Squall (16 page)

Whispering to Dale, he said, “Cover me,” and rose to his full height, moving toward the bed now. He cleared the corner of the storage room, gun at the ready in case Sanj was waiting for him there, then turned his attention to his wife and son lying on their sides, facing each other as if posed, so utterly still that Tom felt certain they were dead.

Despondent, he touched Mandy’s ankle through the blanket...

And Mandy opened her eyes.

Tom turned to Dale—the man still standing guard in the doorway, trying to look everywhere at once—and gave him a relieved thumbs up.

Mandy glanced at Steve, still sound asleep beside her, then looked at Tom and brought a finger to her lips.
Shh.

Tom mouthed, “Where is he?” and Mandy pointed at the storage room.

Tom turned again to Dale and nodded at the storage room. The men aligned themselves as they had at the office door, and after a silent three count Tom swung the door open and both men aimed their guns into the starkly lit room.

Sanj was hog-tied on the floor in there, duct-taped into a fetal position with an oily rag stuffed into his mouth and a strip of tape covering his eyebrows and eyes. When he heard them come in he began to wriggle and grunt on the floor.

Dale and Tom traded stares of amazement, then Dale followed Tom back to the sofa bed. Mandy was sitting up now, the blanket tugged up to her chin.

Both men simply stared at her.

Shrugging, Mandy said, “After I delivered the placenta, he fainted.”

But this served only to confuse Tom more.

With a coy smile, Mandy lowered the blanket to reveal their newborn son, soundly sleeping in her arms.

Trying to stifle a gale of laughter, Tom tucked his gun into the back of his pants and approached Mandy’s side of the bed. Giggling now herself, Mandy handed him their infant son and Tom sat on the bed next to her, stunned into silence by the circumstances and the beauty of this new life, so tiny and warm in the hammock of his arms.

Tom  saw the dopey grin on Dale’s face and within moments all three of them were consumed by laughter, the same crazed, delighted laughter Tom had shared with Dale after the plane crash.

In the giddy commotion, Steve sat bolt upright in bed, screwing a fist into one sleepy eye and saying, “Is it still my birthday?” and the laughter escalated to a breathless, manic pitch. Incredibly, tucked into his father’s arms, the Stokes’ new infant son slept through the entire thing.

* * *

Helpless on the floor in the storage room, Sanj tilted his head at the rising laughter, wondering what kind of mad asylum he’d let himself into.

––––––––

Tucked safely into his own bed now, Steve said, “Daddy, what’s going to happen to that man?”

Tom sat on the edge of the bed and snugged Steve’s button-eyed teddy into its usual sleeping spot, in the crook of Steve’s left arm. “He’s going to jail for a very long time.”

“But he saved my baby brother,” Steve said, his eyelids trying hard to close.

“Yes, he did, and we’re all very grateful for that. But it doesn’t mean the man shouldn’t be punished for all of the other bad things he’s done.”

Yawning hugely, Steve said,” Like what?”

“Like breaking into our house and pointing a gun at you and your mommy. And that’s just for starters.”

But the poor kid was already fast asleep. Tom brushed the hair off the boy’s smooth forehead and softly kissed him there. Then he got to his feet and, before he left, switched off the green night-light; he had a feeling that after tonight, this brave little guy wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

* * *

Ten minutes later Tom was sitting in the garage behind the wheel of his truck, speaking into the handset of a two-way radio to a Sudbury cop, the cop saying, “We just got a call from a guy up the lake from you says he’s got the entire chopper crew in his kitchen, two of them with non-lethal gunshot wounds. There’s a unit on its way to him now.” The cop said, “You’re certain this guy is adequately restrained?”

Tom said, “He’s not going anywhere.”

“All right. Give us about thirty minutes.”

“That’s great,” Tom said. “Thanks very much.”

“Ten four.”

When he got back to the office he saw that Dale had dragged Sanj out of the storage room and secured him upright in one of Mandy’s antique chairs, enough duct tape wrapped around the man to restrain a stallion.

Mandy was sitting upright on the sofa bed now, cooing to their new son, and Dale was standing directly behind Sanj, spinning the spool of an exhausted roll of tape on his index finger.

Tom said, “I think you got him,” and Dale frowned, as if he wasn’t so sure.

Mandy said, “Dale gave me the condensed version. Sounds like you boys’ve had quite a day.” Tom managed a weary grin and Mandy said, “Were you able to reach the police?” Tom nodded, telling her they’d be here in half an hour.

There were some questions he wanted to ask Sanj before the cops got here and he waved Dale over, the two of them standing in front of Sanj now.

Speaking to Dale, Tom said, “Do the honors?”

Dale said, “Gladly,” grasped a corner of the tape across Sanj’s eyebrows and eyes and ripped it off as brutally as he could.

Sanj roared into the gag.

Dale showed Mandy and Tom the sticky side of the tape, most of Sanj’s eyebrow hair and eye lashes glued to it in twin, startled arcs.

Smiling, Mandy said, “Now, boys, he did save our baby’s life.”

His eyes tearing up from the waxing, Sanj nodded his agreement. He was breathing hard against the gag now, sweating in spite of the cool office air.

Tom said to Mandy, “That much is true. It does overlook the fact that he broke into our home and held you and our son at gunpoint, in all likelihood precipitating your labor. It also overlooks the fact that, had he not fainted like a school girl and ended up gift wrapped by a five year old boy and a woman who’d just given birth, he almost certainly would have assassinated everyone in the room.” Speaking to Sanj now, Tom said, “But in spite of all that, you do have my sincerest thanks for saving our son.”

Sanj gave him an acknowledging nod.

“Now if I remove this gag,” Tom said, “will you try to be civil? My wife and child are in the room.”

Sanj nodded again.

This time Tom removed the tape, and did so gently. The gag came away with the tape and Tom dropped the whole mess into the garbage can by the desk.

“Thank you,” Sanj said. “It tasted like transmission fluid.”

Mandy said, “Correct.”

Surprising them all, Sanj looked up at Dale and said, “May I have a word with you, Dale?”

* * *

Nervous in spite of the fact that the man was mummy-wrapped to a chair, Dale thought,
What the fuck do you want to talk to me for?
Then he thought he knew and said, “If it’s about your brother, I want you to know how sorry I am. I was stoned and afraid and I just...lost it. I still feel sick about it. I’m not a violent person.”

Sanj said, “Life is about choices and most of ours were bad. It was really only a matter of time.” For a moment Dale thought he was done, but then he said, “But watching my brother die like that—and then being given the opportunity to save a new life...it’s been a kind of epiphany for me.”

“Sounds pretty Zen there, Sanj,” Tom said. “But if you think we’re letting you out of that chair before the cops get here, what you’re experiencing isn’t an epiphany, it’s a stroke.”

“I’m already resigned to my fate,” Sanj said. “I’m merely trying to shape it into something purposeful.”

Tom said, “Let’s hear it, then.”

“Actually, Tom,” Sanj said, as if they were having a friendly chat, “would you mind getting me a glass of water? I’m parched, and all I can taste is that filthy rag.”

Dale thought Tom would tell the guy to go fuck a goat, but instead he said, “Sure,” and left the room.

In a confiding tone, Sanj started talking again.

* * *

Tom caught himself holding a finger under the tap to make sure the water was cold enough, then he just filled the glass, thinking,
Let him drink it piss warm.

The gun was digging into his back now and he drew it out of his pants and set it on the counter by the sink, checking to make sure the safety was on.

He paused a moment then and took a deep breath, the aftermath of the day’s events dragging on him like an anchor. His mind was a tilted whirlwind, his thoughts racing and barely coherent, and when he noticed the digital readout on the stove—11:55 P.M.—he could scarcely credit all that had taken place in the last eighteen hours. It felt like days had passed since he’d flown to the outpost cabin, the intervening hours seeming more dreamlike than real. He’d never felt so exhausted, so physically and emotionally drained.

Some birthday.

And with that thought, two thing occurred to him in sequence: the first was that all three of the Stokes boys now shared the same birthdate; and the second was something his maternal grandmother used to tell him whenever his life went askew: “It’s the outcome that matters.”

He was alive. He’d survived a plane crash, a violent encounter with professional assassins, had staged a rescue mission in his own home that had ended in gales of laughter...and he was a dad again, the father of two sweet boys.

Not bad for a day’s work.

As curious as he was about what Dale and Sanj were talking about in there, Tom set the glass of water on the counter and opened the fridge, his stomach grinding so hard on him now the room was starting to spin. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and his head was
pounding
.

“Oh, my,” he said, peeling back the tinfoil on a baking pan of leftover meatloaf, already sliced into nice thick wafers. He picked one up and took an enormous bite, the stuff delicious even cold.

Then he felt something knuckle-size and hard press against his kidney from behind and heard a woman’s husky voice say, “Nice table manners, man,” and when he startled the voice said, “Easy, motherfucker, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Tom felt the muzzle of the gun jabbed hard into his flank, then it was gone and he heard the woman’s boot heels clock against the tiles as she took two steps back. Sounding amused, she said, “Now turn around and do it slowly.”

Still holding a wedge of meatloaf, Tom turned to see a heavily made-up woman of maybe twenty-eight aiming a gun at his head, her index finger hooked firmly around the trigger. Even standing still she appeared to be in motion, vibrating, on the verge of doing something violent, too swift for the eye to see. His glance drifted to the gun he’d left on the counter and the woman said, “Funny. You don’t look that stupid.”

Abandoning the idea, Tom said, “Who are you?” and the woman said, “Call me Ronnie.” She said, “Are you gonna eat that?” and Tom shrugged, only now noticing the speck of white powder on the tip of her nose which, given her wired demeanor, could only be cocaine. She said, “Then give it here,” and Tom gave her the chunk of meat, watching with petrified fascination as she gobbled it down like a ravenous chimp. “Mm, shit,” she said, crumbs of meatloaf raining to the floor. “Delicious.”

Then she was waving the gun at him, wanting him to move. “Quietly now, big fella,” she said. “Time to have a chat with those fuckweeds in the other room.”

* * *

For the past few minutes Dale had been listening to Sanj ramble on about his brother and the dark path they’d chosen, but he had no idea where the guy was headed with it. Was it some sort of ploy to make him feel guilty and maybe cut the crazy fucker loose? If so, it was never gonna work. Truth was, all Dale could think about right now was getting the hell out of here before the cops showed up.

He was about to suggest to Sanj that he get to the point when the man said, “So in light of recent events, I’ve decided to testify against your brother and Randall Copeland. My cousin Raj does their bookkeeping and they’ve never been anything but rude to him. With Raj’s help, I can put them both away for a dozen lifetimes.”

“Do that,” Dale said, “you won’t last a day on the inside.”

“Oh, I won’t be going to prison,” Sanj said. “I’ll be going home to India and taking my cousin with me.”

“All the people you’ve killed, you think they’ll let you walk?”

“Believe me, if I testify, they’ll buy me a first class ticket.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

“What I’m telling you is, if you keep your head down for a while, you’ll be free of them both.”

Dale said, “Why would you even care?” the words barely out of his mouth when a gunshot made his ears pop and the chair Sanj was sitting in flipped over backward, blood from the wound in the man’s chest speckling Dale’s shirt as a familiar voice said, “See if they fly that to India, you piece of shit.”

In the background, muted by the whine in Dale’s skull, he heard Mandy scream. Then Ronnie’s voice again, speaking to him now, Ronnie standing in the doorway behind Tom with his hands raised, Ronnie looking perplexed, peering at him over Tom’s shoulder saying, “Now who the fuck are these people and why are you here?”

All Dale could think to say was, “Ronnie. I thought you were dead.”

* * *

Moments after the gunshot—Tom had actually
felt
the muzzle blast through his shirt, the woman taking the shot from right next to his waist—Tom heard Steve call out from his room above the office—“Mommy?”—and by instinct tensed to run to him.

Ronnie pressed the gun to his kidney again, freezing him. “Put it out of your mind,” she said. “Go sit with the missus. This shouldn’t take long.”

Tom obeyed. Incredibly, their infant son was still sound asleep. In her usual unflappable way, Mandy whispered, “He’s gonna be a good sleeper,” and Tom squeezed her warm hand, praying the cops would get here soon and put an end to this mayhem.

Ronnie was still in the doorway with the gun raised, eyes shifting from side to side, saying to Dale now, “Where’s the other Paki?”

Dale said, “He’s dead.”

“How?”

He looked away from her. “I shot him.”

Ronnie said, “Dale? Look at me, Dale,” and Dale did. She studied him for a moment, sitting there hunched in his chair, as if to assess the likelihood of his claim, then smiled and said, “Well, god damn. Finally grew a pair.” She strode over to him and kissed him on the mouth. “Miss me?” she said.