He belches.
“Any word on the SWAT team?” I whisper to the uniforms without looking over at them. I’m keeping my eye on my target. That bit Ceepak said about being a quick draw? Nobody’s that quick. That was his way of telling me to take the shot if his dad makes a move for the big green button I see blinking near his gut in the center of the control panel.
“They’re scrambling out of their barracks, getting their tactical gear together,” says Jack Getze, who’s in radio contact with the Staties. “E.T.A. thirty-five minutes.”
Geeze-o, man.
“The Chief and the mayor are also on their way,” Getze reports. “Officer Jen Forbus has Mrs. Ceepak and a friend. Young woman named Christine Lemonopolous.”
Guess we interrupted Christine’s Buckeye candy delivery plans.
“The ladies should be here in under five. By the way, the Chief says he’s bringing that sniper weapon Ceepak requested. Can you handle it, Danny?”
“I don’t know. Never tried. It’s a military weapon with a scope. You have to set it up on a tripod. I’m better off with my Glock.”
“You dudes gonna shoot Joe?” asks Shaun McKinnon.
“I hope not.”
“Me, too. Dude’s totally toasted. Doesn’t know what he’s saying or doing. That crap about flying to Cuba in a helicopter? Chopper would run out of gas, man. I think he and his son just have, you know, major issues.”
Yeah. Tell me about it.
“Was Joe Ceepak telling the truth?” I ask McKinnon, keeping my focus on the control booth. “Can you bring the ride down safely and slowly?”
“Theoretically,” says McKinnon. “I mean it’s in the manual. But, dude, it’s like you and that sniper rifle. I’ve never actually tried to do it.”
So now I’m feeling sorry for David Rosen even though I know he murdered his father. Sitting up there at 140 feet, watching the sun go down, maybe picking up a snatch or two of the drunken crazy talk down below. He’s probably wishing he had another cyanide pill.
I hear several sirens whining their way closer.
“That’s them,” reports Jack Getze, our radioman. “The Chief, the mayor, paramedics, dozen more uniforms …”
The sirens cut out.
I hear an army of booted feet charging up the boardwalk.
I take half a second to wipe the sweat off my brow.
It’s almost time for the first-ever Ceepak family reunion, right here in sunny, funderful Sea Haven. Should be special.
There might even be fireworks.
67
“Where are we, Boyle?” asks Chief Roy Rossi.
The way he says it, I know I can’t crack back with “
So I give him the short version of what’s been going down-including doing our best to stop a drunken bum from bopping a button that’ll send David Rosen hurtling to his death.
“I’ve heard good things about your shooting,” the Chief continues. “Can you handle this Sniper Weapon System if need be?”
“I could try.”
“Try?” This from Mayor Sinclair. “What kind of amateur operation are you running here, Chief Rossi?”
The Chief ignores the honorable jerk.
I take my eyes off Mr. Ceepak for two seconds. Do a quick visual sweep of the room. I see the Chief, the mayor, and maybe twelve other cops plus a couple paramedics from the rescue squad. The medics brought their big first-aid kit. And a body board with neck restraints.
But if David Rosen goes flying, none of their gear will do him any good. We’re gonna need a spatula.
All the uniforms have their weapons out and up, mirroring my stance, elbows on the countertop to steady their two-handed grips on their guns. It’s like we’ve set up a reverse shooting gallery at the front of the walk-up pizza stand. Instead of a dozen guns aiming into a booth, we’re all aiming out of one at a clown whose balloon definitely needs popping.
“You have seventeen minutes, Johnny,” snarls drunken Joe. “Seventeen minutes till I show everybody how that little girl up in Michigan died when she flew out of her seat on this very same ride.”
“Shut him up,” barks Mayor Sinclair. “What he’s saying isn’t true. This is not the same ride. It has been completely refurbished.”
“Be careful, everyone. Joe is a very angry drunk.”
I take my eyes off the target again. Glance over my shoulder.
Adele Ceepak is in the pizzeria. Christine is with her. Officer Jen Forbus escorts the two of them up to the counter.
“You okay, Danny?” asks Christine in a nervous whisper.
“Hanging in.”
“Who the hell are all those people over there?” snarls Joe Ceepak, who must’ve seen movement in the shadows.
“Not knowing, can’t say,” replies Ceepak, who is still standing like a brick wall halfway between the pizza place and the StratosFEAR control shack.
“Is he drinking vodka?” asks Mrs. Ceepak.
One of our guys with binoculars zooms in. “Clear bottle poking out of the bag. Could be gin or rum.”
“No, it’s vodka,” says Mrs. Ceepak. “He used to keep a bottle in the freezer. Slurp it down like it was maple syrup. How can I help here?”
“He wants one million dollars,” I say.
“Then he should try playing the lottery.”
Believe it or not, just about everybody chuckles a little when she says that.
“We need to buy some more time,” explains the Chief. “A State Police SWAT team is on its way.”
“Okay,” says Adele. “Should I go out there and promise him whatever he wants?”
“No.” This from Christine. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as sitting up there in David Rosen’s shoes,” says Mrs. Ceepak. “And don’t worry, hon. Johnny will watch out for me. He always has. My son is a very brave and courageous young man.”
I’m thinking he got a lot of that from his mom.
Chief Rossi squeezes the button on the battery-powered bullhorn he probably borrowed from Dylan Murray down in the parking lot.
“Mr. Ceepak? This is Chief Rossi, SHPD. Your ex-wife has arrived. She would like to come out and discuss your financial demands.”
“Hang on,” says Ceepak, inching backward. “Danny?”
“Locked and loaded.”
“Back-up?”
“Twelve. The target has been acquired.”
“That’ll work.” Ceepak moves a step closer to his father. “Sir? As you just heard, you ex-wife is willing to discuss your request.”
“Good. Go get her. Hurry. We’re down to twelve minutes.”
“If you make a move toward the control panel …”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard. Your buddy Boyle will blow my brains out. Now hustle, jarhead.”
