“It makes the most sense to pick me,” Lawrence said. “All of the others have value to you, except me and that guy.” Lawrence nodded his head towards the ex-Marine. “And if you pick him, he’s not going to try to work out a deal for you. I will.”
Dawg’s mouth tightened as if the very sight of Lawrence disgusted him. “I hate cowards,” he said.
“I’m not a coward. I have someplace I need to be. I can’t be here tonight.”
Dawg shook his head slowly at Lawrence, his finger tightening on the trigger. Violence brightened his glazed eyes as he almost pulled the trigger, but the moment passed. “Not another word from you,” he warned, “not unless you want them scraping you off the floor and taking you out of here in a bag.”
After that, two of the robbers moved all the hostages except the elderly man to the vault where the safe-deposit boxes were kept. They wouldn’t be able to move the elderly man there unless they carried him. The way the old man was moaning and writhing on the floor, it looked to Lawrence like he had probably broken his hip. The robbers had brought plastic cuffs with them, and each of the hostages had their hands cuffed behind their back, except for the pregnant woman, who was cuffed in front. Once they were done and had the hostages sitting on the floor, the robbers left, and locked the steel security door behind them.
All of the other hostages were staring at Lawrence. The woman with the teenage son spoke first, calling Lawrence despicable. The ex-Marine spoke next, telling Lawrence how if he didn’t have his hands cuffed behind him, he’d beat the hell out of him.
“I’m hoping we both survive this,” Tim Simons said. “God, I want a chance to meet up with you with my hands free.”
Lawrence didn’t bother saying anything back to him, nor explaining to any of them his urgency to leave the bank. What would’ve been the point? Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to listen to what was going on inside the bank lobby. He could hear the old man with the busted hip crying softly, and the robbers talking excitedly among themselves. After a while, he could hear Dawg talking to what must’ve been a police negotiator over the phone. From Dawg’s end of the phone conversation, it didn’t sound good. From inside this locked room, these sounds were barely audible, and it was doubtful any of the other hostages heard any of it. Most days, Lawrence wouldn’t have been able to hear it either, but that day he could.
Soon the other hostages started talking among themselves; exchanging names, their histories, and how scared they all were. None of them bothered saying a word to Lawrence. That was fine with him. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on what he could hear from inside the bank.
Hours passed like this. Lawrence was wearing a watch, but with his hands cuffed behind him it wasn’t going to help him any. There weren’t any clocks on the wall, and even if any of the other hostages were wearing a watch there wasn’t much chance they would be willing to contort their bodies so that Lawrence could find out what time it was. But he knew that he didn’t have much time left. That it would be too late soon. He worked his way back to his feet, then started kicking the steel door and shouting for them to let him out. The other hostages were frightened by this and yelled at him to sit back down, but he didn’t listen to them. After several minutes the door opened and a tightly wired-looking Dawg pointed his assault rifle at Lawrence’s face.
“You have to let me out of here,” Lawrence pleaded.
“Yeah, I know,” Dawg said. “You got someplace you need to be. Too bad. The cops haven’t been all that willing to work out a solution to this situation. They keep insisting on us releasing a hostage before they’re willing to talk any further. You still up for that?”
“Of course.”
“Yeah, I thought you would be. Too bad. I’ve got another idea of showing them we mean business, and that’s executing one of you. How about that, hotshot? You up for that?”
Lawrence swallowed, his voice tight as he told the bank robber that he’d be fine with that.
The smirk Dawg had been showing tightened on his face. The rest of the room became deathly quiet. “You’re a hero now, is that it?” Dawg asked. “Yeah, right. I don’t believe it. I’ll tell you what, hotshot. You can show your true colors and choose any of the others instead.”
The young pregnant woman, whose name Lawrence earlier learned was Sally Jackson, started crying. Dawg tilted his head towards her. “You want her to take your place?”
“Of course not.”
“How about him?” Dawg pointed the rifle barrel towards Simons. “He called you a coward before. All you have to do is give me the word, and I’ll let him take your place.”
Lawrence shook his head.
Dawg looked disappointed. He let out a weary sigh. “Okay, then. Get on your knees.”
“Not here,” Lawrence said. “Not in front of a pregnant woman, for God’s sake. And besides, you’ll get more advantage out of it by shooting me so that the police can witness it.”
Dawg thought it over, nodded. He waved his assault rifle, indicating for Lawrence to leave the room, then, after locking the door on the remaining hostages, marched Lawrence back into the bank lobby. The elderly man was still moaning softly as he writhed on the floor, his color awful. He looked mostly out of it. Dawg noticed Lawrence looking at the old man and told him he could pick him instead. “I don’t think he’s going to make it anyway. So what do you say, hotshot?”
Lawrence shook his head and lowered himself to his knees. He could see the tension in the other bank robbers’ faces at what was going to happen, or at least what they thought was going to happen. He closed his eyes. He could feel Dawg’s assault rifle trained on him.
“Just do it, already, Dawg,” one of the other bank robbers said, the tension too much for him.
“Hold your pants, I will.” Then to Lawrence, “So, hotshot, where was it that was so important for you to be tonight?”
Lawrence opened his eyes. It was too late already. He could feel that it was too late. While he couldn’t see it from inside the bank lobby, he knew a full moon was revealing itself in the night sky. “Anywhere away from those other hostages,” he said. Then to the old man, “I don’t know if you can hear or understand me, but I am so sorry for what’s about to happen.”
“Yeah?” Dawg said with a hard sneer. “What’s about to happen?”
Lawrence’s hands were still cuffed behind his back, but he ripped the plastic cuffs apart as if they were tissue paper. He let out a howling cry filled with anguish and fell forward with his face buried in his hands. Dawg and the other two bank robbers all took a step back, startled by this.
The pain was excruciating as the muscles in Lawrence’s back twisted so that his back lengthened and arched and became something feral and wolflike. None of the bank robbers moved as they witnessed this, as well as Lawrence’s hands transforming into deadly clawlike things. While Lawrence’s jaw was undergoing its own changes, he could still spit out a few more sentences before the transformation would be complete.
“Unless you loaded silver bullets into your rifles, I’ll be ripping every one of you into pieces,” Lawrence told them, his voice guttural and harsh sounding, almost like a wolf’s growl.
When Lawrence removed his clawlike hands from his face, all three bank robbers fired their guns in their panic, but none of them had silver bullets, and because of that they soon were screaming. But it was short-lived.
A Wolfe in Chic Clothing
by Loren D. Estleman
The Boston Globe has said of Loren D. Estleman that he’s “a writer of a sort increasingly rare... so given to his work as to spontaneously combust to genius.” EQMM agrees; there are touches of brilliance in almost everything this extraordinarily versatile writer writes. The series to which this new story belongs is Mr. Estleman’s homage to Rex Stout, and it stands out, in part, due to its quietly witty prose. For something more in the hardboiled line by the Michigan author, see his new Amos Walker P.I. novel, Infernal Angels.