Voice on the edge of desperation. Eileen realized the woman in there was as terrified as her hostage. The cops outside here had to look like an army to her. Chief of Patrol Curran pacing back and forth, hands behind his back, a general wondering whether his troops would take this one or blow it. Chief of Detectives Brogan standing apart with two other beefy men in plainclothes, whispering softly, observing Mary Beth at the door. Uniformed policemen with rifles and handguns - out of sight, to be sure.
You promise them no guns, no shooting, Eileen thought. And you meant it. Unless or until. All these cops were here and ready to storm the joint the moment anyone got hurt. Kill the hostage in there, harm the hostage in there, you took the door. Hurt a cop outside here, same thing. You played the game until the rules changed. And then you went cop.
"Hildy, I'm getting that coffee you asked for," Mary Beth said.
"Taking long enough," Hildy said.
"We had to send someone down the street for it."
"That was an hour ago."
"No, only ten minutes, Hildy."
"Don't argue with her," Brady whispered.
"Should be here any second now," Mary Beth said.
"Who's that with you?" Hildy asked.
Voice touched with suspicion.
Mary Beth looked at Brady. Eyes questioning. What do I tell her, Boss?
Brady shook his head. Touched his index finger to his lips. Shook his head again.
"Nobody," Mary Beth said. "I'm all alone here."
"I thought I heard somebody talking to you."
Brady shook his head again.
"No, it's just me here," Mary Beth said.
Why is he asking her to lie? Eileen wondered.
"But there are cops out there, I know there are."
"Yes, there are."
"But not near the door, is that what you're saying?"
"That's it, Hildy. I'm all alone here at the door."
Brady nodded, pleased.
"Why don't you open the door just a little?" Mary Beth said.
This surprised Brady. His eyes popped open. As blue and as crisp as Mary Beth's, but clearly puzzled now. What was she doing? He shook his head.
"Then you can see I'm alone here," Mary Beth said, and waved Brady away with the back of her hand.
Brady was shaking his head more vigorously now. Standing just to Mary Beth's left, bald head gleaming in the sunshine, hawk nose cleaving the stiflingly hot air, head shaking No, no no, what the hell are you doing?
Mary Beth shooed him away again.
"Open the door, Hildy. You'll see . . ."
Brady shook his head angrily.
". . . I'm alone here."
She lifted her head to Brady, shot him an angry glance. Their eyes locked. Blue on blue, flashing, clashing. Brady stomped off. Michael Goodman was standing with the trainees. Brady went directly to him. "I want her off that door," he said.
"Inspector …"
"She'll open the door when the coffee comes, Mulhaney's moving too fast."
"Maybe she senses something you don't," Goodman said. "She's the one talking, Inspector. Maybe she …"
"I was standing right there all along," Brady said. "I heard everything they said to each other. I'm telling you she's trying to get that door open too damn soon. The woman in there'll open it and start shooting, that's what'll happen."
He doesn't trust her, Eileen thought.
"Let's give her another few minutes," Goodman said.
"I think we should ease in another talker. Wait till the coffee comes, and then …"
"Look," Eileen said.
They turned to follow her gaze.
The door was opening. Just a crack, but it was opening.
"See?" Mary Beth said. "I'm all alone here."
They could not hear Hildy's reply. But whatever she'd said, it seemed to encourage Mary Beth.
"Why don't you leave it open?" she said. "I like to see who I'm talking to, don't you?"
Again, they could not hear her reply. But she did not close the door.
"Be careful with that gun now," Mary Beth said, and smiled. "I don't want to get hurt out here."
This time they heard Hildy's voice:
"Where's your gun?"
"I don't have one," Mary Beth said.
"You're a cop, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am. I told you that. I'm a Police Department negotiator. But I haven't got a gun. You can see for yourself, now that the door is open," Mary Beth said, and spread her hands wide. "No gun. Nothing. See?"
"How do I know you haven't got one under your shirt?"
"Well, here, I'll open the shirt, you can see for yourself."
Mary Beth opened the blue shirt wide, like a flasher, showing Hildy the yellow T-shirt under it.
"See?" she said.
"How about your pockets?"
"Would you like to put your hand in my pockets? Make sure I haven't got a gun?"
"No. You'll try something funny."
"Why would I do that? You think I want to get hurt?"
"No, but. . ."
"I don't want to hurt you, and I don't want to get hurt, either. I have a three-year-old son, Hildy. I don't think he'd want me getting shot out here."
"Do you really?"
"I really do, his name is Dennis," she said.
"Dennis the Menace, huh?"
"You said it," Mary Beth said, and laughed.
From inside the shop, they could hear the woman laughing, too.
"You got any children?" Mary Beth asked.
"I think she'll be all right," Goodman said.
