"Except me," she said, and smiled.
She knew she had a good smile.
"Well, I certainly don't want to make you unhappy," the old man said flirtatiously. "I will certainly do my best to make you happy."
"Not if you have a gun in your hands. I'm afraid of guns."
"Once you're in here," he said, "I'll let the little girl go. Then we can lock the door, and I'll put down the gun."
Oh, sure, she thought, Fat Chance Department.
"I'll make you very happy," he said.
Oh yes, she thought, I'm sure.
"Listen to me," she said. Her voice lowering conspira-torially. "Why don't you send out the little girl?"
Hostage first, weapon later.
All according to the book.
"When you come in, she goes out," he said. "That was the deal."
"Yes, but when they made the deal, they didn't know I'd be so afraid of guns."
"A pretty girl like you?" he said, flirtatiously again. "Afraid of a little gun like this one?"
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Gently, he nudged his granddaughter's temple with the barrel of the shotgun. The girl winced.
Don't let it go off, Eileen thought. Please, God.
"I really am afraid," she said. "That's why, if you send her out, we can talk about the gun. Privately. Just the two of us."
"Tell me what else we will do privately."
"First send out the little girl," Eileen said.
"No. You come in here, and then you can tell me what we'll do privately."
"Why don't you take the chain off the door?" she said.
"Why should I?"
"So I can see you better."
"Why do you want to see me?"
"It's just difficult to talk this way."
"I find it very easy to talk this way," he said.
You stubborn old bastard, she thought.
"Don't you want to see me better?" she asked.
"Yes, that would be nice."
"So take off the chain," she said. "Open the door a little wider."
"Are you a policeman?" he asked.
Flat out.
So what now?
"No, I'm not a policeman," she said.
The absolute truth. A police woman, yes. A police person, yes. But not a police man. She guessed she could live with that.
"Because if you're a policeman," he said, "I'll kill the little girl."
Which she could not live with.
"No," she said again, "I'm not a policeman. You said you wanted a woman ..."
"Yes."
"Well, I'm a woman."
In the wedge between door and jamb, she saw him smile again.
T19
"Come in here and show me what kind of woman you are," he said.
"For me to come in, you have to take the chain off the door."
"Will you come in then?"
"I'll come in if you take the chain off the door ..."
She hesitated.
"And let the little girl come out..."
She hesitated again.
"And put down the gun."
Silence.
"Then I'll come in," she said.
Another silence.
"You want a lot," he said.
"Yes."
"I'll give you a lot," he said, and winked.
"I hope so," she said, and winked back.
Double meanings flying like spears on the sultry night air.
"Open your blouse," he said.
"No."
"Open your blouse for me."
"No."
"Let me see your breasts."
"No," she said. "Take off the chain."
Silence.
"All right," he said.
She waited. He leaned forward. Did not get out of the chair. The little girl still on his lap. The shotgun still to her head. His finger still inside the trigger guard. Leaned forward, reached out with his left hand, and slid the chain along its track until it fell free. She wondered if she should shove the door inward, try knocking him off the chair. He was so old, so frail. But the shotgun was young, the shotgun was a leveler of age.
Gently, with the toe of her foot, she eased the door open just a trifle wider. She could see the old man more completely now, a blue wall behind him deep inside the apartment, blue wall and blue eyes and gray hair and grizzled gray beard. He
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was looking directly into her eyes, an anticipatory smile on his face.
"Hello," she said.
"You're even prettier than I thought," he said.
"Thank you. Do you remember our deal?"
"Yes, you're coming in here."
"Only after you let the little girl go and put down the gun."
"Yes, I know."
"So do you want to let her go now?"
"How do I know. . .?"
"You have my word."
"How do I know you'll come in here to me?"
"I said I would. I gave you my word."
"And are you a woman of your word?"
"I try to be."
Which meant she would break her word if he made the slightest move to harm either her or the little girl. She was unarmed . . .
That's what we promise. No guns, no one gets hurt. . .
. . . but there were backup cops to her right, and all she had to do was signal for them to storm the door. She hoped the old man would not do anything foolish.
"So let her come out now, okay?" she said.
"Pamela?" he said. And then, in Spanish, "Do you want to go outside now, queridal Do you want to leave Grandpa here with the nice lady?"
Pamela nodded gravely. Too terrified to cry or to show relief. She knew this was her grandfather, but she also knew this was a gun. It was difficult for her to reconcile the two. She nodded. Yes, I want to go outside. Please let me go outside, Grandpa.
"Go on then," he said in English, and looked to Eileen for approval.
Eileen nodded.
"Come on, sweetheart," she said, and extended her arms to the little girl. "Come on out here before your grandfather changes his mind."
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Pamela scrambled off his lap and out into the hall. Eileen clasped her into her arms, swung her around, and planted her securely in the arms of an Emergency Service cop, who swooped her up and hurried off down the hall with her. Now there was only the old man and his gun.
No bargaining power anymore. If they wanted to blow him away, they could do so without any fear that a hostage was at risk. But that wasn't the name of the game. And she had given him her word.
"Now put down the gun," she said.
He had swung the shotgun toward the opening in the door. It sat in his lap, his finger still inside the trigger guard, the barrels angled up toward Eileen's head. From where he was sitting, he could not see the policemen in the hallway to her right. But he knew someone had taken the girl, he knew she had passed the girl on to someone, he knew she was not alone.
"Who's out there with you?" he asked.
"Policemen," she said. "Do you want to put down the gun, Mr Valdez?"
"Do they have guns, these policemen?"
"Yes."
The truth. Tell him the truth.
"If I put down the gun, how do I know they won't shoot me?"
"I promise you we won't hurt you."
A slip.
We.
Identifying herself as a cop.
But he hadn't caught it.
Or had he?
"I promise you none of the policemen out here will hurt you."
Correcting it. Or compounding it. Which? How smart was he? Blue eyes studying her now, searching her face. Could he trust her?
"How do I know they won't shoot me. I made . . ."
"Because I..."
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". . . a lot of trouble for everybody," he said.
"Yes, you did. But I promise they won't shoot you. No one will hurt you if you put down the gun. I promise you. I give you my word."
"Will they forget the trouble I made for everybody?"
She could not promise him this. There'd be the weapons charge, that wasn't a toy gun in there. And God knew what other charges there'd be on top of that. He wouldn't walk away from this clean, that wasn't the way it worked, the promises didn't extend that far. He was only a senile old man, true, who thought he was still six years old and playing doctor under the coconut palms - but he'd broken the law, broken several laws, in fact, and these were policemen here, sworn to uphold those laws.