LITMIR.BIZ

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      They both knew some cops who didn’t bother. Utter stupidity. Jake and Louie drove the rest of the way in silence, each putting his mind where it needed to be as they listened to the radio for updates.

      * * * *

      Chase Park, situated on five acres along the interstate, offered basketball courts, a sprinkler for kids in the summer, and a clubhouse for neighborhood meetings and gatherings. The lot looked as if it could accommodate up to fifty cars. Jake parked, and then he and Louie shrugged into their Kevlar vests. “Ready?” Jake asked.

      “Ready.”

      Jake checked in with Lieutenant Nick Longo from Robbery who was in charge of the scene. Longo had blocked off Highland Avenue from both directions. He’d set up his control post behind a parked cruiser at the edge of the intersection. It looked like the whole force had turned out.

      “Hey, Longo, what’ve you got?” Jake asked.

      “Our intel tells us there are two gunmen, three tellers, one manager, and several customers, including a police officer. It’s Tommy Sullivan,” Longo replied.

      “Oh shit! Tommy? Didn’t his wife recently have a baby?” Louie said.

      “Yep, two days ago. There were shots fired but we don’t know if anyone’s been hit. The ambulance is here and waiting. We’ve tried to contact the suspects, but they’re not responding or giving any demands yet. I’m going to try again.” Longo placed another call to the bank—it went unanswered.

      Worse, Jake thought, when they don’t respond. You couldn’t get a bead on them.

      Longo’s division, tension etched in each officer’s face, was equipped with long-range rifles. They were spread out around the building. The negotiator arrived.

      Jake nodded to Jim Noones, an experienced negotiator, as he watched Noones slip on his vest. They both turned toward the bank to assess the situation. At five-nine, Noones had the stereotypical appearance of a jolly Irishman: a rounded belly, red nose, ruddy complexion, wheat-colored hair, and sky-blue eyes in a round, wide face. Always a joke on his lips, he went from casual to serious in less than a second when a situation called for it. Anyone who failed to take him seriously paid a dear price. Noones handled all his negotiations with a calm manner, trusting face, and a storyteller’s smooth voice and timing.

      “Hey, Jake, I hear congratulations are in order,” Noones said as he tugged on the bottom of his vest.

      “Thanks, Jim.”

      He turned to Longo. “How do you want to handle this?”

      “Whichever way ends this fast and with no injuries, if possible,” Longo said.

      Noones grabbed the bullhorn and flipped the switch and started speaking to the suspects.

      “This is Captain Noones of the Wilkesbury Police Department. I’d like to open communications with you. Please use the number on the display from your last call. It will come to my phone.”

      Jake waited beside Noones and Longo. The rest of the department scattered around the block, circling the bank. Taking in the whole scene without moving an inch, Jake tensed for action. He nodded to Louie to protect his flank. He spotted the reporters from Channels Eight, Three, and Sixty-One with their live cams. Helicopters hovered overhead, and would be offering a dramatic televised view of the incident. If the suspects were watching, they had the whole view as well, including law enforcement’s tactical positions and the number of responding officers. The information age made these events even more difficult to manage, endangering countless lives.

      “Have the schools been locked down?” Noones asked Longo.

      “Yes, first thing.”

      “Good. My kid’s at Kennedy,” Noones said.

      “Mine too,” Longo responded.

      “Mine are at Resurrection and Lord of the Cross, thank God,” Louie said.

      Jake caught movement at the door to the bank. “Here we go.”

      Noones lifted his bullhorn and waited.

      The man used the bank manager as a shield as he brandished a gun and shouted. “Send over one unarmed officer. One. I’ll give him a letter I’ve written with what we want. We don’t need any heroes today. If our demands are met, everyone will go home healthy, understood?”

      The suspect appeared to stand about six feet tall. He wore his black hair spiked on top, a red streak running down the center. When he turned, Jake saw a long, braided tail touching his shoulder blades. So eighties. He was dressed in all black and his wallet, secured with a chain, stuck out from his back pocket. Despite the day being warm, he also wore black gloves. His gun hand quivered—not a comforting sign. The gunman looked to be in his thirties, a solid hundred-eighty. He wore mirrored sunglasses; his bicep had a tattoo of a cross and skull. Jake memorized every detail for his report.

      “Noones, who do you want to send over there?” Lieutenant Longo asked.

      “I’ll go,” Jake spoke up.

      “Any objections, Nick?”

      “None,” Lieutenant Longo said.

      “No heroics,” Louie said, as he leaned in and whispered in Jake’s ear. “You got your ankle holster?” Most cops never used maximum force during their careers, though were trained to if a situation required it. Jake never needed to but Louie had.

      “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll be back before you know it.” Jake tossed a smirk over his shoulder.

      “We’re sending over Detective Carrington. He’s unarmed. In good faith, you release one of the hostages,” Jim Noones said. By procedure Noones didn’t use Jake’s rank.

      “Send the detective over,” the gunman said, not agreeing to anything.

      “Is anyone hurt?” Noones asked.

      “We’ll talk after you read the letter.” The gunman never let loose his grip on the manager.

      “He’s coming over now,” Noones replied.

      The Kevlar vest created a furnace and had sweat pouring down Jake’s back as he got closer to the gunman. The gunman’s own sweat poured under his sunglasses. Jake wondered how the guy could see. The bank manager looked petrified. Jake held his hands up and away from his body as he approached. If things went wrong, his ankle holster—if he could get to it—would provide necessary protection.

      “Okay, that’s far enough. I’m going back into the bank with this woman here. When I reach the door, you can pick up the letter. But not before I reach the door. Understood?”

      Jake looked into the frightened eyes of the manager. “Yes.”

      “Good.” The suspect whispered something in the manager’s ear then started backing up with her.

      When gunman and hostage reached the door, Jake dropped to one knee to retrieve the note while keeping the bank robber in his line of sight. As he wrapped his fingers around it the gunman stepped inside and pushed the bank manager out onto the sidewalk. She fell to the ground. Jake ran forward to lift her up. He half carried, half dragged her back to the command post and safety.

      The woman burst into tears when they reached Longo. Jake hoped no one could hear how fast and hard his heart pounded.

      “I’m Lieutenant Longo,” Nick said. “I have to ask you to pull yourself together right now. Anything you give us will help the others come out of this alive. What’s your name?”

      “Adeline Smith,” she replied, swiping at her tears.

      “Adeline, you need to be exact. How many people are in there? Is anyone hurt? How many gunmen are there? Where are they located?” Longo shot questions at her.

      Jake’s opinion of her went up as she composed herself.

      “There

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