"We've had experts move in at the rear door," Harrison told her. "Examine the rig there. They think they can defuse it and circumvent the alarm."
"But they don't know."
"They're pretty damn sure."
"Because they're getting impatient. You know as well as I do everyone's wanting to move, to act. That's the danger of long negotiations. I need more time. He's going to have to move those people soon. Bladders only hold so long, and that's our best option."
"Sergeant Meeks wants to know how his boy's doing. You can't blame him."
"He won't tell me." Phoebe swiped one of the baby wipes Liz had passed her over her face to mop up the sweat. "Tell him I'll try to find out next round."
"If you don't move him within the next hour, I'm going to let the bomb squad take that rig. He's not coming out alive, you know that. Bringing him down's the only way to minimize casualties."
"I'll move him, damn it. It may take a little longer, but I'll move him."
"It takes much longer, you'll make a mistake. That's why you work in teams, Phoebe. As long as it's only you and him, you're going to tire out and make a mistake."
"He wants me to make a mistake. And the theme of this party is he doesn't get what he wants. He's not ready to end it yet, because he wants something from me first. And until he is ready, those people are as safe as we can make them. I'll know when he's ready."
Harrison walked out as Duncan walked in. Phoebe lifted her eyebrows as she spotted the bags of takeout.
"Figured food would come in handy."
Even the thought of eating made her nauseous, but eating was necessary, and might keep her from making that mistake. "You're my hero."
He set the bags down, where they were attacked by cops, then moved to her. "Whose turn is it to call?"
"I'm letting him make the move."
"Okay." He rubbed her shoulders. "I talked to your mom. Everyone's all right there, some worried about you. This, ah, siege is all over the news."
"That's one of the things he wants I couldn't stop." She let her head rest on his shoulder, rested her mind there. "I haven't had anyone take care of me in a long time. I could get used to it."
"You'd better."
"How's Phin-and the rest of them?"
"They're terrified. I'm not." They both knew it was a lie, but it was a comforting one. "I know you'll get them out safe."
"What do you hear when he talks?"
"He goes up and down, right and left, b u't…"
"But?"
"Under it all? I guess what I hear is satisfaction."
"Yes, you listen well."
Ma Bee's back ached, her head throbbed. Pretty, blond Patsy had given up crying and was now curled up on the floor with her head in Ma's soft lap. There were murmurs and whispers among the hostages-something the man in charge didn't seem to mind, or maybe didn't tune his ears to hear.
Some of them dozed, as if they might open their eyes again and find this had all been a strange, awful dream.
"Phin must be so scared," Loo said quietly. "Livvy. He wouldn't tell Livvy. I don't want her to be scared. Oh, Ma, my baby."
"She's fine. You know she's fine."
"Why doesn't he do something? When the hell is he going to do something?"
"I don't know, honey. But I gotta do something. I gotta pee." There were murmured agreements, even a few weak laughs. "I'll ask," Loo said.
"No, let me. Motherly type might have better luck. Mister!" Ma called out before Loo could object. "Hey, mister! Some of us here need to use the facilities."
They'd called out to him before and been ignored. But this time he turned, the phone in his hand, and looked at Ma with dead eyes. "Been hours now," she reminded him. "Unless you want a big puddle down here, you're going to have to let us use the bathroom."
"You'll have to hold it awhile longer."
"But-"
He raised the gun. "If I put a bullet in you, you won't be worried about pissing. Now shut up."
He'd had a schedule, and he'd slipped up. Hour three break was when he'd meant to shuffle the hostages, one by one, into the toilet. Whether they wanted to go or not. But he'd forgotten, and now it was time to make the call, goddamn it. So they'd hold it until the next break, or they'd piss themselves.
Fuck them.
"What if I want ten million dollars?" he said to Phoebe. "Do you want ten million dollars, Jerry?"
Listen to her, he thought, butter wouldn't fucking melt. "Let's toss it out there, kick it around."
"All right. What do I get for the ten million if I can get that for you?"
"I don't shoot a hostage in the head."
"Well now, that's a negative response, Jerry. You know if I could, and I can't promise I can, but if I could convince my superiors to approve that ten million, there'd have to be a more positive quid pro quo."
"What if I said for ten million, I'd think about releasing the female hostages."
"You'd consider releasing the women if I can offer ten million? That's worth talking about."
"I bet it is."
"The thing is, Jerry, you've got an injured man in there, too. You did tell me Arnold Meeks was injured."
He looked down where Arnie slumped, dried blood on his face, tape slapped over his mouth. And explosives strapped on his body. "He's had better days."
"Before I can approach anyone about the money, I have to be assured that Arnold Meeks is alive, and his injuries aren't life-threatening. You know who his daddy is, Jerry. I've got some pressure on me here."
"Cocksucker's alive."
"I appreciate you assuring me he's alive, but I'd have more muscle if
I could hear him tell me himself. If I can pass along I've heard his voice, they'll get off my back and you and I can concentrate on the important business."
"Fine."
He set down the phone, stepped over, leaned down and ripped the tape from Arnie's mouth. Arnie's blackened, bloodshot eyes rolled up. "Say hi to Phoebe, asshole." Walken snatched the phone, held it to Arnie's ear. And jammed the barrel of the gun under Arnie's jaw. "Say this: Hi, Phoebe, I'm the cowardly asshole who kicked your murdering ass down the stairs."
Arnie's eyes, full of rage and terror, stayed on Walken's as he repeated the statement.
"What are your injuries?" Phoebe demanded. "How bad are you hurt?"
Arnie moistened his lips. "She wants to know about my injuries."
"You go on and tell her, fuckhead."
"He pistol-whipped me across the face. I think my cheekbone's busted. I'm cuffed, and he's got a goddamn bomb strapped to me."
"Is it on a timer? Is it-"
"That'll be enough," Walken told her. "Now about that ten million."
"You want ten million dollars to release the hostages."
"Ten million to release the female hostages."
"Ten million to release the women. How many women are there, Jerry?"
"Eleven. That's less than a million a head. Hell of a deal."
"Eleven women, who you'd release if I can offer you ten million dollars?"
"Stop fucking echoing. I know the drill."
"Then you know that I'd have a stronger chance of getting you what you want after a show of faith. If you'd release some of the hostages now, including any of those injured or with medical conditions, I'd try damn hard to get you that ten million."