“Not to worry, sir. You will come with us now and travel under diplomatic status in a national government aircraft similar to your own Air Force One, only much more comfortably outfitted.”
“How, uh — would I be, uh — compensated?”
Shammar and Hufur exchanged smiles. “Generously, sir. Appointments from His Excellency Sheik A1 Hila Kut are set at five hundred thousand dinars per annum.”
“I see. And how much would that be in U.S. dollars?”
Hufur Jabal whipped out a calculator, pressed a few keys, and said, “About seven hundred thousand dollars, sir.”
“Well, that certainly is generous,” Martin allowed.
“Will you agree to the appointment then?” Shammar asked.
“Yes,” Martin replied emphatically. “Yes, I certainly will.”
Shammar looked past Martin and gestured to someone. At once they were joined by a stunningly attractive dark-skinned woman dressed in a smartly tailored matching coat and skirt that blended perfectly with the suits worn by Shammar and Hufur. A beautiful white blouse was open at the collar and from her flawless neck hung a single black pearl.
“This is Mina Zakum,” said Shammar. “She is to be your personal aide for whatever you need from this moment on.”
The young woman smiled and bowed slightly to Martin.
“We have a limousine outside to take us to the airport in the city,” Shammar said. “Shall we go?”
“By all means,” Martin replied.
The four of them moved across the lobby, where Martin collected his suitcase from the bellman, hoping that dimwit Barbara hadn’t overlooked his toothbrush when she packed.
In the stretch limo, Martin and his new aide, Mina Zakum, shared the rear seat, while Shammar and Hufur took the jump seats. As they sat down, Martin noticed that Mina’s skirt slid a couple of inches above her knees. She had lovely legs. But at that moment, Martin’s mind was not on sex. It was on hanging.
A hundred a year, he thought.
That warm, gushy feeling flowed from his throat to his groin.
Life couldn’t get any better than that.
A Hostage Situation
by Dave Zeltserman
EQMM readers know Dave Zeltserman best as the creator of the Julius Katz series, whose entry “Archie’s Been Framed” won the 2010 Readers Award. We’ve got another Julius Katz story coming soon; meanwhile, here’s a very different kind of tale from the Boston author. A complete Katz novel is now available in e-format, for those anxious to see more of the epicurean P.I. and the humanlike computer Archie. See Julius Katz and Archie (June 1, 2011).
Lawrence Talbot lowered himself to the floor the moment he saw the three men wearing ski masks enter the bank, not waiting for the men to brandish their weapons and shout out their orders. He prayed everyone else in the bank would do the same. If they did, and none of the tellers hit their silent alarms, then this robbery would be over fast. It was two-thirty in the afternoon, and if everyone cooperated and the police didn’t show up, he could still be where he needed to be by six, seven at the latest, even if the police spent hours questioning them. Today of all days this had to happen!
The men moved quickly as they pulled assault rifles out from under their trench coats and pointed their weapons towards the scattering of people in the bank, all the while yelling for everyone to get down on their stomachs with their hands on their heads, and to do so fast or they’d get their heads blown off. Lawrence was the first one to comply, but before he did he took a quick inventory. Outside of the two tellers working, as well as the bank manager, there were five bank customers: a young pregnant woman who looked like she was about to go into labor at any moment, a frail elderly man who had struggled just minutes earlier to make his way up to a teller’s window with the aid of his cane, a middle-aged woman, her teenage son, and a hard-looking square-jawed man of about thirty-five. The elderly man didn’t move fast enough for them and one of the robbers struck him across the back with the barrel of his assault rifle, sending the elderly man crashing to the floor and crying out in pain. The square-jawed man, who Lawrence would later learn was an ex-Marine named Tim Simons, was lowering himself slowly to the floor, all the while eyeing the bank robber who had hit the elderly man. His intention was obvious to Lawrence; he was going to make a run at the robber. This wasn’t good. If this man did that, shots would be fired and the robbery would become a mess, which would draw the police within minutes and make things even worse. Lawrence couldn’t allow that to happen.
“Do what they’re telling you to do,” Lawrence ordered Simons, which froze Simons and drew the attention of one of the robbers, who moved quickly over to them and poked the ex-Marine hard in the forehead with the tip of his rifle.
“You trying to be a hero?” the robber asked Simons. The ex-Marine grimaced from the blow and went down on his stomach, but not without first fixing a dead stare at Lawrence.
“You’re a coward,” he told Lawrence.
“Shut your mouth,” the robber warned Simons. Even with the ski mask covering his face, Lawrence could tell that the robber was smirking at him, as if he were agreeing with Simons that Lawrence was little more than a weakling and a coward. The elderly man was still whimpering in pain. Lawrence couldn’t see the young pregnant woman from where he was lying, but he could hear her crying softly somewhere behind him. That was okay. All of it was okay. As long as these bank robbers finished what they needed to do and left the bank before the police came. As long as this didn’t turn into some sort of hostage situation. Because Lawrence couldn’t be there that night. Not this night. Not with what he had to do. He prayed that they would finish emptying the cash drawers and be gone before the police came.
Then Lawrence heard the sirens off in the distance and felt a sickening feeling deep in his gut. From the lack of reaction from any of the others, it was clear he had heard the sirens before them, but within seconds they would be hearing them too. Soon those sirens would be screaming. There was no denying it any longer. The police were on their way and Lawrence’s worst fears were going to be realized.
The police had the bank surrounded, and the robbers inside soon took their masks off as panic overtook them. All three of them were in their late twenties, thin and gaunt and with bad complexions, each of them showing brownish, ruined teeth, which made Lawrence think they were meth addicts. The one with dark blue Chinese letters tattooed on his neck was wide-eyed and jittery, as if he were barely holding it together. Another one also looked jumpy. The one who seemed like he was in charge looked more homicidal than nervous, and he kept staring at each of the hostages with cold glazed eyes as if he was itching to kill someone. One of the others had referred to him as Dawg. None of this was good. They clearly weren’t prepared to deal with the police, and this hostage situation could go on all night, which Lawrence simply could not allow to happen.
“I can help you negotiate a deal with the police,” Lawrence said.
The bank robber called Dawg focused his glazed eyes on Lawrence. They were cold, brutal eyes. He smiled thinly. “And how’s that?” he asked.
“You make up a list of demands, then let me go, and I’ll work to make sure the police know how serious and dangerous you are, and how they better accept your demands.”
Dawg laughed at that. “I’m just going to let you walk out of here?”
“Releasing a hostage shows good faith,” Lawrence said.
Dawg laughed again. His look was incredulous as he shook his head. “You want me to release you as a hostage?” he asked. “With a pregnant lady and all the others, and you’re the one I should let out of here? You’re quite the bold one, huh?”