“I'm just trying to explain to you how the court feels about these situations.”
“The court has its head up its ass, and it doesn't have any feelings. 'The court,' as you call it, is a fat little old man who sits in that chair up there and never made it as an attorney, so now he's spending his time lousing up people's lives and feeling important. He didn't even give a damn that Scott kidnapped Jane, and he probably wouldn't give a damn if he had raped her.”
“I'm not sure of that, Bernie.” He had to defend the system he worked for and believed in, but too much of what Bernie said made sense. It was very depressing.
“You're not sure, Bill? Well, I am.” Bernie was livid, and he started walking down the hall to the elevator as Bill followed. They went down to the main floor in silence and Bernie looked at him as they walked outside. “I just want you to understand. I'm not giving Jane to him when he comes on Thursday. Blake and I are going to be standing in the doorway and I'm going to tell him to go screw himself, after I ask him pointblank what his price is. I'm not going to play this game with him any longer. And this time he's going to have to sign his life away when I pay him. Not like the last time. And if I wind up in jail, I'll expect you to bail me out, or hire me another lawyer. Got that?” Grossman nodded and Bernie walked off without another word to his attorney.
He called his parents that night, and his mother cried on the phone. It seemed like they hadn't had a happy conversation in over a year now. First there had been the agonies and hushed reports over Liz' illness, and now there was this mess with Chandler Scott. He told her what he was going to do, and that he might end up in jail and she sobbed openly at the other end of the phone, half thinking about the grandchild she might never see again, and half thinking about her son as a jailbird.
They had been planning to come out that Friday but Bernie thought they should wait. Everything was just too much up in the air with the mess Scott was making. But when he hung up, Mrs. Pippin disagreed with him.
“Let the grandmother come, Mr. Fine. The children need to see her, and so do you. It will do everyone good.”
“What if I'm in jail?” She giggled at the prospect and then shrugged philosophically.
“I'll just carve the turkey myself, I suppose.” He loved her burr and her good humor. There seemed to be nothing she couldn't face. Flood, plague, or famine.
But that night, when he tucked Jane into bed, he realized how deeply frightened she was of his turning her over to Scott again. He had tried to explain that to the woman at Family Court but she refused to believe him, and she had only talked to Jane for five or ten minutes herself, and thought she just felt “shy” about her natural father. In truth, she was terrified of him, and the nightmares she had that night were the worst she'd ever had. He and Mrs. Pippin met in her bedroom at four o'clock in the morning as she screamed in terror and he finally took her into his own bed, and let her sleep there beside him, clutching his hand with her smaller one, as she slept with a troubled look on her face. Only Alexander seemed unaffected by the tragedies that had befallen them ever since his arrival. He was a happy sunny little child, and he was beginning to talk now. He was the only thing that cheered Bernie amidst the anguish of worrying about losing Jane. And he talked to Jack Winters again on Thursday morning.
“The apartment's for real. He moved in a few days ago, and he's sharing it with a friend. But I can't figure out the job at the Atlas Bank. They say they hired him as part of some new program they've got to give ex-cons a chance. I don't think it's much of a job, and he hasn't started yet anyway. I think it's just a PR thing they started to show how liberal they are. We're checking it out some more, and I'll let you know what I find out.” Bernie didn't like the sound of him sharing his apartment. He was sure they were going to disappear with Jane again, if they got the chance. But Blake was going to see to it that that didn't happen. Bob had been sitting in the kitchen since that morning, with his jacket off and a large .38 in a shoulder holster that Alexander kept pointing at and saying “Bang!” as Nanny frowned in disapproval. But Bernie wanted him wearing it, and he wanted Scott to see it when he showed up at noon, and they refused to let him have Jane. Bernie wasn't playing parlor games with him anymore. Now they were in earnest.
And just as he had done before, he was late picking Jane up. She was hiding in her bedroom, and Nanny was trying to distract her.
At one o'clock Scott wasn't there, and at two o'clock he hadn't come either. Unable to stand the tension any longer, Bill Grossman called them, and Bernie told him that there had been no news. At two-thirty Jane came tiptoeing out of her bedroom, but Bernie and Bob Blake were still sitting in the living room, waiting, as the clock ticked, and Nanny baked cookies in the kitchen with Alexander.
“There's no sign of him,” Bernie told Grossman when he called again, unable to figure it out. “He can't have forgotten.”
“Maybe he got drunk at lunch. It's almost Christmas after all …maybe he went to an office party.” At five o'clock Nanny started dinner and Bernie debated about sending Bob home, but Bob insisted on staying until they heard something. He didn't want Scott showing up ten minutes after he left. And Bernie agreed but he went to fix them both a drink, and Jane flicked on the TV to see if there were any cartoons or good shows on, but there was nothing but news. And then suddenly she saw him.
They were showing his picture on the screen. First in slow motion, and then a freeze frame, as he stood holding a gun on a whole lobbyful of people at the Atlas Bank. The film continued then and he looked tall and blond and handsome on the screen, and he was smiling at someone as he pulled the trigger and shattered a lamp next to where someone was standing and then he laughed some more. Jane was so terrified she couldn't even cry or call Bernie. She just pointed as Bernie and Bob came back with their drinks in their hands, and Bernie stared as he saw him. It was Chandler Scott. Holding up the Atlas Bank, in broad daylight.
“The gunman, who was unidentified at the time, walked into the Atlas Bank at Sutter and Mason shortly before eleven o'clock this morning. He had a female accomplice who wore a stocking mask, and they handed a teller a note, demanding five hundred thousand dollars.” That seemed to be his magic number. “When she told them she didn't have it, he told her to give him all the money she had.” The voice droned on as they ran the bank's film and suddenly saw him start shooting. Eventually, as the police surrounded the bank, because the teller had pressed a panic button, he and his accomplice held everyone hostage. None of the hostages had been injured despite what the anchorman called a little “playful shooting on the part of the gunman and his accomplice. He told them to hurry up, because he had a date at noon. But by lunchtime it was obvious that they were not going to get out of the bank without giving themselves up or injuring a hostage. They attempted to shoot their way out finally, and both of them had been killed before they ever reached the curb. The tall blond was a previously convicted felon named Chandler Anthony Scott, aka Charlie Antonio Schiavo, and the woman was Anne Stewart.” Jane stared at the screen in amazement.
“Daddy, that's the lady who went to Mexico with us…. Her name was Annie!” She was staring wide-eyed as they showed Scott and the woman, lying facedown on the sidewalk in a pool of blood after the shoot-out, and then the ambulance taking away the bodies, and the hostages fleeing from the bank, as you heard Christmas carols in the background. “Daddy, they killed him.” Her eyes were wide and she sat staring at Bernie, who looked at her and then Robert Blake. They were all in shock, and for a moment he wondered if it could have been a different Chandler Scott, but it couldn't. It just seemed so remarkable …and now it was all over. He reached over and pulled Jane into his arms and held her there, signaling to Bob to turn off the television.