Terminal

TWELVE

After Sherm left, my headache swelled, exploding in the space between my eyes. I sat back down, keeping the pressure on John’s wound, and felt like dying with him. You know how in books and movies they sometimes describe pain as being blinding? I’d never really thought it was possible until that moment. For a second, I really was blind. Frustrated, I knocked my head against the steel wall, and that made it worse. I felt completely and utterly helpless. But it was more than just the pain. I tried to breathe and found that I couldn’t. Something welled up inside of me—a sense of sorrow and grief and guilt unlike anything I’d ever felt before. It was like I’d swallowed a balloon, and it was inflating inside my chest. At the same time, my lips began to swell, as if someone had cracked me in the mouth with a baseball bat. I could feel my heartbeat pulsing in them as they grew. That was when the tears started; hot, self-pitying tears that didn’t stop.

“Oh my,” Martha breathed.

“Wow…” Oscar whispered.

“Ummm, are you okay?” Kim asked.

I tried to respond but all I could manage was a long, grieving whine. John’s blood coated my arms and hands. It had been warm at first but now it was cold. Cold and sticky. He was dying. I was dying. Mac Davis and Kelvin were dead. Before this was over, there was no telling who else would join them.

“We are so fucked.” I leaned my forehead against John’s and sobbed. I felt like I was going to burst.

“You could give yourself up,” Roy commiserated. “Don’t you understand, son? There’s still time to save your friend, still time to get him to the hospital. Nobody else has to get hurt. The way I see it, you didn’t do any of the shooting. It was your friend, Sherm, that killed those two men.”

“That’s right,” Dugan agreed, sitting up straight. “We can all vouch for that. We could sneak out now, while he’s busy with the manager. Then you surrender and we’ll tell the police that you helped us escape.”

I shook my head and wiped my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, willing the tears to stop, the pain to go away. The mucus on my sleeve was pink, and I wasn’t sure if it was John’s blood or my own.

“No. That won’t work, man. It’s too late. John’s dying and I may as well be dead and it’s my fault. All this shit is my fault. My wife and my kid… I deserve whatever happens next. Everything’s fucked.”

Roy tried again. “I’m sure that your wife and child would want you to do the right thing. You want to see them again, don’t you? They’ll want to see you alive, right?”

“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Kirby. I’m already dead.”

“What do you mean you’re already dead? Surely, your sentence wouldn’t amount to the death penalty. Your friend perhaps, but not yourself. You’re just an accomplice, and if you help us, it could only go in your favor.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m dead already—was dead before we walked in this fucking bank.”

The bloody ski mask felt like a heavy sponge. Laying John’s head on the floor, I ignored Roy’s question and placed John’s lifeless arm over the tourniquet. I didn’t like leaving him, but I had no choice. I taped up Sheila and Benjy as quickly as I could, trying to be as gentle as possible. I felt bad about doing it, but I knew Sherm would do worse if he came back and found their hands free. Then I ripped the duct tape from Oscar’s wrists. He cringed, scooting back in fear.

“P-please don’t kill me…”

“Give me your shirt.”

“What—why?”

“Because that ski mask is worthless and I need something to stop my friend’s bleeding, and because Hellboy is for pussies. The Punisher is the real shit.”

“I-I don’t think I should—”

“Oscar.” I sighed. “I’m having a really bad day. You have no idea what it’s been like. So don’t make things worse, okay? Just give me the fucking shirt and quit arguing with me.”

“Do what he says, son,” Roy advised Oscar. “He’s the man in charge.”

“But I—I don’t want them to see me.” He eyed Kim and Sheila. “I’m fat. They’ll laugh…”

“Now’s definitely not the time to get embarrassed,” Dugan told him. “Suck it up.”

Mortified, Oscar slowly stripped the shirt off and handed it to me. His hands were shaking, and so was his belly. It looked like a big bowl of gelatin. Clearly uncomfortable, he tried to cross his arms over his breasts. At the very least, the dude was sporting a pair of C cups.

“Sorry, Oscar, none of that. Give me your wrists again.”

For an overweight comic book geek, he moved pretty fast.

Oscar’s foot lashed out, catching me in my shin. He paused, his face registering shock and surprise in the fact that he’d actually succeeded, and then he swung at me with one meaty fist. I caught it, twisted his arm behind his back, and yanked—hard. Something grated inside, near his shoulder, and Oscar howled.

“Shut up. Shut up you fat piece of shit or I’ll give you something to scream about! Do you understand me, motherfucker? Do you?”

Blubbering, he let his arms go limp. I tied him up with the duct tape again, and I wasn’t gentle about it either. Then I pressed the shirt against John’s bullet wound. He and Oscar moaned in unison. As I finished, Sherm burst through the door, his gun drawn and ready.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing, man. Fat boy just decided that he wanted to play hero is all. I dealt with it. Where’s the manager?”

Ignoring my question, Sherm started toward Oscar, a storm brewing in his eyes. Suddenly, every phone in the bank began to ring at the same time. I think that all of us jumped.

“That’s the cops. About fucking time too. I’ll handle them. Stay here and keep them quiet. Shoot the fat boy if he acts up again.”

He ran back out of the room. The phones rang three more times and stopped. The vault was silent once more. For a moment, I wondered where Keith had been when Sherm ran back into the vault. Wouldn’t he have had a chance to escape? Maybe Sherm had bound his feet with duct tape as well.

“You guys could have helped me,” Oscar accused the rest of the hostages. “We could have rushed him. It could have all been over by now.”

They didn’t respond. Oscar leaned back against the wall, wincing as his shoulder pressed against it. Tears of shame and rage ran down his face. The rest of them looked away, studying the ceiling, the floor, the cash and valuables drawers, and the safety-deposit boxes—anything but him. Everybody except for Benjy and Sheila. Benjy was staring at John, and Sheila was watching me.

“Your friend, the one that’s an asshole, his name is Sherm?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“He mentioned Michelle and—?”

“T.J.”

“Right, T.J. Are they your wife and son?”

I nodded and turned my attention back to Oscar. “You smell like piss, man.”

“Leave me alone. Haven’t you done enough?”

I suddenly found myself almost apologizing to him, but I didn’t.

“I—I don’t mean any offense,” Sheila continued, “but did you ever stop to think about how this would affect Michelle and T.J. before you did it? Don’t you care about what’s going to happen to them if you go to jail? I can see how much you love them. You were crying earlier…”

“Yeah, of course I thought about how it would affect them. I was doing this for them.”

“What—the money?”

“Yeah, the money. What else? You don’t rob banks for blank deposit slips.”

“But you must have known that the consequences wouldn’t be worth it. No amount of money is worth that.”

I snorted. “Worth it? Consequences? You think I don’t know? Is it worth it to see my wife and son wearing decent clothes and not shit we got from the Goodwill? Is it worth it to not eat government cheese and generic corn, and to be able to buy my son a toy once in a while? Is it worth it to have heat and electric in the same month, and not have to decide between the two?

To have health insurance, and not have to swallow a bottle of aspirin every time you get a toothache? To finally have some money, other than the minimum wage bullshit I earn? Yeah, I thought it was worth it. Don’t fucking tell me about consequences. You don’t know consequences, Sheila.”

She clenched her bound fists and her voice rose in anger.

“I don’t know? Try being a single mom on welfare sometime. Don’t talk to me about government cheese. I ate it growing up and I swore that my children never would—and now Benjy’s eating it too. How do you think that makes me feel? You have no idea. And at least your son has a father. At least you’ve got a job. I can’t get anything, not even fast food. Who wants to hire a single welfare mom who can’t find a babysitter?”

“Can everybody please quit fighting?” Benjy pleaded, and we both stopped. Sheila glowered at me, and the others were silent. Across the hall, I heard Sherm talking on the phone to the police.

“No, I ain’t giving you my fucking name. If you gotta call me something, then call me Slim Shady—the real Slim Shady.”

Despite the fact that he was possibly unraveling, this struck me as the funniest thing I’d heard in a while, and I started to snicker. It was just so bizarre. Two people were dead, John was dying, hostages had been taken, we were facing jail time or worse—and Sherm was making Eminem jokes. Sheila smiled too and after a moment, so did Kim and even Oscar. The others didn’t get the joke.

“I’m sorry,” Sheila apologized. “It’s none of my business. You just seem like a nice guy. Too nice to be involved in something like this.”

“You know what they say about first appearances,” Dugan said under his breath. I ignored him.

“I’m sorry too.” I smiled at them all and turned back to Sheila. “So what happened to his father?

He bail out on you or something?”

“I’d really rather not talk about this, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh come on,” I prodded. “What else are we gonna do to pass the time? Tell me.”

She didn’t say anything at first, and I figured that I must have hit a nerve. Maybe the guy bailed on them before Benjy was born, or maybe he was abusive or Benjy had come from a drunken one-night stand. I started to tell her that I shouldn’t have asked, that it was none of my business and we should just drop the whole subject, and then she told me.

“This is hard to talk about. He—I don’t know who Benjy’s father is. I… I slept around a lot when I was younger.” She held her head up and looked me in the eye, challenging me to say something. Her lower lip trembled.

“You were with more than one guy around the time he was conceived?” Sharon asked. The whole group was focused on Sheila now, hanging on her every word.

“Yeah. Like five or six. I don’t remember for sure. I was young, and it seemed like the only way I could get attention was through sex.”

“Harlot,” Martha spat, but at least she had moved beyond the traditional “Oh my.” She clutched her crucifix necklace with her liver-spotted hands, and the look on her face was pure disgust.

“I think it’s pretty cool,” Oscar said, his embarrassment at being bare-chested in front of the women and getting his ass kicked forgotten. “It’s like empowerment, you know? Using sex as a form of empowerment.”

Dugan and Kim rolled their eyes at the same time.

“It wasn’t anything like that,” Sheila said. “It wasn’t empowerment. It was fucking pathetic. I was a slut.”

“You shouldn’t put yourself down like that,” Oscar admonished her.

“Look,” Sheila frowned. “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not going to be sleeping with you while we’re hostages in this goddamned bank vault, so you can stop the bullshit.”

“You should be ashamed,” Martha crowed. “You admit to promiscuity. You are blaspheming against the Holy Spirit—taking Our Lord’s name in vain. That is the ultimate sin, and one that cannot be forgiven, no matter how much you might beg. You will regret this before the day’s end.”

“Wait a minute.” Ignoring Martha, I held up my free hand, keeping pressure on John’s wound with the other. “So what happened after you got knocked up? You couldn’t figure out which guy it was?”

“No. By the time I figured out I was pregnant, it was too late. It was near the beginning of my senior year. I missed two periods in a row, and started getting sick in the morning. I was throwing up all the time and didn’t know what was wrong with me. I finally went to the doctor and he told me that I was pregnant. I couldn’t believe it, but it was true. My main boyfriend got so pissed off. He called me a whore and dumped me, then my parents kicked me out. There was no way I could afford a paternity test, and back then, the laws in Pennsylvania were different, so I couldn’t get an abortion. I ended up dropping out of school. Actually, that’s why I was depositing money in my savings account this morning when you guys came in. I’ve been saving enough to take some classes and get my GED It’s hard, because I can only put a little away at a time, but I can’t find a job without one.”

Benjy seemed oblivious as we talked. He fidgeted, uncomfortable with having his arms tied behind him, and kept watching John.

I don’t think any of us knew how to respond to Sheila’s story. It was just so unbelievable that she would open up and admit something like that to a bunch of strangers, especially given our situation. But she told it with such openness and sincerity. We all just sat there, silently mulling it over. I noticed that none of us would look directly at her or Benjy. Finally, Roy cleared his throat.

“Your son is special, isn’t he, Sheila?”

“Well yeah, he’s special. He’s everything to me. Benjy is all I’ve got.”

Roy smiled, nodding his head.

“I’m sure he is, and it’s easy to see that he’s a wonderful boy. But that’s not quite what I meant. Benjy can—do things, can’t he? Special things, perhaps?”

Sheila turned away from his questioning stare. A small vein in her throat fluttered and I could tell that she was scared. Not scared of being a hostage. This was something more. Something primal.

“What are you getting at, Mr. Kirby?” Sharon asked.

“Before Tommy’s friend here was shot”—he cocked his head toward John—“I was dying. Plain and simple fact, my friends—I was dying. I lied to Tommy and Sherm, and said that it was just angina to protect the boy, but the truth is that I was having a massive heart attack. It would have been my third, so trust me when I tell you that I’m a bit of an expert on the subject. It feels like nothing else. Heart bypass surgery is no picnic. My wife Nora, God rest her soul, died of ovarian cancer three years ago. Her heart was healthy as a horse. But mine—I’d always had trouble with my ticker. It’s hereditary. My father had it and his father before him.”

“So why aren’t you dead, then?” Dugan asked. “I was watching. The kid didn’t perform CPR or anything like that. He just placed his hands on your chest.”

“Yes. Yes he did. That was all. He just put his hands on my chest. I was scared for him, worried that he’d get shot, but I was too weak to resist. I didn’t have any breath to speak with. He kept his hands there. My chest felt warm at first, then the pain vanished. By the time Sherm shot that second man with the gun, the one that seemed high on drugs, I was fine. Better than fine, in fact. Despite our circumstances, I haven’t felt this good in years.”

Dugan snorted. “He’s not the new Messiah. You heard Sheila’s story. I’d hardly call that an Immaculate Conception. No offense.”

“None taken,” Sheila murmured.

“I’m not suggesting that,” Roy insisted. “I’m just saying that Benjy has a gift. A healing touch.”

“Maybe you were mistaken,” Kim said. “Maybe it was just stress. I know that I was scared and it felt like I was going to have a heart attack too.”

“No young lady, I’d like to think so, but I wasn’t mistaken. Of this I am absolutely sure. This little boy—Benjy—healed me. I truly believe it. That’s why I offered myself to Sherm if he’d at least let Benjy go free. He’s a remarkable young man.”

Blushing, Sheila smiled. “Thank you. I never told anybody before. I’m not even sure why I’m admitting it now.”

“That’s easy,” Dugan grunted. “It’s a case of Stockholm Syndrome.”

“What’s that?” Kim asked.

“It’s when you bond to your captor—in our case, Tommy. It’s sort of a survival strategy for victims in hostage situations. They call it that because of a hostage situation during a bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1973. When it was all over, one of the women became engaged to one of her captors, and another hostage started a defense fund for the robbers.”

“That usually takes a while to happen,” Oscar said. “We’ve only been in here for like an hour or so.”

Through the walls, Sherm was shouting into the telephone.

“We’ve got plenty of C-4 and we’re not afraid to use it. Anybody so much as peeks their head through that door and we’ll blow the whole goddamn building up!”

There was another sound too—a muffled, frantic thumping that punctuated his words. I wondered what it was and decided that I didn’t want to know. It was probably Sherm roughing Keith up.

Roy spoke up. “Regardless of how much time has passed, I think we can all see who’s bad here and who’s good. You’re not one of the bad guys, Tommy. Not at heart. That much is plain, despite what you may have done so far today. And there is still time for you to make amends.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Mr. Kirby.”

“I know that you don’t want to see anybody else get hurt. And I know that you love your wife and son and that you want to see them again. That’s all I need to know, Tommy.”

“You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know what you’re playing? You’re just sucking up to me, hoping I’ll slip up or go easy on you.”

“No, I’m being genuine.”

“Whatever.”

Dugan stretched his foot out and touched Sharon’s shoe with his own. She smiled, and inched closer to him. For a moment, I wished their hands were free, just so he could slide an arm around her and comfort her.

“This is some heavy shit,” Oscar breathed. “I’m supposed to be at work right now. Jeez, I hope I don’t get fired. That would suck. I’m already behind on my student loan.”

Kim muttered, “I’m already at work. And I guess I’ll miss class tonight too.”

Across the hall, the thumping continued but now Sherm was quiet. It was growing weaker, slower.

We waited.

Finally, the thumping stopped and never started again.

John was fading quickly. I tried hard to take my mind off of it.

“So,” I said to Sheila, “let’s recap. You got knocked up and had Benjy. You don’t know who his father was. And Benjy can heal people by touching them. Did I get it right?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“No, I’m not. Really. I’m serious.”

“It’s insane,” Kim interrupted. “I mean, no offense, Sheila, but we’re all under a lot of stress here. Maybe you’re just—I don’t know, maybe this is how you’re dealing with it.”

“That wouldn’t explain how he healed me,” Roy interjected.

“It’s crazy,” Kim insisted.

“It’s not that crazy,” Oscar said. “There are millions of cases of people healing others by the laying on of hands.”

“How do you know that?” Sharon asked.

He shrugged. “I read Fortean Times and Fate magazine. My comic book shop sells them.”

Benjy sang softly, oblivious. I recognized the tune as one T.J. had also sung around the house, something from a Japanese cartoon. I missed my son. At that moment, I would have traded all the money in the bank for another chance to hug him.

“So what else can he do?” I asked Sheila.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—can he like turn water into wine and levitate and all that stuff? Part the lake maybe?”

Kim joined in. “And turn one fast-food Kid’s Meal into thirty?”

“No. He just heals people; that’s all. He can tell when somebody’s sick and he makes them better.”

An idea occurred to me.

“Can he—you know, raise the dead?”

“No! Of course not.”

“How did you first find out about his abilities?” Roy inquired.

She paused, collecting her thoughts.

“He was about three months old. We were living in a one-room efficiency apartment down on the square right overtop the old pawnshop. I didn’t have anybody else to help me with him—

my parents kicked me out when I told them I was pregnant. They said I was a slut and that I’d ruined their precious lives. Anyway, Benjy woke up around midnight and wanted his bottle. I had like one eye open, you know? I wasn’t just tired—I was exhausted. I put a glass bowl of water in the microwave to heat it up, so I could warm the bottle in it. Benjy was crying and I wasn’t paying attention and the water got too hot and when I went to pull it out, the bowl burned my fingers. Not badly, but it really hurt. I finally got the bottle heated and as I was feeding him, Benjy wrapped his tiny little fingers around my own and the pain went away—just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“I didn’t really think anything more about it at the time. Figured it was just one of those things, you know? But then, when Benjy was three, I saved what little money I could and got him a dog from the animal shelter for his birthday. We named her Sandy, and she was the cutest little beagle that you’ve ever seen. She was really good with him. Gentle. Benjy pulled on her ears and her tail and Sandy just sat there and let him. You love that dog, don’t you, baby?”

He nodded, aware now that he was the subject of conversation.

“A year later, I got a few months behind on the rent. The landlord was a real asshole—wouldn’t work with me at all. One morning, in the middle of winter, two sheriff’s deputies showed up with an eviction notice. They threw us out in the street while it was snowing. I remember it was so cold and I didn’t have any idea where we would go. I was afraid to go back to my parents.”

She paused, her voice choked with emotion.

“The deputies gave us time to pack a bag and that was it. While they had the door open, Sandy got out. I guess she was scared by all the commotion, because she ran out into the middle of the street, something she’d never done before, and got hit by a car. It was horrible—the screech of the car’s brakes—and then there was this horrible thump and she was yelping and flopping around on the pavement. I remember thinking that. ‘She looks like a fish on land.’ The driver of the car didn’t even stop. He—the bastard just kept going. Before I could stop him, Benjy ran toward the curb. I chased after him, afraid the same thing was going to happen to him.”

She took a deep breath, clearly upset.

“When we reached Sandy, I saw right away that there was nothing we could do. Even if we’d had the money for a vet, she was dying and the vet wouldn’t have been able to save her. There was blood coming out of her nose and mouth, and her belly—her insides… they were sticking…”

She shuddered, unable to complete the story.

“I made her feel better,” Benjy picked up where his mother had left off. “I touched Sandy and her insides went back into her tummy and the blood stopped coming out. In a few minutes, she was all better again. I love my Sandy.”

He craned his head up to Sheila.

“Mommy, when will we get to see Sandy? Soon? She’s all alone at our apartment, and I bet she’s hungry. I bet she has to go potty. I do too.”

“Pretty soon, baby. Pretty soon…”

“Don’t count on it.”

Sherm stepped back into the vault. I noticed that Keith wasn’t with him and I thought again about the thumping sounds.

“Nobody’s going anywhere unless they want to leave in a fucking body bag. At least not until the cops give us a way out of here. Then maybe a few of you can go with us. If the kid’s got to piss, then make him cross his legs.”

He winked at Kim and she scowled back at him. He stared at each of them in turn.

“So what’d I miss?” he asked me.

“Nothing much. Just chilling out, keeping this pressure on this bullet hole in John’s stomach, trying to keep him from bleeding to death.”

He ignored my sarcastic tone.

“What about you?” I asked. “What’d you tell the cops?”

“Made sure they understand who the fuck is in charge around here.”

“And who is in charge?” I asked.

“We are, dog. What’s up with that tone in your voice?”

“Just seems like you’re the one that’s suddenly making all the decisions. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Yo, I’m just trying to get us out of here, Tommy. Feel free to jump in anytime.”

“Don’t sweat it.” I sighed. “What else did you tell the cops?”

“They’re supposed to call back in half an hour for our list of demands. All they know right now is that there’s six of us, armed to the teeth, and that we’ve got a dozen or so hostages.”

“Your math’s a little fuzzy, isn’t it, son?” Roy asked.

“Shut the fuck up, you old fart. Who asked you? What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Where’s the manager?” I prodded.

“Keith? He’s in the other room. Don’t worry—he ain’t going nowhere. I got him taped up good and tight.”

He stalked around the vault like a caged animal.

“I’m hungry. Kim, you ladies got an employee refrigerator or something like that?”

“No. We go out during our lunch breaks. All we have is a watercooler.”

“Shit. It figures.” He pulled out his smokes, shook one out of the pack, and snapped his lighter open. The click echoed in the silence. He inhaled, tapping his foot nervously. Then he snapped the lighter shut. Then open again. Then shut. He repeated it over and over, seeming mesmerized. All the time, his restless twitching increased.

“I tell you, it’s the work of the Devil,” Martha spoke up. “Satan is among us. Just as the pastor at my church said he would be. The Imp is alive and well and his acolytes walk our very streets. They hold us in bondage. These are the end times.”

“Be quiet,” Sharon admonished her. “We don’t need that kind of talk right now. It’s not doing anybody any good, so just be quiet.”

“I will not be quiet! These men, that boy—they are evil. Their unholy influence is spreading amongst you. Already you are tainted. It will all end in blood. Only blood can wash it clean, just as it did in the Old Testament. The blood of the innocent is required. The blood of the lamb.”

“I think I liked you better when you were just saying ‘Oh my,’ ” I groaned.

“What the hell’s she calling the kid evil for, Tommy?” Sherm asked. “You and me I can see. We’re the bad guys, the bank robbers. But why the kid? What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. She’s fucking snapped, man.”

I held my breath, waiting to see if the others would give away Benjy’s secret, but they didn’t. I could tell that Sheila was relieved too.

“Mister?” Benjy looked up at Sherm. “Mister, you’re sick. You know that, right? It’s in your head, like bees. The darkness. The monster people are inside it and they’re eating at you.”

“The Devil,” Martha squawked. “The Devil is in his head. All of them. They’re name is Legion for they are many, and they gnash and bite with their sharp little teeth and claws…”

Dugan, Sharon, Sheila, Kim, and I all told her to shut up at the same time. Sherm began to fidget again.

“How’s Carpet Dick? And why is fat boy half-naked? And why does the kid think I have a beehive in my head?”

“John’s—not good. He’s alive, that’s about it. Oscar’s shirt is what’s keeping him from bleeding to death, and I’m about to need another one.”

“Well then, Kim can donate hers.”

“Fuck you,” she spat.

“You keep offering, baby, and I’m gonna take you up on that. Besides, what are you worried about? You got a bra on, right? Or maybe, on second thought, you better donate that too.”

“It will take your friend a while to die,” Dugan said. “A gut shot is painful as hell, which is why he’s passed out, but unless he goes into circulatory shock or if there’s a lot of internal bleeding, then there’s still time to get him to a hospital. His own shit will eventually poison him to death, but it takes a while. If circulatory shock sets in, or if he loses much more blood, he’s probably going to slip into a coma. You need to get him some help before that happens. At least let some paramedics come in here and work on him. If he goes into a coma, chances are that he won’t come back out.”

I shifted my grip on the bloody shirt. My hands were beginning to cramp up.

“Did you ask the cops to get an ambulance for him?”

“Nope. You think they’ll really do it?”

“Jesus Christ, dude—it’s worth a shot. He’s fucking dying, Sherm. Tell them we’ve got a wounded hostage or something. Then they can take John to the hospital, and maybe they won’t even find out he was with us.”

“Oh get real, Tommy. What the fuck have you been smoking? They’ll tag him as one of the robbers as soon as he wakes up. You really think that idiot could hold up under questioning?

They’d sniff him out in a second; and then he’ll drop dime on us.”

“What does it matter if he gives us up, Sherm? Huh? They’ve already got us surrounded. Everybody in here already knows our names. Let’s do like Dugan said. Have some paramedics come in here.”

“Yeah right. And what do we do when they turn out not to be paramedics but fucking SWAT

commandos, huh? You want that on your head? That’s just asking to be captured.”

“They wouldn’t be that stupid, Sherm. They know there would be a bloodbath if they tried something like that. We’ve got to do something, man. This is my fucking gig, goddamn it. I’m in charge.”

“Okay, man, chill the fuck out, for Christ’s sake. I’ll ask them to get an ambulance for us when they call back.”

He slid down the wall and took a seat on the floor next to John and me. Then he snubbed his cigarette out and lit up another. At that moment, I don’t think I’d ever needed a cigarette so bad. Not even when the doctor diagnosed me with cancer. The secondhand smoke drifted over to me, and I breathed it in, relishing it.

“Yo, can I get one of those?”

“Sure.” He handed me the pack and the lighter. I noticed that it was the silver lighter that he’d stolen from Mac Davis. He glanced around the room again, and sighed.

“Damn, I’m hungry. I could eat Kim up right now.”

Sherm stared at Kim. Kim stared at Oscar. Oscar stared at the floor. Dugan and Sharon stared at each other. Sheila stared at me and I stared at her. Roy stared at all of us and Martha kept her eyes shut tight, whispering prayers to Jesus to save her from the Devil’s minions. Benjy stared at John, Sherm, and me, and I wondered what he saw.