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Authors: Crais Robert
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seemed to consider her. Then he glanced at Thomas before smiling.
'What's your name?'
'Jennifer.'
'What's your last name?'
'Smith.'
'Okay, Jennifer Smith. And your old man?'
'Walter Smith.'
Dennis looked at Thomas.
'How about you, fat boy?'
'Eat me.'
Dennis grabbed Thomas's ear.
Thomas blurted out his name.
'Thomas!'
'Fat boy Thomas, you give me shit, I'm gonna beat your ass. Are we clear on that?'
'Yes, sir.'
Dennis let go of Thomas's ear.
'That's a good fat boy.'
Jennifer wished that he would just leave them alone, but he didn't. He smiled at her and lowered his voice.
'We're going to be here a while, Jennifer. Where's your bedroom?'
Jennifer blushed furiously, and Dennis smiled wider.
'Now don't think nasty thoughts on me, Jennifer. I didn't mean it like that. You look cold, wearing just the bikini top. I'll bring you a shirt. Cover up that fine body.'
She averted her eyes and blushed harder.
'It's upstairs.'
'Okay. I'll bring you something.'
Dennis told Mars to come with him, and then the two of them left. Kevin went to the window.
The phone rang again, but Kevin ignored it. The ringing went on forever.
Thomas nudged her knee again.
When she looked at him, his face was deathly white with pink blotches at the comers of his mouth. That was the face he got when he was angry. She knew he didn't like being called a fat boy.
He nudged her again, wanting to say something. She made sure that Kevin wasn't watching them, then mouthed the word more than spoke it.
'What?'
Thomas leaned close and lowered his voice even more. The pink spots at his mouth burned brightly.
'I know where Daddy has a gun.'
Chapter 5
Friday, 5:10 P.M.
Hostage (2001)
GLEN HOWELL
Glen Howell closed his cell phone after fifteen rings. He didn't like that. He was expected, and he knew that this person always answered his phone, and was irritated that now, him running late like this, the sonofabitch would pick now not to answer. In Glen Howell's world, lateness was not tolerated and excuses were less than useless. Punishment could be severe.
Howell didn't know why the streets leading into York Estates were blocked, but the traffic was at a standstill. He figured it had to be a broken gas line or something like that for them to close the entire neighborhood, backing up traffic and wasting everyone's time. Rich people didn't like to be inconvenienced.
The window on his big S-class Mercedes slid down without a sound. Glen craned out his head, trying to see the reason for the delay. A lone cop was working the intersection, waving some cars away. He let a television news van through. Glen raised the window again, the heavy tint cutting the glare. He took the .40-caliber Smith & Wesson from his pocket and put it in the glove box. He had a valid California Concealed Weapon Permit, but thought it best not to draw attention to himself if he had to get out of the car.
Glen checked his watch again for the fourth time in five minutes. He was already ten minutes late. At this rate, he would be still later. Three of the cars ahead of him turned away, one car was let through, and then it was his turn. The cop was a young guy, tall and rectangular with a protruding Adam's apple.
Glen lowered the window. The heat ballooned in, making him wish he was back in Palm Springs, instead of being an errand boy. He tried to look professional and superior, working the class distinctions, rich successful business dude, lowly uneducated public servant.
'What's going on, Officer? Why the roadblock?'
'Do you live here in the neighborhood, sir?'
Glen knew that if he lied, the cop might ask to see his driver's license for the address. Glen didn't want to get caught in a lie.
'I have a business appointment. My associate is expecting me.'
'We've got a problem in the neighborhood, so we've had to close the area. We're only admitting residents.'
'What kind of problem?'
The cop looked uncertain.
'Do you have family in the development, sir?'
'Just my
'What's your name?'
'Jennifer.'
'What's your last name?'
'Smith.'
'Okay, Jennifer Smith. And your old man?'
'Walter Smith.'
Dennis looked at Thomas.
'How about you, fat boy?'
'Eat me.'
Dennis grabbed Thomas's ear.
Thomas blurted out his name.
'Thomas!'
'Fat boy Thomas, you give me shit, I'm gonna beat your ass. Are we clear on that?'
'Yes, sir.'
Dennis let go of Thomas's ear.
'That's a good fat boy.'
Jennifer wished that he would just leave them alone, but he didn't. He smiled at her and lowered his voice.
'We're going to be here a while, Jennifer. Where's your bedroom?'
Jennifer blushed furiously, and Dennis smiled wider.
'Now don't think nasty thoughts on me, Jennifer. I didn't mean it like that. You look cold, wearing just the bikini top. I'll bring you a shirt. Cover up that fine body.'
She averted her eyes and blushed harder.
'It's upstairs.'
'Okay. I'll bring you something.'
Dennis told Mars to come with him, and then the two of them left. Kevin went to the window.
The phone rang again, but Kevin ignored it. The ringing went on forever.
Thomas nudged her knee again.
When she looked at him, his face was deathly white with pink blotches at the comers of his mouth. That was the face he got when he was angry. She knew he didn't like being called a fat boy.
He nudged her again, wanting to say something. She made sure that Kevin wasn't watching them, then mouthed the word more than spoke it.
'What?'
Thomas leaned close and lowered his voice even more. The pink spots at his mouth burned brightly.
'I know where Daddy has a gun.'
Chapter 5
Friday, 5:10 P.M.
Hostage (2001)
GLEN HOWELL
Glen Howell closed his cell phone after fifteen rings. He didn't like that. He was expected, and he knew that this person always answered his phone, and was irritated that now, him running late like this, the sonofabitch would pick now not to answer. In Glen Howell's world, lateness was not tolerated and excuses were less than useless. Punishment could be severe.
Howell didn't know why the streets leading into York Estates were blocked, but the traffic was at a standstill. He figured it had to be a broken gas line or something like that for them to close the entire neighborhood, backing up traffic and wasting everyone's time. Rich people didn't like to be inconvenienced.
The window on his big S-class Mercedes slid down without a sound. Glen craned out his head, trying to see the reason for the delay. A lone cop was working the intersection, waving some cars away. He let a television news van through. Glen raised the window again, the heavy tint cutting the glare. He took the .40-caliber Smith & Wesson from his pocket and put it in the glove box. He had a valid California Concealed Weapon Permit, but thought it best not to draw attention to himself if he had to get out of the car.
Glen checked his watch again for the fourth time in five minutes. He was already ten minutes late. At this rate, he would be still later. Three of the cars ahead of him turned away, one car was let through, and then it was his turn. The cop was a young guy, tall and rectangular with a protruding Adam's apple.
Glen lowered the window. The heat ballooned in, making him wish he was back in Palm Springs, instead of being an errand boy. He tried to look professional and superior, working the class distinctions, rich successful business dude, lowly uneducated public servant.
'What's going on, Officer? Why the roadblock?'
'Do you live here in the neighborhood, sir?'
Glen knew that if he lied, the cop might ask to see his driver's license for the address. Glen didn't want to get caught in a lie.
'I have a business appointment. My associate is expecting me.'
'We've got a problem in the neighborhood, so we've had to close the area. We're only admitting residents.'
'What kind of problem?'
The cop looked uncertain.
'Do you have family in the development, sir?'
'Just my
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