Blackening Song (2 page)

He threw his captive back down to the floor and casually stepped around her as she lay there, shaking.

“What the hell are you?”

The question threw her. “Huh?”

“You’re not a spick or mulatto.
What are you?”

She forced her voice to stay even. “Indian.”

“You don’t look Indian. There’s no dot on your forehead. What part of India are you from?”

“New Mexico, U.S.A. I’m an American Indian—Navajo.”

He smiled slowly. “Then you must hate whites. Probably as much as I hate the stinking minorities. They come here and take our jobs, like that nigger.” He gestured toward Jeremy. “They make
us grovel for work, forgetting that we were here first.”

“My people were here thousands of years before yours. You have no quarrel with me.”

“Nice try, but forget it. You slant arguments to your own advantage, just like everyone else. The cavalry should have killed all you off a hundred years ago.”

A man’s voice boomed through a bullhorn before she could answer. “The building is completely
surrounded by police officers. Set down your weapons and come out with your hands up.”

She saw the gunman tense, checking the door. She wasn’t sure how he could ignore the wound in his shoulder. He didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest. Maybe he was high on something. “Let the customers go. They’ll only complicate things for you. They’re afraid, and you can’t predict what any of them will
do.”

He seemed to consider it. “No,” he said finally. “I have more leverage with them here.”

He looked down at the woman he’d held hostage, then trained his weapon on Ella. “Get all these people facedown on the floor and tie them up.” He started walking toward her.

“With what?” The blood stain on his shirt had spread. The river of crimson flowed downward, coloring his tan slacks.

“Cords from
the curtains, their belts, whatever. And hurry it up. Otherwise I’ll shoot a few more.” He stopped just short of arm’s length away and wiggled the barrel of his Beretta.

Ella looked at the frightened group. Four customers and the cook were still unharmed. She’d do her best to keep it that way. With the gunman a few steps behind her, she knelt beside the woman he had used as a shield. The onetime
hostage wore slacks with an elastic waist, no belt.

“You want me to tie her up? Then give me a knife so I can cut some cords from the blinds.”

“What kind of a fool do I look like? Give you a knife?” He laughed coldly.

“Then get the cords yourself, if you want her tied up.” Ella hoped he would stand next to the window. A sharpshooter could take him out in the blink of an eye.

“Okay, forget
tying them up,” he snapped. “I’m not going anywhere near the windows. Those cops outside can’t wait to blow me away.” He turned to the huddled group. “Lie facedown on the floor and stay there.”

The same cop’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker again, echoing loudly in the small shop. “I’m going to call you on the telephone. Pick it up and we can talk.”

The psycho motioned Ella to the phone. “You
answer it. Tell them that I’ll kill everyone here if they move in.”

Ella picked up the ringing phone and identified herself, repeating the message word for word. There was a hesitation, then the officer, in a terse, drill sergeant’s tone, ordered her to repeat her I.D.

After another short pause, the officer spoke again. “I’ll ask the young man,” Ella said clearly into the receiver, taking the
opportunity to let the police know what they were up against. She turned back to the shooter. “They want to know what your demands are.”

“I want … I just want what’s due me. A job, respect,” he muttered, then glanced up and met her eyes. “Tell them to call back in five minutes. Then hang up.”

She complied, itching for the opportunity to reach for her gun. “You can’t get a job or respect like
this. Think about what you’re doing.”

“What do
you
know about it? The feds hired you, didn’t they? Probably had some sort of quota to take ten Indians that day. I tried to join the police force once, but they wouldn’t take me. Too busy hiring people like you and this loser.” He took a step toward Jeremy and nudged his body hard with his boot.

Jeremy twitched and she heard him groan softly. He
was still alive! Ella moved toward the black man without thinking.

“Stand still!” the gunman clipped.

She froze. “Relax.” She held his gaze and straightened to her full five-foot-six height. “I’ve never taken anything away from you or anyone else. I worked my butt off for everything I’ve ever had, believe it.”

“You people get all kinds of financial help and advantages white folks never have.”

“Advantages? Like hauling all your water thirty miles in old oil drums? Riding a bus sixty miles a day to get to school? Not even a fan to cool you on a hundred-degree day because you have no electricity at home? Those don’t qualify as advantages in my book, but that’s a big portion of the Rez, pal. The only reason we have a Rez at all was because the land was so poor nobody else wanted it.”

“So why didn’t you stay where you belong and make things better?”

“My job makes its own contribution. People belong wherever they can make a place for themselves. That’s something you should have learned.”

“There’s no place for me.”

“There can be.” This guy intended to die and take as many of them with him as possible. She knew that with a certainty that alarmed her. She had to keep him talking
until a chance came to act. “What’s your name? Mine’s Ella Clah.”

“Joe.”

“Joe what? You have a last name?” The lifelessness in his gaze stunned her. She had to be very careful not to push him too far.

“Joe Campbell.”

“Tell me about your family, Joe.”

“I don’t have one anymore,” he snapped. “Now shut up and lie down on the floor with the others.”

If she could distract him for just a few seconds—that’s
all the time she’d need to get her backup pistol.

The phone began ringing again. “Do you want me to get that for you?” she asked, an idea forming in her mind.

“Yeah, but make it quick. Tell them I’m not ready to talk to them yet.”

“You’ll be better off if you give them something to work with. How about medical attention for your shoulder? You’ll also need safe passage out of the city.” She
had to make him think of life instead of death. That could shift the odds in their favor.

“Passage to where?” he muttered under his breath. “Just do as I say,” he ordered loudly. “Tell them I’m not ready to talk.”

As she stepped around the athletic bag on the floor near him, she glanced inside. Adrenaline shot through her as her heart slammed against her rib cage. Besides spare clips for his
pistol, the bag also contained explosives. It didn’t take an Einstein to guess his next move. The moment the SWAT team fired in tear gas or stormed the place, they’d all go up in a ball of fire and smoke. There wouldn’t be enough left for the coroner to I.D.

As Ella approached the phone, he followed closely, glancing at the wounded with clinical detachment. “Why don’t you release them?” she suggested
pleasantly. “They’re absolutely no good to you here, and the cops might see it as a gesture of goodwill and ease up a bit.”

“No. Tell them that we’ve got two wounded hostages. If they try anything, I’ll finish them off. That’ll keep them on their toes.”

What it would do was get them to act faster, but arguing with him wasn’t going to get her anywhere. He was on the edge as it was.

Grabbing
at the phone, being deliberately clumsy, she knocked it off the desk. As the instrument clattered to the floor, the gunman flinched and brought the Beretta to within a foot of her head. “My fault,” she said quickly. “I’m just nervous.”

“Pick it up.”

Ella bent down, slid her hand into her boot, and palmed the tiny derringer. Turning, she extended her right arm into his surprised face, and fired
twice.

Somebody screamed, but it wasn’t Joe. She’d hit him with both rounds in the left eye. His mouth opened, but he was dead before his body reached the floor.

Ella heard a soft whimper, and saw the injured waitress trying to crawl away from the corpse. “It’s okay. It’s over.” She didn’t blame the woman for wanting to move. Though personally she didn’t share the Navajo belief in the
chindi,
the evil in a man that remained earthbound after death, bodies still gave her the creeps.

“Don’t move around too much,” she cautioned, crouching at the waitress’s side. “I’ll have a medical team here in a flash.” From the amount of blood on her clothes, Ella was surprised the woman hadn’t gone into shock.

“Thank God it’s over,” one of the men said, struggling to stand.

“No! Everyone stay down
and don’t move until the SWAT team says it’s okay,” Ella announced. “When they come in they won’t know who any of us is. They could shoot somebody by mistake.”

She grabbed the receiver from the floor. The cop had held on. “It’s over, guys. The perp is down. Come on in, we need two med teams fast!”

She pocketed the derringer and moved to Jeremy’s side. A bullet had pierced his rib cage. He was
unconscious, but his breathing was steady. He’d make it. She’d seen others come through worse and Jeremy was a fighter. “Hang in there, buddy.”

Within seconds, cops were all over the coffee shop. Ella stood aside, watching the paramedics work while the officers helped the unharmed hostages to their feet and took their statements.

Ella leaned against the wall, relieved that the only life lost
had been the gunman’s.

A plainclothes detective came to take her statement, commenting, “You’ll undoubtedly get a commendation for what you did. This could have been a real bloodbath.” His gaze fell on the bag with the ammunition and explosives. Its contents had already been rendered safe by a SWAT team ordnance specialist. “He was ready for a siege.”

“Worse. He wanted to become a martyr, one
guy fighting the system.”

The coffee shop patrons were being led out by police officers. Most flashed grateful smiles or asked to shake her hand. One elderly woman stopped and gave her a hug. “Thank you so very much,” she said, in tears. “I’ll be praying for you—and for that poor man’s soul.”

As the woman left, Ella spotted her partner entering the diner. “Dennis, I’m over here.” She waved briefly.

Dennis Anderson looked like the ex-Marine, ex-college quarterback he’d been before getting into law enforcement. With his well-fitting suit and regulation dark glasses, he had
FBI agent
stamped all over him.

“So much for your quiet supper after a tough day,” he commented. “Lucky for the patrons that this is your favorite hangout.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting over to one of the pools
of blood that had started to congeal on the tile floor. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you were in the neighborhood and decided to drop by.”

“The special agent in charge asked me to find you. He’s been trying to raise you on the radio.”

“What’s the boss want with me?”

“He was probably trying to verify your whereabouts. My guess is that he got a call that you were involved in a hostage
situation.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Let me give you a ride downtown to the bureau offices. You’re in no shape to drive. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you look like shit warmed over.”

“Gee, thanks. I think you look like crap too,” she countered with a wry grin.

“I’m serious. Finish giving the detective your statement, then let’s get rolling.”

“Sorry, Agent Anderson,” the
police detective said, joining them. “But we’ll need Agent Clah to come down and help wrap this up for our captain. I doubt she’ll be going anywhere until very late tonight.”

“How about extending a little professional courtesy here? She can come in tomorrow.”

“No way. The captain wants to get a full account while it’s all fresh in her mind. He wants any statement he releases to the public to
be complete and accurate. We also need your weapons for a ballistic comparison,” he said to Ella, holding out his hand.

“Wait a second,” Dennis Anderson clipped. “Our agents are required to be armed at all times.”

“Then the bureau can drop off replacements at the station,” the detective countered.

Ella glanced at Dennis. “A derringer and my Sig. Both are bureau-approved, so they’ll have replacements.”

Dennis nodded. “I’ll make sure new weapons are waiting for you when you leave.”

“Thanks, Dennis,” Ella answered.

“Come on,” the detective said, glancing at Ella. “I’ll give you a ride downtown.”

“No, thanks. I’ll follow you in my car.” She was tired, and in no mood to be agreeable. Besides, once they were finished with her, she didn’t intend to hang around, waiting for a lift back to her vehicle.
She’d go home, call her boss, then sleep for the next twelve hours.

*   *   *

It was close to midnight by the time the honchos in the downtown L.A. station had asked their last question. Ella drove carefully to her apartment, concentrating on staying awake.

Bone weary, she inserted the key in the lock of the thick metal door and turned the heavy deadbolt back with a thud. As she stepped into
the room, Ella heard the beep of her answering machine.

“Now what?” she mumbled, automatically sweeping her gaze around the kitchen/dining/living room of her tiny apartment to see if anything had been disturbed. Her little color TV and cassette player were still in place. They would be the first things taken. Break-ins were an everyday occurrence in the city, and her instincts never slowed, even
at home. Navajos learned as children that the world was a dangerous place, and Los Angeles was a perfect example.

Ignoring the incessant beep and flashing red light of the machine, Ella took a precautionary stroll around the place before slipping off her holster and dropping the new pistol onto the bed.

Except for a few photos of her family on her tiny desk, the furnished apartment was pretty
much as it had been the day she moved in. Neat, clean, and simple, the way she liked it. Ella kicked off her shoes and strolled back into the other room, stopping at her machine. There were two messages, at least one probably from her office.