“What bar?” the detective repeated to Eddie
Simms.
“I don’t want to get them in trouble,” Eddie
said.
“You’re already in a hell of a lot of
trouble.” The detective grabbed Eddie’s shirt and pulled his face across the
table until the two were nose to nose. “It’s your truck. Your beer, your house.
If the guns are where you say they are, what’s to say you didn’t do all these
murders?”
“Eddie?”
Mae called from the side door.
“Listen,
if I thought I could make this all go away, I would confess.” Eddie pulled free
of the detective’s grip and rose to his feet. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of
doing that very thing. I would go to jail in a heartbeat if that would mean Mae
could have her son back. But you and I know that won’t stop this killing.”
Eddie
turned his back on the picnic table, looked at Mae standing at the door, and
turned back to the deputies.
“Joe’s. Joe’s Tap Room. On the corner of
Second Street and South River Avenue.
Let me call someone to stay with Mae and I’ll go with you. If he’s
there, maybe he’ll come to me without any trouble.”
The
sheriff’s department radioed the city for backup. But two squads were en route to a burglary in
progress at Su Le Ceramics, two doors down from Joe’s Tap Room. The call had come in when a broken window
activated the burglar alarm system.
The
city police pulled up in front of the ceramic shop, and one officer caught a
glimpse of a man inside with a possible hostage. Soon, sheriff’s deputies
arrived, and the block was surrounded. A couple of officers tried to sneak in
the back door, but shots rang out and caught one officer in the shoulder, the
second in the knee. The injured policemen retreated, and everyone ran for
cover. The officers reported seeing a body at the bottom of the stairs.
“Let me talk to him,” Eddie said. “Maybe he’ll
listen to me.”
In a
matter of minutes, Chief Miller handed a bullhorn to Eddie.
“Biggun, son. It’s me, Eddie.”
“I’m not your son,” came the thunderous reply
from inside the building. “Did you turn me in?”
“They came to the house, boy. Frightened Mae.
She needs you to come home now.”
There
was a brief silence and then a voice that sounded like a young boy called,
“Mama?”
“I’m
not going nowhere until those pigs leave,” interrupted Malcolm’s deep, gruff
voice.
“Jones,
put down your gun, and come out with your hands up,” Miller said, grabbing the
bullhorn.
“Is Mama here?” the boy’s voice called again.
“Biggun, you know how Mae hates it when you
make a mess,” Eddie called, taking the horn back. “Come out, and we’ll get the
mess all cleaned up before she gets here.”
“You’re just another pig!” came the gruff
reply. “Get those cops out of here or I’m gonna to kill this bitch.”
Miller
grabbed the horn. “Jones, how many hostages do you have?”
“Hostages?
I ain’t got no hostages, just one bitch who’s still breathing. But she
won’t be for long!”
“Okay,” Miller said. “Don’t get excited. Send
the woman out and we can talk.”
“No way, man,” Malcolm said. “She’s going with
me.”
The
officers could hear a conversation inside the building, and then a woman’s
scream.
“Send the woman out,” Miller repeated into the
bullhorn. “We have to see that she’s okay.”
There
was no reply. After a few silent minutes the officers could see movement in the
doorway, a bloodied face emerging, and behind her, a giant, dark shadow.
“OK,”
Malcolm said as he stopped Josie in the doorway, holding her by one hand
twisted behind her back and pressing a gun to her head. One of her eyes was
wide with fear, the other was swollen shut. She whimpered softly.
“Here’s
your woman. We’re going to get in that car over there and drive away as soon as
all you pigs get back in the pig pen.”
From
one of the purses, Malcolm had selected keys with a Cadillac logo and headed
toward Barb’s large yellow Caddy parked in the lot behind the ceramic shop.
“We can negotiate,” Miller shouted.
Malcolm
cut him off. “Tell your officers to disappear. If I see one pig, she gets it in
the head.”
Miller
turned to the squads that ringed the parking lot and waved for them to leave.
The officers got into their cars and slowly pulled away. Becky climbed into
Page’s brown van, and they backed slowly down the alley.
Holding Josie like a shield
across his chest, Malcolm backed toward the Caddy.
“Get out of here,” Malcolm repeated. “And take
that pig in father’s clothing with you. He’s just another stupid cop.”
“Biggun,” Eddie said, “Your mother would not
approve—”
“Shut up! Just shut up!” Malcolm fired a round
in Eddie’s direction. Miller shoved Eddie toward the squad car, and the
remaining deputies scattered.
Malcolm pressed the hot barrel to Josie’s
temple and pulled her closer to the yellow car, as Mae came running through the
gangway between the buildings. When she saw her son holding the gun to a
woman’s head she gasped, then she pulled her shoulders back, raised her head
and spoke in a controlled, reproachful tone.
“Biggun, put that gun down before somebody
gets hurt.”
“Mama?” Malcolm said in a voice so small that
Miller opened his mouth in disbelief.
Just
then the door of the Cadillac opened with full force into Malcolm’s back,
sending him sprawling to the ground. He lost his grip on Josie, who crumpled
before the open car door. Malcolm’s pistol skittered across the pavement.
Duke
tumbled out of the car, where he had sought refuge, and threw his body over
Josie’s. He expected a shootout, when a
dozen officers lunged out of hiding, guns drawn on Malcolm. But the monster was
gone. Only a big boy remained, curled in
the fetal position and whimpering, “Mama.”
Eddie
held Mae back as she tried to run to her son.
“Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him,” she
screamed as the officers rushed forward, cuffed Malcolm and dragged him to his
feet. Malcolm seemed deflated and limp
as the officers shoved him into a squad car.
Josie
moaned and squirmed beneath Duke’s weight.
“Are
you OK?” Duke said, pulling back and seeing Josie’s swollen face for the first
time. “Jeez, you look like, like . . . ”
“Peacock piddle,” Josie croaked in a voice he could
barely hear.
