"JUST BACK OFF!" Tunnel shouted, then said more to himself, "I gotta think 'bout this."
Noah replied they couldn't back off without Kennedy.
"You understand that, don't you? You wouldn't leave one of your homies and we can't leave ours. So what do you want us to do? Talk to me, Timmy."
Noah was engaging him, keeping him occupied. Tunnel had no idea Frank was in there with him. Her gun hand started to shake and a completely irrational memory flashed through her head of driving up Highway 101 in the sunshine, Mag laughing and getting whipped by her own hair.
Okay, she ordered, steady up, goddamnit. Despite a clamoring heartbeat and an incredible desire to take a leak, Frank forced herself to breathe deeply and smoothly, focusing on the present. Noah was talking soothingly through the door, and she thought, Good boy, No. She was glad he was out there.
Stepping carefully and without sound, she peered around the door. The hall was clear. She couldn't see Kennedy or Tunnel in the living room. She was grateful for the commotion in the apartment complex—anxious neighbors talking to each other, catcalls and insults, sirens, radios, cops in motion. A chopper was thumping overhead, and the rain fell on, a somber motif to the cacophony. Frank was acutely aware of sights and sounds, the smells of old grass and cigarette smoke, fried food and musty carpets, the texture of the 9mm, warm in her damp, cold hand.
Tunnel was telling Noah that he wanted a car, a black Explorer. Frank could hear him by the door, explaining he wanted a fully loaded vehicle.
Frank sucked in a deep breath. No one was in the hall. She darted into the bedroom on her left. It was dim and windowless and she froze beside the door. Holding her breath, heart thudding, she listened for Tunnel. He was still talking to Noah, who asked how Kennedy was.
Tunnel said, "Your bitch be fine unless you fuck wit me."
"How do I know you haven't cut her?"
"Fuck that. She my insurance. I cut her when I'm good an' ready."
"Then how come I can't hear her?"
"Tell your homie, you alright."
"I'm fine, Noah. I really am."
Kennedy's voice was strong and steady. Her confidence encouraged Frank. Okay, she ordered again, breathe easy. Willing herself into a quiet spot amidst the chaos, Frank envisioned herself moving up the hallway, hugging the wall. She remembered the sheet hanging over the window in the living room. No reflection. Good.
Tunnel was nervously telling Noah that this was bullshit, like the cops were really going to let him get away.
"Hey man, I'm not saying we're gonna let you get away, but at least in a car you got a chance. I gotta tell you it's not a good one. The best thing you can do right now, the safest thing for yourself, is to send her out, and you follow, hands up."
"I can't do that!" Tunnel pleaded. "I can't be locked up again."
There was a pause, then Noah, ever patient, saying, "I understand you gotta do what you gotta do. It's on you, man. Do you still want the car?"
"Hell yeah! What other choice I got?"
"You can come out, man. End this right now, before you get hurt or a cop gets hurt. You know that'd be as good as the chair, Tim. If you stop now it'll go a lot easier."
"I done it now, cain't stop. Done set it rollin'," Tunnel said pragmatically.
That was when Frank made her move to the edge of the hall. Now Tunnel was talking softly to Kennedy.
"I should just bleed you just like I'd bleed a Crab, and let your brothers take me out. Yeah," he said wistfully, "I go out a ghetto star and there be one less pig bitch in this fucked-up world."
Again Frank felt the panic brush against her, like a huge, winged shadow, and she knew she had to do something. She knelt quietly and peeked around the wall. Tunnel was standing with his back to her, facing the door and holding Kennedy against him. It looked like he was holding something to her neck, but from her angle Frank couldn't see what it was. She retreated behind her corner, weighing her options. Sneak out the bathroom and continue negotiating. Stay hidden and continue negotiating. Pull a gun on him and hope he'd surrender. Not likely. Johnston's rap sheet was extensive and included numerous aggravated assaults and two murder charges, both of which he'd beaten. Clearly he was capable of violent and aggressive action.
"Get me that shit," he was ordering Noah. "And I want it now, like in ten minutes and—"
"That's impossible, Tim," Noah interrupted.
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT'S FUCKIN' IMPOSSIBLE!" he exploded, "CUZ IF I DON'T HAVE ME A FUCKIN' RIDE IN TEN MINUTES I START CUTTIN' THE BITCH! SO DON'T TELL ME WHAT'S FUCKIN' IMPOSSIBLE!"
Frank squeezed her eyes shut. His height made his head a clear shot. There'd be no wounding him, only the one clean shot. It would kill him. Oh Jesus Christ. She thought about aiming for his right shoulder and disabling him, but Kennedy was too close against him. Christ, if she'd just step a little to the side, I could get his arm.
She held her breath for a moment, trying to hear where Tunnel was.
She had to look again. Johnston still had his back to her, was still hugging Kennedy against his chest. If I go wide I hit Kennedy to the left, to the right I go straight through the front door.
Frank resumed her squat against the wall. Shivering threatened to overtake her again and she backhanded drops of sweat off her brow. Fuck, this is so sideways! She heard Noah's assurance that a car was on its way, but because they didn't have enough time it wouldn't be a black Explorer.
"What is it?"
Noah's reply was muffled. Frank couldn't hear it, but Johnston seemed satisfied.
"Alright. Yeah, that'll work." Then to Kennedy he said, "Yeah. You an' me gonna go for a long ride, baby."
Frank could see this getting out of hand, another OJ ride down the freeway, but the difference was OJ had everything to lose and Johnston had nothing. The fear in her gut told her to just end it, take him out while she still had a smooth, clear target. Only one shot. Part of her wanted to giggle insanely as Robert DeNiro's face from a scene in The Deer Hunter swung crazily before her. Underneath her agitation, an older voice born of years of training and experience urged her to be calm and wait it out, get the negotiators in to slowly diffuse the situation with no one getting hurt. The problem was, she didn't know if Johnston could be reasoned with. While she weighed this she could still hear Noah's soothing voice and Johnston's tense one. Then she heard another sound, like scuffling, quick steps, and Johnston swearing. Then with a hint of panic, he urgently whined, "Bitch, don't fuck with me."
She thought for a moment that Tunnel had seen her, then realized Kennedy must have broken free. Frank heard more steps, then Kennedy saying, "Come on, man, you're not stupid. You gotta know this ain't gonna work."
In a freeze-frame moment Frank would never forget, the earth stood perfectly still and every clock in the world stopped ticking. Words and sounds murmured around her, but all she could distinguish was the rush of blood in her brain, like surf breaking smoothly on sand. Summoning a breath and holding it, she harshly willed her body to cease its trembling. She wiped the sweat out of her eyes and stood swiftly. In one smooth motion she swung a leg into the living room and took a stance, aiming the 9mm with both hands. Frank's vision had narrowed and all she could see was Johnston closing in on Kennedy in the small kitchen, an open pocketknife in his hand.
She heard herself say, "Drop the knife," and her voice sounded like someone else's, from far away. She hoped he'd heard. He must have because he turned toward her. As he did so, Kennedy moved in on him. Johnston swung back, slashing the knife toward her. Frank moved when Kennedy did but stopped when she recognized the bright red spurt of arterial blood and saw Johnston reaching again for her. In slow motion she saw Johnston trying to drag Kennedy back against him, saw Kennedy grasping at her neck, the too-fast flow of blood, Kennedy suddenly white.