The Bachman Books

making the quilt shimmy. Poked his head up again and fined at the police cars parked across the street. Blew in one window. And saw-

At the top of the street, a white station wagon and a white Ford van. Written in blue letters on the sides of both was:

WHLM NEWSBEAT

CHANNEL 9

Panting, he crawled back to the window that looked out on the Upslingers' side yard. The news vehicles were crawling slowly and dubiously down Crestallen Street. Suddenly a new police car shot around them and blocked them off, tires smoking. An arm dressed in blue shot out of the cruiser's back window and began waving the newsmobiles off.

A bullet struck the windowsill and jumped into the room at an angle.

He crawled back to the easy chair, holding the Magnum in his bloody right hand and screamed: 'Fenner!'

The fire slackened a little.

'Fenner! ' he screamed again.

'Hold on! ' Fenner yelled. 'Stop! Stop a minute! '

There were a few isolated pops, then nothing.

'What do you want?' Fenner called.

'The news people! Down behind those cars on the other side of the street! I want to talk to them! '

There was a long, contemplative pause.

'No! ' Fenner yelled.

'I'll stop shooting if I can talk to them!' That much was true, he thought, looking at the battery.

'No! ' Fenner yelled again.

Bastard, he thought helplessly. Is it that important to you? You and Ordner and the rest of you bureaucratic bastards?

The firing began again, tentatively at first, then gaining strength. Then, incredibly, a man in a plaid shirt and blue jeans was running down the sidewalk, holding a pistol-grip camera in one hand.

'I heard that!' the man in the plaid shirt yelled. 'I heard every word! I'll get your name, fella! He offered to stop shooting and you-'

A policeman hit him with a waist-high flying tackle and the man in the plaid shirt crunched to the sidewalk. His movie camera flew into the gutter and a moment later three bullets shattered it into winking pieces. A clockspring of unexposed film unwound lazily from the remains. Then the fire flagged again, uncertainly.

'Fenner, let them set up! ' he hollered. His throat felt raw and badly used, like the rest of him. His hand hurt and a deep, throbbing ache had begun to emanate outward from his thigh.

'Come out first! ' Fenner yelled back. 'We'll let you tell your side of it! '

Rage washed over him in a red wave at this barefaced lie. 'GODDAMMIT, I'VE GOTA BIG GUN HERE AND I'LL START SHOOTING AT GAS TANKS YOU SHITBIRD AND THERE'LL BE A FUCKING BARBECUE WHEN I GET DONE! '

Shocked silence.

Then, cautiously, Fenner said: 'What do you want?'

'Send that guy you tackled in here! Let the camera crew set up! '

'Absolutely not! We're not giving you a hostage to play games with all day!'

A cop ran over to the listing green sedan bent low and disappeared behind it. There was a consultation.

A new voice yelled: 'There's thirty men behind your house, guy! They've got shotguns! Come out or I'll send them in!' Time to play his one ratty trump. 'You better not! The whole house is wired with explosive. Look at this!'

He held the red alligator clip up in the window.

'Can you see it?'

'You're bluffing! ' the voice called back confidently.

'If I hook this up to the car battery beside me on the floor, everything goes!'

Silence. More consultation.

'Hey!' someone yelled. 'Hey, get that guy!' He poked his head up to look and here came the man in the plaid shirt and jeans, right out into the street, no protection, either heroically sure of his own profession or crazy. He had long black hair that fell almost to his collar and a thin dark moustache.

Two cops started to charge around the V-parked cruisers and thought better of it when he put a shot over their heads.

'Jesus Christ what a snafu! ' somebody cried out in shrill disgust.

The man in the plaid shirt was on his lawn now, kicking up snow-bursts. Something buzzed by his ear, followed