I understand. So long as you understand you ain't the only one in here with a gun."
Aphrodite's mask shifted as she smiled. "Oh, I'm well aware of that. It's a question of knowing how to use it."
The phone rang then, and Hatcher came out of the vault. He looked at the standoff between Ares and Aphrodite and shoo
k his head. "This is why I don't want a kid in here any longer than necessary." He shouted, "There's a fucking kid present!"
Aphrodite released Ares and stepped away from him.
Hatcher exhaled and hit the speakerphone again. "Am I speaking to Detective Camden?"
"You are, Mr. Zeus. I have the sandwiches all ready to go. It didn't take quite as long as I thought it would, so I thought I'd go ahead and send them in. Now, I didn't mention this before because I was just so concerned for the hostages. But before I send these in—"
"I've already picked the hostage I'll send out. Knock on the glass and leave the sandwiches on a tray five feet from the door. The hostage brings the food in, and then he's free to go." He disconnected and said, "Artemis. Cover me."
Lance followed Hatcher to the door, and he motioned for the kid to stand. Martin looked at his father, who nodded. "Go on. It's going to be okay." When the kid stood, the leg of his baggy pants revealed a cell phone lying on the floor between him and his father. Bryden saw Lance notice it and tried to hide it under his leg. Lance walked forward, held out her hand, and stared at Bryden through her expressionless white mask.
"What is it?" Hatcher asked.
"Cell phone," Lance said.
Hatcher started to walk back. Bryden, not wanting a repeat of his earlier assault, handed the phone to Lance. The screen was dark, but she pressed a button and it lit up. "Connected, Chelsea." Lance held the phone to her ear and listened for a second. There was a rustling sound on the other end, and then a familiar chime. The sound of a car alerting the driver to fasten their seatbelt. A second later, a quiet voice said, "Matt, are you there? Martin?"
"No," Lance said. "Don't call back."
She disconnected the call and pocketed the phone.
"Any other phones?" Hatcher said. "Everyone empty out your pockets. Now. Put your cell phones on the ground and kick them away. Do it right now."
Every hostage, well aware the orders were coming from someone holding a gun with one hand and a fifteen year old kid with the other, complied. The phones skittered and clacked across the marble. Aphrodite and Ares gathered them up while Hatcher and Lance went to the door. Hatcher pressed his shoulder against the door frame and peered through the crack, hoping to see when someone brought the sandwiches up.
"Parents are divorced, huh?"
Martin shrugged. "Yeah."
"Collins-Stark. Mother remarried?"
"Yeah," the kid said. He looked at Lance and then looked at Hatcher's gun. He had probably never seen a gun like that outside of a movie, let alone threatening real live people.
"You like the guy?"
"Who?"
"The new husband. Collins. Or Stark." Martin hesitated and Hatcher looked at him. "What, is he a jerk?"
"No. It-it... Mom married a woman."
Lance said, "Is gay marriage legal in this state?" She remembered the last time she had asked the question, lying in bed in Jodie's apartment.
"Are you proposing marriage to me?"
"You have a problem with that?"
Lance smiled. "No."
Jodie rolled onto her back. "No?"
"No," Lance said.
Back in the present, Martin was answering the question. "No. It's like a...partner or something. But they have rings and stuff. They said it doesn't matter if they have a piece of paper."
"Domestic partnership," Hatcher said, and looked back outside. "It's a baby step. How long have they been married?"
"Three years last August."
"Why don't you have your father's name?" He sounded personally invested in something so small. "That's his legacy."
Martin shrugged, nervous. "I dunno. He said it was a wedding present to them, to let me take their names. I live with them anyway and I hardly ever see him, so I guess he didn't mind so much."
Hatcher seemed to realize he had pushed too hard. "All right. Go back to your Dad. Don't worry. No one's going to hurt you or your father." He ushered Martin out of the atrium and watched the reunion with a curiously sad expression.
Lance was lost in her own thoughts about the boy's mothers, and all the things she'd missed while on the run. Dash Warren's death, for one. And now two different gay couples were living together, with an official document saying they were a couple. Lance tightened her grip on her gun and clenched her teeth. She was torn, unsure if she wished the law had been passed when Elaine was alive, or that she had taken advantage of it with Jodie.
"What's the matter with you?"
Lance looked up and saw Hatcher staring at her. "Nothing. What?"
"The food is here," he said. Hatcher pushed the door open and ushered Martin out into the atrium. "It's going to be okay. No one's going to hurt you." Hatcher unlocked the front door and pushed it open far enough that Martin could slip through. He immediately raised both hands, and walked slowly to the pile of food waiting at the edge of the concrete. Someone standing across the street shouted, "It's going to be okay, son!"
Martin dropped his hands and crouched to pick up the tray. He turned slowly, careful not to let any of the soda cans fall, and carried the tray back to the doors. He went into the atrium and Hatcher let the door swing shut behind him. "Good boy. You did great."
"Now what?"
"Now you get to go home. I assume that was your mother on the phone coming to get you?" Martin looked away. "Don't worry about it. I'd have done the same thing. I'm just glad you called your mother instead of the cops." He smiled and patted Martin on the shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong, okay? Go on, get out there before they think I lied to them."
Martin nodded and went back outside. Hatcher pulled the door shut, turned the lock, and motioned for Lance to pick up the tray. She stuck her gun into the belt of her slacks and led the way back to the hostages. She put the food down on a desk in one of the New Accounts offices. All the sandwiches were marked with HS or TC.
She walked back into the main room and pointed at the gay couple. "You two. Come get a sandwich and a drink." The brunette man stood up, adjusted his shirt, and reached down to help his husband stand. They crossed the room, well aware of Ares tracking them with his gun. They each took a sandwich, not bothering to look at what kind it was, and left the office.
Ares stopped them before they could rejoin the others. "Uh-uh. Over there." He pointed to one of the offices.
"What is this?" the brown-haired man said.
"Isaac," the blond whispered.
"No, I want to know. You find out we're gay and suddenly we have to be separated from the others? What, you think 'fag' is catching?"
Ares brought his gun up. "I said get into the office, Isaac, dear. Don't need to question why. Gonna be some other people joining you in a minute, so why don't you save your screaming for one of your little protests?"
Isaac stared at Ares for a long moment and then said, "Come on, Scott. Let's go to the bank hostage ghetto."
Ares followed them into the office and turned to Lance. "Separate 'em. Don't matter who goes where. There's more of them than there are of us. We can't let 'em plot or plan. Got me?"
Lance nodded and Ares went into the other office. Lance pointed at a white man with long brown hair, who had spent the last ten minutes checking his watch and sighing loudly, and a bald black man wearing a blue striped work shirt. They stood and walked into the office. The black man took a moment to find a turkey sandwich, then picked up a Pepsi. He held it in his hand and seemed to test the weight.
"My bullet would hurt you a lot more than that can hurts me," Lance told him.
He smiled and looked at her. "I'd get more satisfaction out of it, though."
Lance smiled slightly. "I'm sure you would. Go into first office there and have a seat." She looked at the patch on his shirt. "Archie."
The impatient man watched Archie go and then turned his attention to Lance. "What would it take to be next?" Lance frowned. "Next to go, the next hostage released. That's how things work, right? One at a time, they do something for you, and you let a hos
tage go. I'd like to be next. It's imperative that I go next."
"Are you a doctor?"
"I'm a restaurateur," he said. "My name is James Callaway, I own Pandora's Grill. I need to be there today. The place will fall apart—"
"Follow Archie into the office, sir," Lance said.
"I just—"
"Follow Archie into the office. Now."
He sighed and stormed past her. Lance pointed at Torri and, knowing the two tellers wouldn't want to be left behind, waved them in as well. Wendy Morrow, the honey-skinned woman Ares had threatened, and Carey Drake, the pretty young brunette who was still crying quietly about Hatcher threatening her. Wendy adjusted her dress, black with yellow flowers, and put an arm around Carey's shoulders as they walked into the room.
"What do you people hope to accomplish?" Torri asked.
Lance said, "Take your sandwich and your drink and go into the second office over there."
Torri stared at her. "You come into my bank—"
Lance stepped forward. "This wasn't personal. It's not about you. Don't make it personal and you'll do much better when it's all over. Understand?"
"Torri," Carey said. "Please..."
The three women left and Lance motioned the next two in. Lindsay Le, dressed in blue jeans and a red blazer, appeared to be made up and coiffed for an on-camera story. The shorter woman behind her had a scruffy black mop of hair and wore a gray sweater with the station logo embroidered on the left breast. Lance thought she had seen the woman carrying the camera that now sat on top of the deposit slip island, pointing toward the vault.
"I apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. Le."
"Are you kidding?" Lindsay said. "Front row seats for the biggest story of the week. I wouldn't miss this for the world."
The camerawoman smiled at Lance. "You're very photogenic in that mask, you know. And the ties? They'll really pop when they run on the news tonight. Of course they might just use your mug shots. Depending on whether you're booked before the eleven o'clock broadcast."