Saints Of New York

  'What's he want?'

  'Wants his girlfriend to bring his kid back. Apparently she took off with the kid yesterday, won't answer his calls, has now switched her phone off. I think he was up all night doing crank and he's lost the plot completely.'

  'And he says he's gonna use the grenade and kill some people?'

  The officer shook his head. 'Not just some. He says he's gonna kill all of them. The apartment block has an oil-fuelled heating system. He's down there with the oil tank, and three jerry cans of gasoline. He says that if he lets the grenade go then everyone is going to die.'

  'Fuck this,' Vale said. 'This is federal. This is kidnapping, terrorism. This isn't our jurisdiction. They need to get out here with a hostage negotiator.'

  'We're onto that already, but he just sent a kid out—'

  'There are kids down there?' Parrish asked.

  'About eight or nine of them, as far as I know.'

  'Jesus fucking Christ,' Parrish said. 'So he sent one of them out?'

  'He did . . . sent them out with a message. Said he wanted to talk to a detective in the next five minutes or he was going to kill one of the hostages. Oh yeah, he has a handgun as well. From what the kid said it sounds like a semi-automatic. What do they get in the military now - maybe a Beretta, a Glock perhaps? The kid said it was square and long, not like a revolver.'

  'Fuck it,' Parrish said. 'Let's just go down there and shoot the asshole in the head.'

  Vale stood up. He brushed down the backs of his pants. 'I'll go down there,' he said. 'Come with me, stay close, we'll take it from there.'

  Parrish got up. The pair of them started walking to the car for vests.

  Vale looked back at the young officer still crouched back of the black-and-white. 'And get the Feds down here, for God's sake. Tell them what's going on. Tell them we need a negotiator.'

  The officer nodded, walked around back of the car and reached for the radio.

  It was not a good set-up. The basement was more a utility room, no more than fifteen by fifteen. It housed an oil tank, a rack of shelves loaded with various tools and repair equipment, in back a door that led through to the boiler room. The hostages - thirty- four in all - were seated in a huddle against the right-hand wall. There were men, women and children. One girl, couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty-one, was carrying a baby. The first question on Michael Vale's mind was how this guy had managed to get thirty-four people down into the basement. He must have gone through the apartment block with his gun and his grenade and herded them all down here like sheep. Un- fucking-real.

  'You alone?' the guy said. He was white, heavy built, buzz-cut hair, the top half inch of his right ear missing. He looked like the doorman at a KKK meeting. In his right hand he held a Sig, in his left the grenade. The pin was still in, but that didn't mean a great deal, for he had looped a piece of string through it and put that string around his neck. One sharp pull and the pin was out. He didn't have to use his gun hand to activate the grenade. He'd thought this thing through. This was premeditated.

  'What's your name?' Vale asked.

  'You on your own or is there someone back of you?'

  'My partner's back there.'

  'Well, bring him the fuck on down here, motherfucker. Can't have him left out of the party, can we?'

  The kid's eyes were hot and spiked. He was still cooked on whatever he'd been doing.

  Parrish had heard every word, and he came on down.

  'Guns,' the kid said, and nodded towards the floor. Both Valeand Parrish produced their service semis and lowered them to the concrete floor.

  'Ankles/ the kid said. 'You first,' he added, and waved his gun at Parrish.

  Parrish leaned down and lifted each pant leg in turn. There was no ankle holster.

  Vale did the same, took a .38 snub-nosed from the holster and put that on the floor also.

  'Lift your arms and turn around slowly,' the kid ordered. 'I wanna see waistbands, wanna see under arms, wanna see everything.'

  Vale and Parrish did as they were told.

  'Now kick those guns over here - slowly, okay?'

  Vale did as he was asked, and the kid used his foot to put the guns behind him in the corner.

  The kid - satisfied - told Parrish to sit on a step halfway up. 'And sit on your hands,' he added. 'I see you move I'm gonna shoot someone in the fucking face, okay?'

  Parrish backed up a step, sat down, put his hands beneath him.

  'What's your name?'

  'Frank Parrish.'

  'And you?'

  'Michael Vale.'

  'I'm Karl. That's all you get. Just Karl. My girl's name is Laney, my son's name is Karl junior. They live upstairs at 13B. Everything you wanna know about them is in the apartment - pictures, phone books, her computer, the fucking lot. That's what you got. You gotta find her and my kid and you gotta bring them back here to talk to me, or everyone goes sky-fucking-high, okay?'

  'When did she go?'

  Karl frowned. 'Yesterday.'

  'And does she drive . . . does she have a car?'

  'Sure she does . . . why?'

  'So we can gauge how far she'll have gone.'

  'Shit, man, she won't go far . . . she'll go see that motherfuck- ing Ramone. Either that or her mother, fucking bitch.'

  'Who is Ramone?' Parrish asked.

  Karl looked surprised. He scowled at Parrish. 'I was talking to you, motherfucker? Was I fucking talking to you? Mind your own fucking business, you cocksucker . . . I'm talking to your buddy here.'

  Parrish raised his hand - palms up, a conciliatory gesture.

  'Anyways, who is Ramone? I'll tell you who Ramone is. Ramone is a wetback motherfucker asshole who's been fucking my girl, that's who he is.'

  'And where does he live?'

  'I don't fucking know. I only found out about it yesterday.'

  'What happened? You found out she was cheating on you?'

  Karl laughed - a sharp and sudden sound.

  The baby started crying.

  Karl turned and raised his gun. 'I said for you to shut the fucking baby up, lady!'

  'Karl!' Vale said. His voice was commanding and definite. 'You have to let the baby go,' he said.

  Karl turned and looked at him. The gun was now directed at Vale's chest. 'You what?'

  'We have to get the baby out of here. No questions. No bullshit. No fucking around. There are more than enough people here to get what you want. The baby, the mother ... in fact all the kids need to be out of here now.'

  Karl was silent for a moment.

  'Hey, man, say one of them was Karl Junior. This is not a good scene. This is not what people want to see on the TV. They wanna see some guy, he's got a beef, he's cut up by his girl, you know? He's gonna make a stand, he's got something to say, but he's a father, right? He understands what's happening. He proves how good a father he is by letting all the kids go—'

  'You!' Karl said, and he pointed the gun at Parrish. 'You take all the kids outside. You come right on back, okay? No bullshitting me. You come right on back . . . you got one minute to get all these kids outta here, the mother too, and then you come right on back or your buddy's gonna be breathing out a hole in his fucking head, you understand me?'

  'Absolutely,' Parrish said. He stood up. He came slowly down the steps as Vale stepped to the left.

  'Get up, kids,' Parrish said. 'Get up quickly. Come with me. We're going up the steps and out of here now.'

  The mother with the baby helped corral the children - all eight of them, and she and Parrish escorted them up and along the corridor that led to the basement exit.

  Vale was left in the basement with Karl and his remaining twenty-four hostages.

  Parrish was back within forty-five seconds. He returned to the step and sat down.

  'So you were telling me who Ramone was. You were telling me what happened.'

  'Ramone? I don't know who the fuck Ramone is. She said if I hit her she'd tell Ramone. She didn't even mean to fucking say i
t. I know it. She said his name and then she knew she was in it deep, man, in it real fucking deep. I told her I'd find the motherfucker and put a half dozen caps in his ass. She told me that he was over the street at this house, and I went to find out what the fuck was going on. She lied to me, man. There wasn't no fucking Ramone over the street. I come back here and she's taken off with Karl Junior. Fucking bitch!'

  Karl was angry and agitated. He started waving the gun at the hostages. They crouched closer. They let out exclamations of fear. Some of the women were crying, but trying to suppress it. He was pissed, they knew that, and they didn't want to piss him off even further. They only wanted to get out of there one way, and that was alive.

  'So there was no Ramone?' Vale asked.

  'No,' Karl said. He stopped waving the gun and turned back to the steps.

  'You wanna know what I think?' Vale asked.

  'Not really no.'

  'I don't think there is any Ramone—'

  'What? What the fuck you talking about, man?'

  'What I said. I don't think there is any Ramone. I don't think there's such a person. Girl like Laney isn't gonna go for a guy called Ramone. C'mon, man, take a look at it. Look at you. For God's sake, man, as American as they come. You've done service, right?'

  'Yeah, sure have. Done my time in the military.'

  'A girl who goes with a solider, has his son, calls him Karl junior . . . shee-it man, she isn't gonna go for some wetback cocksucker called Ramone, is she? Get your head straight, man.

  She's just bullshitted you to get a bit of space. She's over at her mother's place, right? Is that where she goes when she's pissed with you?'

  'Yeah, man, she does. She goes over there and tells the old bitch what an asshole I am.'

  'Hell, man, they all do that. It's how they make themselves feel less guilty for holding out on you. It'll be something simple, man. She's taken some of your money. She's had some guy ask her out and she hasn't told you about it. You did something that pissed her off and she's got mad and taken off, and she's probably all ready to come right back at you and say sorry.'

  Karl didn't respond.

  Vale took a half-step closer to Karl. 'How old's your son?' he asked.

  Karl looked up. 'How old? He's five, man, five years old.'

  'And you guys have been together how long?'

  'Me an' Laney? Eight years we been together, eight fucking years.'

  'And how many times has she run off like this?'

  'Aah, man, I can't even remember how many fucking times she's done that.'

  'See?' Vale said. 'It's the same as always. You guys just need to get your heads straight. You need to stop cranking up so fucking much for starters, and then you need to spend some time together, talk about this shit, get it worked out.'

  Karl closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply.

  Vale took another half-step forward.

  Parrish watched him do it, felt the indescribable tension in his gut, in every nerve and sinew and muscle. Vale wasn't a negotiator. He wasn't trained to do the shit that he was doing.

  Karl opened his eyes. He seemed not to notice that Michael Vale was a foot closer than he had been.

  'You're right, man. This is just so much bullshit.'

  'Look, Karl. I can't get you out of this with nothing. You got a weapon there. You got a fucking grenade, for God's sake.' Vale smiled. 'That's fucking impressive by the way. All the years I've been doing this and that's a fucking first for me. Work o' genius, a fucking grenade of all things. Anyways, like I said, you got a weapon there, you got a grenade. You let all the kids go. That wasreal fucking smart even if I say so myself. You got some people down here who are a bit shaken up, but right now no-one's been hurt-

  Vale was interrupted by his radio.

  The sudden burst of static was loud in the confines of the room. Karl took a step backwards and raised the gun. 'What the fuck?'

  Vale raised his hands. 'It'll be news about Laney,' he said calmly. 'Let me find out what's happening, okay?'

  Karl paused. He looked at Vale, then at Parrish, then surveyed the hostages. 'Go,' he said. 'Answer the thing.'

  Vale unhooked his radio and held it up. He pressed the button. 'Vale here,' he said. 'What you got for us?'

  'We got the girl, Detective. She's here. She says she's willing to see the guy now. The boy is here too.'

  'Good enough,' Vale said. 'We'll be up in a little while. I don't want to see anyone up there. Everyone stay well back. No guns, okay? No sharpshooters. None of that bullshit. We're gonna be coming up unarmed and ready to talk.'

  He released the button on the radio and switched it off. He lowered it gently to the ground and kicked it towards Karl.

  Karl watched all of this in silent surprise, as if he couldn't believe that he was getting precisely what he wanted.

  'So, like I said, there ain't much here on you. Possession maybe, though I figure that's your service sidearm and you have a right to own it. You got kidnapping, but like for what? An hour?' Vale smiled. 'That ain't nothing to get excited about—'

  Karl pointed his gun at Parrish. 'He takes everyone up. You stay down here with me.'

  Vale didn't hesitate. 'Everyone. Up on your feet.' He looked back at Parrish. 'Frank . . .'

  Parrish nodded, got up, stepped to the edge of the stairwell and indicated that the hostages should walk right on past him and up the stairs.

  The crowd seemed to hesitate as one, as if they couldn't believe that they were coming out of the basement alive.

  'Go!' Karl said. 'Get outta here!'

  They hurried then, almost falling into one another.

  Parrish waited until they were all out safely, and then he walked back to the top of the stairwell.

  'What can you do for me?' Karl asked.

  'Up to the DA,' Vale replied. 'We get you a Public Defender, a good one, we get you a psych eval, a drug counsellor, the best we can find, and maybe we're looking at. . . you ever been down before?'

  'No.'

  'Arrested?'

  'Aggravated assault. . . charges were dropped.'

  'How long ago?'

  'Five, six years.'

  'And how long were you in the military?'

  'Four years.'

  'You went overseas?'

  'Iraq,' Karl said. 'Was honorably discharged for medical reasons.'

  'Mental health reasons?'

  Karl hesitated, and then he nodded slowly.

  'Then I think you're gonna walk this, my friend,' Vale said, and for the first moment since this nightmare began he realized how utterly terrified he had been, and how he now believed that he might come out of this alive.

  'Your partner up there . . . tell him to get the fuck out the way.'

  'Frank?' Vale called up.

  'I'm here, Mike.'

  'Go on up. We're coming out.'

  Vale looked back at Karl. 'I need the gun,' he said.

  'Fuck you, I'm keeping the gun.'

  'You can't go out there with a gun, Karl. They see you with a gun and they're gonna shoot you.'

  'You get the gun, I keep the grenade or no deal.'

  Vale stood there for a moment. He was out in left field. He didn't know what the hell he was doing.

  'Okay,' he said, 'but once you're outside you're gonna give that thing to me before anyone sees it.'

  It was Karl's turn to hesitate, and then he nodded and agreed. 'Okay,' he said. 'Deal.'

  Karl gave Vale the gun and Vale put it on the floor. He kicked it back with the others and turned to make his way up the stairs.

  'Hey, man,' Karl said.

  Vale turned.

  'You got kids?'

  Vale nodded. 'Three,' he said, 'but older than yours. They're in their teens.'

  Karl nodded, but said nothing.

  Michael Vale went first. He took the stairs slowly, used his body to block any attempt Karl might make to run. He wanted to get the kid out into the daylight, out where everyone could see, get that grenade of
f of him before he put him down on the floor and cuffed him.

  The door was up ahead, and Vale could see Frank Parrish back near the car. As he approached the door he realized how many squads and unmarkeds had gathered. The hostages were nowhere to be seen, but in their place was a small army of police officers, all of them crouched behind opened car doors, handguns and rifles at the ready. A tactical bomb unit had been deployed and the oversized white and blue truck was parked back across the street.

  It was then that Vale saw the girl. She was way back near the car. She had the kid with her, was holding him in her arms. Vale felt a sense of accomplishment, of clear-headed resolve, and his heart - triphammering like fury - only then started to slow down. He knew he would not feel the effects of this for quite some time. He thought about the weekend upstate. He thought about his wife, his kids. He thought about everything that could have happened here, and how it had not.

  She started shouting then. Laney.

  'Asshole! You fucking asshole, Karl! You're a fucking useless asshole, Karl, and I was gonna give you another chance, but you're such a fucking asshole you don't deserve it.'

  Vale felt his heart miss a beat. He was aware of Karl behind him.

  Vale raised his hand. Why, he didn't know. She perhaps couldn't even see him, but he did it anyway.

  Shut the fuck up! he was thinking. For God's sake, shut the fuck up!

  'Bitch,' he heard Karl say behind him, and it wasn't even a word, it was just a sound, an expression of vehemence and hatred and jealousy and bitterness.

  'Fucking asshole!' she screamed even as Frank Parrish reached her, tried to hold her, tried to quieten her down, shut her up.

  'You think you're gonna see Karl Junior again, well you're fucking mistaken, my friend! Seriously fucking mistaken!'

  And Karl said Bitch again, and Vale turned, and he opened his mouth to say something, to placate the man, to tell him that she was just upset, that she would settle down, that everything was going to be fine . . .

  And Karl held out his hands, and in one of them was the grenade, and hanging around his neck was a loop of cord, and attached to the cord was the pin, and Michael Vale knew then that it was all over.

  He stepped forward and put his arms around Karl Emerson, and he hugged him tight to limit the breadth of the blast.