Page 12 of Burn Dragon Burn
Slamming the book shut as she kicked the footrest down and jumped to her feet, Nat tossed the book into the seat that her butt had just vacated and snarled into the empty room while spinning on her toes and stomping to her room, “Dammit Nona, you better be up, cause I’m comin’ in hot.”
Dressing and out the door in record time, she’d just pressed the button her key fob when her cell phone vibrated in her hand. Looking at the number, she slid her thumb across the screen and pressed the device to her ear. “Hale here. Go ahead.”
“Hostages taken at 3525 Sycamore School Rd, Albertson’s Supermarket. Be advised suspect is armed and dangerous.”
“Copy that. Hale in route. ETA 6 minutes.”
“Copy that. Be Safe.”
It never ceased to amaze her how Marietta had trained all the dispatchers to handle the phone like a radio and to always end the call with the words ‘be safe’. It was just an added reminder to watch her ass and get back in one piece.
Flipping the switch that turned on the red and blue flashing lights in the back window and grill of her Mustang, Nat backed out into the quiet street, only turning on the siren when she was on W. Cleburne Rd. Turning right onto Sycamore School Rd, she raced on until she was about a half a block away before killing the siren. Pulling into the far corner of the shopping center parking lot, she whipped in between the two squad cars that were already there.
Out of the car and striding towards them, she caught the radio Officer Tommy Atkins tossed to her. Pressing the button, she advised, “Hale on scene. ETA on Hostage Negotiation?”
“Roger Det. Hale,” Lois, the oldest of the dispatchers, responded. “ETA Fifteen minutes for Hostage Negotiator. Five minutes for SWAT.”
“Roger that,” she acknowledged, handing the radio back to Tommy and grumbling, “SWAT’ll shoot first and leave the questions to me.”
“You know it. Where’s Fitz?” Tommy’s heated whisper told Nat he didn’t agree with the aggressive stance of Woodrow Long, begrudgingly known as Woody, the new SWAT Commander. He was ex-military, pro-excessive force, and a dickhead with a superiority complex. Nat had known him since she was in kindergarten and he was in third grade, and not one second of it had given her any fond memories. He was an asshole, a bully, and a chauvinist – the trifecta of assholeism.
“It’s his day off,” she responded. “Any contact with the suspect?”
“No, not a peep since we got here. He’s cut the phone lines. Did you hear the 911 call?”
“No,” she replied, searching the huge grocery store in the middle of an even larger shopping center for access points and escape routes.
A terrified, squeaky whisper broke her concentration as Tommy replayed the 911 call. “Th-Ther-re’s a man…I m-mean…Earl, Earl J-Jones and h-he’s g-gotta a g-gun and h-he…he’s got Jason, Mildred, and Tracy in the…in the of-f-fice.”
“What’s your name ma’am?” The dispatcher calmly asked. “Are you in a safe place?”
“S-Sally, Sally Ed-dwards.” A hiccupped sob followed by a long pause was followed by, “Yes…yeah, I’m in the milk c-cooler.”
“Okay good, Sally. You’re doin’ really great here. The police are on the way. Can you see Earl or the others?”
“N-no.” Her voice cracked before she begged, “Please p-please d-don’t make me g-go out there. He said…” she sniffled and sobbed aloud. “He s-said he’d kill us all if he d-didn’t…”
When Sally continued to cry without speaking, the dispatcher assured, “You’ve done really good, Sally. Just stay where you are. I’m gonna stay on the phone with you until help arrives.”
Clicking off the recording, Tommy added, “And Sally’s phone is now going straight to voicemail.”
Letting her Gift search for answers, Nat could see two clear ends to the situation in front of her. Number one, she got Earl to give up and everyone lived. Two, she failed and not only was everyone in the store dead, but so was she.
Plan A it is. Now, what the fuck is Plan A?
Not taking her eyes off the store, she ordered, “Give me a vest and a bullhorn.”
“You sure? Shouldn’t we wait for the Hostage Negotiation?”
Tommy’s questioning, cautious tone had Nat snapping her eyes to his and with what Fitz called her Colonel Beatrice Von Tight-Ass Bitch voice, she demanded, “Give me a vest and a bullhorn, Officer Atkins, or I’ll have you removed from the scene and back on traffic duty. Do you want to tell Jason’s wife, Mildred’s grandkids, or Tracy’s fiancée that you’re responsible for their deaths?”
I hate being a hardass, but damn… Okay, I don’t hate it that much…
Without another word, Tommy marched around the cruiser, grabbed a bulletproof vest and bullhorn from the already open trunk and handed them to Nat. Sliding on the protective Kevlar like it was a second skin, she tightened the straps on the sides and slapped the Velcro into place before taking the bullhorn with a single nod.
“Thanks, Tommy,” she acquiesced.
“Just be safe,” he answered, turning away from her and returning to the side of the car.