Behind the window frame, she could hear Whittaker chuckling. The story was a true one, she hadn't made it up. Cut off all her goddamn red hair, wrapped it in newspaper, her mother was shocked, Eileen, what have you done?
"Cut off all my hair," she said now, just as she'd said all those years ago.
"You must've looked somethin'," Dolly said.
"I just didn't like being called Red," she said reasonably.
"Cut off all your hair, wow."
"Cut it all off."
"Boy oh boy," Dolly said.
Whittaker still hadn't said anything. She figured she'd lost him. Got a few chuckles from him, and then it was right back to business.
"So whut you like bein' called?" he asked suddenly, surprising her.
"Eileen," she said, "how about you? What shall I call you?"
"You can call me a chopper," he said, and burst out laughing.
Good, he'd made his own joke. Variation on the old "You can call me a taxi" line, but at least he hadn't said "You can call me anything you like so long as you don't call me late for dinner." And they were back to the chopper again. Good. Trade-off time. Maybe.
"A chopper's possible," she said, "but I'd have to talk to my boss about it."
"Then you go talk to him, Eileen."
"I feel pretty sure he can arrange it. . ."
"I sure hope so, Eileen."
"But I know he'd expect…"
'"Cause I'm gettin' pretty goddamn impatient here . . ."
"Well, this is really the first time …"
". . . an' I'd hate to see anythin' happen to this little girl here, hmm?"
"I'd hate to see anything happen to anybody, believe me. But this is the first time you and I have really talked, you know, and …"
"Why don't you come up here on the porch?" he said.
"You think I'm crazy?" she said.
He laughed again.
"No, come on, I won't hurt you. I mean it, come on."
"Well…"
"Come on."
"How about I just stand up first?"
"Okay."
"But you'll have to show me your hands. Show me there's nothing in your hands, and I'll stand up."
"How I know what you got in your hands?"
"I'll show you my hands, too. Here, see?" she said, and raised both hands above the porch deck and waggled all the fingers. "Nothing in my hands, okay?"
"How you know I won't show you my hands and then dust you anyway? Jus' pick up the piece again an'…"
"Well, I don't think you'd do that. Not if you promise me."
The first time she'd heard this in class, she'd thought it was ridiculous. You asked a terrorist to promise he wouldn't blow you away? You asked some nut just out of the loony bin to promise he wouldn't hurt you? She had been assured over and over again that it worked. If they really promised you, if you got them to say the words "I promise you," then they really wouldn't hurt you.
"So can I see your hands?" she asked.
"Here's my hands," he said, and stepped around the window frame for just an instant, waggling his fingers the way she just had, and then ducking back out of sight again. She thought she'd seen a grin, too. "Now stan' up," he said.
"If I stand up, will you promise you won't hurt me?"
"I promise."
"You won't hurt me?"
"I promise I won't hurt you."
"All right," she said, and stood up.
He was silent for a moment, looking her over. Fine, she thought, look me over. But this isn't the old man all over again, you aren't eighty-four years old and senile, you're a killer. So look me over all you like but . . .
"Put your hands on the windowsill where I can see them, okay?" she said.
"Matter, don't you trust me?" he said.
"I trust you, yes, because you promised me. But I'd feel a lot better if I could see your hands. You can see mine," she said, holding them out in front of her and turning them this way and that like a model for Revlon nail polish, "so you know I'm not going to hurt you, isn't that right?"
"It is."
Still not stepping out from where he was hidden.
"So how about showing me the same consideration?" she said.
"Okay, here's my hands," he said, and moved into the window frame beside Dolly and grabbed the sill with both huge hands.
"Clear shot," the sharpshooter said into his walkie-talkie. "Shall I take him out?"
"Negative," Brady told him.
"What I'd like to do now," Eileen said, "is go back to my boss and ask him about that helicopter."
"Sure is red" Whittaker said, grinning.
"Yeah, I know," Eileen said, shaking her head and smiling back at him. "I'm pretty sure he can get you what you want, but it might take some time. And I know he'll expect something from you in return."
"Whutchoo mean?"
"I'm just saying I know what he's like. He'll get you that helicopter, but one hand washes the other is what he's going to tell me. But let me go talk to him, okay? See what he says."
"If he s'pects me to let go Dolly, he's dreamin'. Dolly stayin' with us till we on that jet."
"What jet?"
"Dolly tole you we . . ."
"No, not me. Maybe she told the other negotiator."
"We want a jet to take us to Jamaica."
Eileen was thinking he'd been standing there in the window for the past three, four minutes now, a clean shot for any of the Tac Team sharpshooters. But Sonny was still somewhere in the darkness of that room. And Sonny was strapped with a nine-millimeter auto.
