Читаем Hostage полностью

'You guys should have dinner up here before you head back. Let some of the traffic bleed out. Maybe that Thai place. You like that place, don't you?'

Jane grew serious, then nodded.

'We could do that. There's no point in rushing home.'

'Good.'

'I don't want to just drop her off at your place so she has to sit there all alone, so how about she and I go eat, then we'll both stay over. We'll rent a movie. If this thing blows over tonight, you and Mandy could be laughing about it tomorrow this time.'

Talley felt embarrassed. He nodded, but the nod was a stall because he didn't know what to say. He noticed that Jane had dyed her hair a new color. She had colored it the same rich chestnut for as long as Talley could remember, but now it was a deep red so dark that it was almost black. Her hair was cut shorter, too, almost a boy cut. Talley realized then that this woman deserved more than he would ever be able to give her. He told himself that if he cared for her and for whatever they once had, he had to set her free, not curse her with a man whose heart had died.

'What?'

He looked away again.

'You and I need to talk.'

She didn't say anything for a moment, just stared up at him until a faint smile touched the corners of her mouth. He could tell that she was frightened.

'All right, Jeff.'

'The Sheriffs will be here soon. When they get set up, I'll hand off the phone, and then I should be able to leave.'

She nodded.

Talley wanted to tell her then. He wanted to tell her that she was free, that he wouldn't hold her back any longer, that he finally knew that he was beyond redemption, but the words wouldn't come and their absence left him feeling cowardly.

He told Metzger to escort his wife and daughter out of the development, then he went back to his car to wait for the Sheriffs in the dimming light.

Santa Clarita, California

Six miles west of Bristo Camino

Chili's Restaurant

7:02 P.M.

GLEN HOWELL

Glen Howell didn't have to warn his people to keep their voices down; they were surrounded by middle-class vanilla families come to sop up cut-rate frozen shrimp and fried cheese on their Friday night out; people Glen Howell thought of as zombies; irritated men and women at the end of another pointless week, pretending that their screaming, out-of-control, overfed children weren't monsters. Welcome to suburbia, Howell thought, and you can stuff it up your ass.

Howell didn't let the four men and two women get booze, or food that was made to order. He didn't have time to hustle after the parolee cooks in the kitchen, and booze would put his people to sleep. He needed them sharp. Howell had called in each of the six himself, running each name past Sonny Benza personally. They were longtime associates who could do what needed to be done without drawing attention to themselves, and they could do it quickly. From what Howell was learning, speed was going to be everything. Speed, and a total domination of the local scene. He accepted the fact that he would not sleep again until this was over.

Ken Seymore, who had spent the past two hours pretending to be a reporter from the Los Angeles Times, was saying, 'They requested a full crisis response team from the L.A. County Sheriff's Department. The Sheriffs are on the way now, but there's been some kinda problem, so they've been delayed.'

Duane Manelli fired off a question. Manelli spoke in abrupt bursts, the way an M16A2 coughed out three-shot groups.

'How many people is that?'

'In the Sheriff's team?'

'Yeah.'

When Duane Manelli was eighteen years old, a state judge had given him the choice between going into the service or pulling twenty months for armed robbery. Manelli had joined the army, and liked it. He spent twelve years in the service, going airborne, ranger, and finally special forces. He currently ran the best hijack crew in Sonny Benza's operation.

Seymore found his notes.

'Here's what we're looking at: A command team, a negotiating team, a tactical team – the tac team includes a perimeter team, the assault team, snipers, and breachers – and an intelligence team. Some of these guys might double up on what they do, but we're looking at about thirty-five new bodies on the scene.'

Somebody whistled.

'Damn, when those boys roll, they roll.'

LJ Ruiz leaned forward on his elbows, frowning. Ruiz was a quiet man with a thoughtful manner who worked for Howell as an enforcer. He specialized in terrorizing bar owners until they agreed to buy their booze from distributors approved by Benza.

'What's a breacher?'

'If they gotta blow open a door or a window or whatever, the breachers set the charge. They go to a special school for that.'

Howell didn't like that many more policemen coming in, but they had expected it. Seymore had reported that, so far, the federal authorities hadn't been requested, but Howell knew that the odds of this would increase as time passed.

Howell asked when the Sheriffs would arrive.

'Cop I talked to, he said they'll be here in three hours, maybe four tops.'