Hocus (42 page)

S
AMUEL RAN ACROSS
the loading dock to the basement door. He used a key to shut off the fire alarm. His ears were still ringing from the damned thing. Fucking asshole intruder. How did he sneak in? That was worrisome. He would take care of the intruder later. If he was lucky, the jerk would blow himself to kingdom come.

He entered another code, and the whistling sound ceased. Jesus, what next? Things weren’t going right. He unlocked another panel and turned on a screen that allowed him to view the basement room.

Bret was lying on the floor. Frank Harriman was bending over him.

Samuel frantically punched the intercom button. “Get the fuck away from him!” he screamed into the mike. “Get the fuck away from him
now
if you want to live, you son of a bitch!”

Frank lifted his manacled hands in the air, backed awkwardly away from Bret. He couldn’t see the camera, so he turned toward the voice. “He fainted,” Frank said. “He’s okay, he just fainted.”

Samuel’s breath was coming hard, painfully. “Stay away from him,” he repeated, nearly in tears, but now he could see that Frank’s hand was bleeding. The blood. That’s what must have made Bret faint.

“What did you do to your hand?” Samuel asked.

Frank didn’t answer, just looked around for the camera.

“I asked a question.
Answer me!”

“I pulled the IV out,” Frank said.

Bret moaned.

“Let me help him,” Frank said.

“You go near him, I’ll kill you. Go into the bathroom,” Samuel ordered. “Go in there and close the door. If he sees the blood, he’ll faint again.”

Reluctantly, looking down at Bret as he passed him, Frank moved into the bathroom and closed the door.

With shaking fingers Samuel entered the code, then hurried down to Bret. He rearmed the alarm, noting that the keypad had blood on it. He’d have to wipe that off later.

Bret’s eyes fluttered open.

“Samuel?” He tried to sit up.

“I’m here. You’re still pale. Let me help you.” When he had situated Bret on the stairs so that he could sit more comfortably, Samuel said, “Are you hurt anywhere? Did you hit your head when you fainted?”

“No, I think Frank caught me.” He looked around. “Where is he?”

“In the bathroom. It’s okay. Just relax. Don’t look over there — I’ll clean up that mess. You just put your head down.”

“Embarrassing,” Bret said, putting his head between his knees.

“No, it’s not. Don’t worry about that. And forget about him. The fan runs when the light is on, so he can’t hear us.”

“Maybe you should see if he’s all right. He was bleeding.”

“Not that badly,” Samuel said. “He’ll be okay. He can rinse it off in the sink, wrap it in a towel. He’s smart enough to do that.”

“He broke the morphine bottle. Pulled his IV catheter out. Tried to enter the alarm code.”

“I should have waited, made sure he went under.”

“He pinched the tubing shut. I don’t think he got any of it.”

“Son of a bitch,” Samuel growled, looking toward the bathroom.

“I don’t blame him,” Bret said.

“What?”

“I don’t blame him. And every time I hear those manacles—”

“Relax, relax,” Samuel soothed.

“I would go crazy, Samuel. If someone did that to me, I’d go crazy. I couldn’t take it.”

“Shh. It’s all right. No one has hurt him, Bret. Not really.”

“We have. The morphine — it’s just like the chains. It’s a chemical chain, that’s all. He knows it. It makes him feel helpless. And when he thought you had shot his wife, it must have been just like—”

“When he thought I had
what?”

“Shot his wife. Did you shoot her?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Irene Kelly. That’s who’s in the building.”

Samuel stared at him in silence. “You
lied
to me,” he said, incredulous.

“Yes. I’m sorry if that hurts you.”

“If it hurts me? Of course it does!”

“Just sit with me here for a minute, Samuel. Just sit with me. Like we used to, when we were silent.”

Samuel almost rebelled, but something in Bret’s voice worried him. So he didn’t say anything.

Within a few minutes he was calm. The silences always did this for him. In school, when they were younger, if someone made him angry, Bret could calm him in this way. And he was reminded that Bret would not have asked for one of these shared silences unless, ironically, there was something important to be “said.”

After a long time Samuel spoke. “It was because of Faye.”

“Yes.”

“Do you hate me for that?”

“No, of course not. But it’s getting easier for you to hurt people, and I didn’t want you to hurt Frank’s wife. That’s why I didn’t tell you she was here, Samuel.”

Another long silence stretched between them as Samuel thought about what Bret had said.

“You’re so sure he’s innocent?” he asked.

“Yes,” Bret said without hesitation. “Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you willing to trust my judgment?”

After a long pause Samuel said, “Yes. But there’s something you should know.”

Bret waited.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. When I went out, I went to a pay phone and called the paper to ask if my ‘granddaughter,’ Irene Kelly, had placed an ad like I asked her to. The one about John Oakhurst.”

“And?”

“His wife knows who the policeman is.”

H
E HAD STOPPED COMING AFTER ME
. After hiding in a wardrobe room for God knew how long, I decided he had given up on me, at least for the moment. Maybe he had bigger problems. Or maybe he decided I was going to die if I tried to leave the building and figured I wasn’t worth the effort of pursuit.

I decided to do some cautious exploring.

I went through a large dressing room, scaring the bejesus out of myself when I caught my reflection in one of the many mirrors — at first, in the darkness, seeing the reflection only as another person moving in the room.

I almost went to the wall and turned on a light switch, but I decided not to become too cocky. Whatever had caused Samuel to give up his pursuit might be only a temporary delay.

I moved slowly through the back of the theater, conserving the flashlight batteries as much as possible. Eventually I wandered into an office. A light was flashing on the desk. A ringing telephone.

I answered it, crawling under the desk to hide before I spoke.

“Hello?”

“Irene?” a surprised voice asked.

“Yes,” I said, recognizing the drawling version of my name. “Glad Hank got in touch with you, Cassidy.”

“I would have preferred to find you waiting for me on the
outside
of the building, but I reckon that was too much to ask. Where are you?”

“Alone in some kind of office. Do you know where Frank is?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I should tell you. You’ve already been busier than a one-legged man in an asskickin’ contest.”

“I didn’t exactly plan to be locked in here with them. Anything I can do for you while I’m here?”

“Hide. Stay clear of them. They get a hold of you, we’ve got twice the problem we had before. You understand that, don’t you?”

The lights came on in the office.

Oh, shit, I thought.

“Irene?”

“She understands, Detective Cassidy,” a voice said from another extension. “Say good-bye to him, Ms. Kelly.”

“Bret?” Cassidy said.

Samuel walked around the desk. He was pointing a gun at me. He motioned me to come out.

“See you later, Cassidy,” I said. I hung up the phone and let Samuel lead me away. I noticed the light on the phone didn’t go out. I tried to be heartened by that, by the fact that Cassidy was still talking to Bret. You’ll see Frank, I told myself.

I was scared anyway.

He took me to a basement. As I came down the stairs, Frank looked up and saw me. He was still in chains, and his hand had a bigger bandage on it. He stood up. I ran to him.

He lifted his manacled hands over my head, held on to me as tightly as I held on to him. He was warm and alive and we were together. Maybe something will feel better to me someday, I thought, but I couldn’t imagine what it would be.

Bret came closer, and Frank stood very still for a moment. Frank extended his arms. Bret unlocked the chains on Frank’s wrists, pulled off the leather cuffs.

“Thank you,” Frank said. He pulled me closer, in an embrace so fierce, I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t need to breathe.

“We’ll give you some time alone,” Bret said, and to our surprise, they left.

“Are you okay?” we asked each other in unison, and spent the next few moments crying in each other’s arms. I leaned back and wiped the tears from his face.

“Cassidy will get us out of here,” I said.

He nodded, told me he loved me, and we both started crying again.

“I know you think I’m an ass, coming in here, getting caught—” I started to say, but he put his fingers over my lips and shook his head.

“No more of that,” he said. “No matter what happens, we’re not going to waste time on regrets.”

I looked up at him, smiled a little, and said, “Do you think they’ve got cameras in here?”

He laughed. “Sure of it, I’m sorry to say. Microphones, too.”

“Damn,” I said.

“Damn,” he said, and held me tight.

“In spy movies, they use this kind of time to talk about strategy,” I said.

“Thank God we aren’t spies,” he said, and kissed me.

There was a ridiculously polite little knock on the basement door, and Bret came in, seeming embarrassed.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but we need to talk to Detective Cassidy.”

He put on a headset, spoke into it. “Any change?”

He listened, then said, “All right. I’m calling now. Stand by.”

“Where’s Samuel?” Frank asked.

“Keeping an eye on things. There seems to be some SWAT movement.” He turned to me. “Ms. Kelly, are you willing to tell us the name of the man we’re looking for?”

Frank looked at me in surprise. “You know?”

I didn’t answer. Before Frank could say more, Bret said, “We’ll talk about it later.”

He lifted the phone and waited.

“Hello, Detective Cassidy. I’m putting the speakerphone on.” He pressed a button, looked at us. “Would you please say something?”

We each said hello.

“Are you all right?” Cassidy asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “We haven’t been harmed.”

“Are you giving up?” Bret asked him.

“Now, what makes you say a thing like that?” Cassidy asked.

“We’ve seen some SWAT movement,” Bret answered.

“There hasn’t been any SWAT movement,” Cassidy said.

“Detective Cassidy,” Bret said, “please don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” Cassidy said. “Hold on, let me confirm what I just told you.”

There was a moment’s silence. “Bret?”

“Yes?”

“I apologize. You’re right. It was completely unauthorized, and those men have been pulled back. You want to confirm that with Samuel?”

“Just a moment,” Bret said. He spoke into the headset. “Samuel?” He listened, then said, “All right, Detective Cassidy. But now we’re concerned that you may not have your part of the situation under control.”

“Really?”

Bret seemed distracted. “Oh, no, I guess not. Samuel is telling me that those officers have been taken to the commander’s post. Well, now, shall we talk?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s make everything plain, all right?”

“Plain?”

“Unmistakable. I thought I should tell you that we have a generator and plenty of supplies, should you decide to cut off power or water.”

“No one is talking about doing anything like that, Bret.”

“We also have gas masks and protective clothing. Samuel and I do, I mean. If you try a chemical approach to this problem, Frank and Irene will suffer, not us. And we are, of course, the only ones who can arm and disarm the explosives.”

“Bret, nobody wants—”

“No, of course not. But the situation should be made plain. Now, we want one thing. Just one thing. Not money, not notoriety, not innocent lives. We don’t want a plane to fly us to Havana or any other nonsense like that. We simply want justice. That’s all.”

“Justice.”

“Yes, Detective Cassidy, justice. It’s all we live for. Literally. A life for four lives.”

Cassidy let the silence stretch. Frank was watching me. I took his uninjured hand, squeezed it lightly. He held on.

“Ms. Kelly knows the man’s name,” Bret said.

“She tell you that?”

“Not directly, no. But — just a moment—”

I could hear Cassidy shouting, though. “Stop that man! Stop him!”

“No, Detective Cassidy!” Bret said. “Tell your men to stay back! I don’t want the others to be hurt.”

“Hold on,” Cassidy said. We could hear Bredloe’s voice over a bullhorn, saying, “Officer, halt where you are. That’s an order! You are compromising negotiations and placing others’ lives in danger. Halt!”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Bret asked Samuel over the headset, turning on a television monitor. A street-level view of the area in front of the theater came on the screen. A man in a SWAT uniform was crossing the street with his hands up. Bret said, “I wish we could hear him talk.”

Just then the man shouted, “Bret! Samuel! I’m the one you want.”

“Who is that?” Frank said.

Over the headset Bret said, “Yes, just that one door.” He moved to the phone, then said, “Detective Cassidy! Use your bullhorn. Tell that man to enter by the center door only. No other door. And no other officers.”

“I can’t allow that, Bret. We don’t know that this man is the one you want. People often confess to crimes they didn’t commit, out of some mistaken sense of—”

“He’ll blow every one of us to hell and gone, sir, if you don’t do exactly as we say. Some of your men will die, too. Samuel and I don’t care about ourselves, but the Harrimans deserve better. Hurry, Detective Cassidy, he’s getting closer.”

But it was Bredloe’s voice that made the announcement, even as I heard Cassidy say, “Captain, don’t—”

“We’ll call back soon,” Bret said, hanging up. “Excuse me,” he said to us, and hurried up the stairs. He paused at the door and tossed down a key. “Just in case,” he said with a smile.