The Trophy Wife (37 page)

She thought for an instant. “Yeah, I do. I think if they have us surrounded we'll have a much better chance in court.”

“We're not giving up,” he snapped.

“You'd rather shoot it out with the entire New Jersey state police? For Christ's sake, Mike, the judge won't blow you away with an assault weapon.”

“Get the bitch up here, quick.”

“I'd rather give up before someone sees what you did to her.”

“Get her up here. She's going to be our ticket through all that heat.”

“Mike, please! They have sharpshooters. Don't think like a gangster. Give it up and take your chances.”

“Get her, dammit. If I die then she dies, too.”

“Okay,” Rita said. “But I'd rather not be included. Let me go out waving a bedsheet.”

“No, fuckin' way. We're goin' to need someone holdin' her and someone drivin'. We're doin' this together.”

She moved slowly to the basement door, but hesitated.

“Hurry up,” he called after her. “The fuckers are closing in!”

Emily was sitting on the corner of the bed, dressed in the plain housedress that Rita had brought down and resting her head in her hands. Rita wondered if she had enough strength to make it up the stairs. She lifted Emily's face and the dead eyes confirmed what she had already guessed. They would have no more trouble with their prisoner.

“C'mon. We gotta get you outta here.” Emily rose slowly as Rita prodded her shoulder and shuffled toward the steps.

Mike had doused the light on the back of the house and crept into the darkened bedroom where he could look outside without being seen. Another car had pulled up at the factory building. There was someone moving along the fence at the back of the property. Then he noticed another man, crouched low, already in position.

Two out front and two in the back, he counted mentally. There's a whole bunch of them in the factory, probably up in the darkened windows. And maybe there are a couple of backups still in the cars. Then he remembered the one he had seen across from the street to the back of the neighboring houses. They probably had guys hidden in the shadows over there, too. Eight, maybe ten of them all together, covering the house from every side, getting into position to rush the place. Or maybe just planning to wait, knowing that he had to come out eventually.

He heard footsteps in the kitchen and went back to find Emily standing in the middle of the room with Rita practically holding her up. He moved directly into Emily's face.

“Pay attention, because if you don't, you could get yourself killed.”

Her eyes struggled back into focus.

“There are cops out there with guns. They have this place surrounded.”

Rita's face jerked around. “What guns?”

“They're cops! They're not doin' parkin' tickets!”

She started for the window.

“Stay away from there,” Mike snapped. He reached to the wall and switched off the light. “You could get your head blown off.”

“Mike, this is crazy. We never bargained for a gun fight.”

'They won't fire if they see this bitch in front of us.”

Emily was taking in the situation. Color was returning to her face. Mike pushed her back into a darkened corner. “Now listen,” he hissed. “We're going to walk out the side door, open the garage, and get into our car. And then we'll drive right out of here. All of us, includin' you. Nobody is going to stop us, and there won't be any shootin', because they won't risk you gettin' blown away. So just stay right with me, keep your head up, and walk nice and tall, you understand?”

Emily showed a trace of a smile. “Fuck you,” she said to Mike.

His hand shot to her throat. He pulled the gun out of his pocket and touched it to the bridge of her nose. “I could kill you right now.”

“Go ahead,” she answered. “Just as long as I know that you're going to get yours.”

He pulled her away from the wall and pushed her into the darkened living room. “You're goin' out first and you're goin' to tell them, ‘Don't shoot. Hold your fire.' Loud and clear, so that everyone understands it. Then you yell, ‘I'm Emily Childs.' You read me?”

Emily laughed. “I'm going to tell them they're a bunch of wimps. I'll dare them to fire.”

Mike reached for the door handle. “Say whatever ya want. They'll see you.” He looked back at Rita. “Ready?”

Her face was ashen. “As ready as I'll ever be …”

“Stay close to me,” he said. “Right behind me.” Then he told Emily. “You move nice and slow. If you try to take off, you're dead!”

The front doorbell rang!

Mike and Rita froze. Emily laughed. “Give it up, Rita. You're in enough trouble without murder.”

“Shut up!” Mike wrapped an arm around her neck, putting her in a chokehold.

“She's right!” Rita pleaded.

Mike's eyes darted from the side door to the front door. He couldn't walk out the front door, right into their arms. And there were probably more of them at the side door, as well.

“I'll tell them you never hurt me,” Emily coached Rita until Mike's arm cut off her breath.

The bell rang again.

“Let's give it up,” Rita said.

“We're not givin' anythin' up. Not while we have her.”

“Well, what's your next big idea?” The sarcasm in Rita's voice masked her fear.

Mike tightened his chokehold. He backed Emily into the darkened kitchen.

A fist pounded on the outside of the front door. “Open the door, Rita,” a voice boomed. “This is the police. We need to talk to you.”

Rita turned to look at Mike, then back to the door and finally back to Mike. “What should I do?”

“Tell them to come on in. Tell them door is open.”

She was shocked, unable to move.

Mike's voice hissed out of the darkness. “Do it!”

She turned back to the front door. “C'mon in. It's open.”

A silent pause and then a voice said, “Come to the front door and open it, Rita.”

“Don't,” Mike called. “Sit down on the couch. Quick.” She moved over to the sofa and lowered herself easily.

“Come to the front door, Rita, and open it slowly.”

“Tell them you can't walk. Tell them to come on in.”

Rita didn't understand the strategy. But she yelled through the door, “I can't. I can't walk. You'll have to let yourself in!”

There was no response. The only sound was the hiss of Rita's breathing as she wondered if they might have gone away. Then the door exploded open, swinging freely until it
slammed against the wall. But there was no one there. The open doorway was filled with blackness.

“Where are you?” Rita screamed.

The response was a dark-clad figure that sprung through the opening and tumbled into the room. He rolled into the shadows and came up on one knee with a stubby assault rifle aimed directly at Rita. Her scream pierced the air. Another form turned around the edge of the door and pointed a blinding light into her eyes. “Don't move,” he warned, and then he stepped carefully into the room, aiming a pistol with his free hand.

Rita's hand started up to block the light from her eyes.

“Don't move!” the voice screamed. She froze like a statue. Then her wide eyes panned from one man to the other. They were dressed in black, with their pants tucked into boots. Each wore a helmet and a thick black vest.

“Where is he?”

Rita stuttered.

“Where's Mike? Where is he?”

“Right here!” Mike pushed Emily into the kitchen doorway. Then he rose up behind her. The flashlight illuminated both their faces and then glistened off the pistol that was pressed into Emily's ear.

“Get that fuckin' light out of my face,” he ordered. The officer saw Emily's fear and lowered the light. “You can see I got the lady,” Mike said. “Who's goin' to kill her? You guys? Or me?”

A third assault trooper bounded into the doorway.

“Come on in,” Mike said. “Join the party.”

The new arrival saw the situation and glanced at the two officers who were already in the room. Their weapons were poised, but their faces were raised from their sights. They had already decided not to fire.

“Close the door,” Mike ordered. The new officer looked to the other two for directions. “Close it!” he screamed insanely, and the man reached behind him, found the doorknob, and swung the door closed.

“Good.” Mike was beginning to feel the thrill of power.
“Real good. Now, I want all of you to lay the guns on the floor and then push them away, under the coffee table.”

“No way,” answered the one with the flashlight.

“Then you better start usin' them. Because at three, I'm goin' to use this one.” He pushed the muzzle of his revolver harder against Emily's face.

“One…”

“Okay!” The trooper with the flashlight bent over and carefully placed his pistol on the floor. His partner, still on one knee, slowly set down the rifle and then the third officer let his automatic pistol drop from his hand.

“Under the table,” Mike ordered. Rita watched openmouthed as the black-clad figures obediently pushed the cache of weapons up against her toes.

“You two,” Mike said, nodding at the two original invaders, “get flat out on the floor. Down on your faces.” They moved slowly to all fours and then stretched out on their bellies. “Spread eagle. Hands and feet out!” The two followed his instructions.

“You get out of here,” Mike said to the third policeman. “Go back to your boss and tell him exactly what's goin' down in here. Anybody comes near this place, and your buddies' brains get spread all over the rug. Then tell someone to call me. Someone high up, because there are things he'll have to do for me if he wants these guys to stay alive.”

“You'll get yourselves killed,” the officer warned. His glance lingered on Rita.

“That's for sure,” Mike said, “because you're not takin' either of us alive. So you understand your choices. You either let us go, or all of us die together. Including your friends and this lady here.”

The officer eased open the door, keeping his eyes on Mike, and then backed through the opening. Only when he was on the outside step did he turn and dash off into the blackness.

“Get the guns,” Mike told Rita. He stuffed his own pistol into his belt, exchanging it for one of the assault rifles. He took one of the police automatics and slipped it into his pocket. Then he released his grip on Emily's throat and
pushed her down onto the sofa, keeping the assault rifle trained on her head.

“Check out these two.” He nodded at the two men stretched out on the floor. “Careful. Go around behind them. Lift the vests and check their belts.” Rita removed a handcuff set from each of them and took the pistol that one of them was wearing at his back.

The telephone rang. Rita looked expectantly at Mike.

“Let it ring! We're not ready to talk to them yet.” He raised his voice above the telephone's interruption. “Both you guys put your hands behind your backs.”

“Look, Mac …” one of the assault troops began.

“Shut up! Behind your back! Now!”

Their hands moved until Rita could pull them together and snap the handcuffs into position. “You'll never make it,” the other officer warned.

“Then neither will you guys” Mike smirked.

The telephone stopped ringing. Rita looked even more frightened. “They hung up,” she said. “We should have answered.”

“Fuck 'em! I might not answer the next time, either. Let them sweat a bit.”

 

It was almost 2:00
A.M
. when Andrew and Helen arrived on the scene. The negotiations had already begun, and Lieutenant Borelli pulled the two of them into the industrial building on the next street that he was using as his command post. Together, they peered out of the darkened second-floor windows at the blank shape of the house.

“I have two men trapped in there,” Borelli said, his tone suggesting that Hogan and Restivo might be responsible for their situation.

“I'm sorry,” Hogan answered. “I know I've got a lot of explaining to do.”

The lieutenant put aside some of his hostility and took on the tone of a professional. “We've been talking with him on the phone. There's a negotiator on the line with him right now. But we're running out of time.”

Hogan's expression changed to a question.

Borelli went on. “He wants safe passage out of the neighborhood and a one-car escort to the airport. From there he wants a plane.”

“What for?” Hogan asked. “He's got to know that someone will be waiting for him wherever he lands.”

'That's what the negotiator is trying to sell him. But this guy isn't making a lot of sense. He's enjoying the attention. We've got one hour to agree and to tell him that his plane is waiting.”

“Or what?” Hogan asked.

“He shoots one of my men and has the other roll the body down the front steps. Then we get another hour until he shoots the other officer and tries to fight his way out. He'll be using your lady as a shield.”

Andrew nodded. It was a situation he had been in many times himself. Rita and Mike were finished and they probably knew it. But they also knew that they would be facing life in prison and they weren't going to let that happen.

Just as certainly, there was no way the State Troopers were going to give them an escort to anywhere. The whole purpose of the standoff was to keep them from hurting anyone else.

“What's the plan?” Helen asked, hoping that the cooling of Borelli's earlier rage applied to her, as well.

“We're going to agree, provided they leave both of our men in the house. We'll tell them that if either one is hurt, there will be no plane. Then we'll take him when he comes out in his car.”