threat. He taped her wrists together, and moved on to the elderly bald man.
“Give me your cane. You ain’t going to be needing it anytime soon. We’re not going anywhere.”
The old man did as he was told. Sherm slid it across the floor toward me and wrapped his hands together too.
“You boys are in a lot of trouble,” the old man observed.
“No shit?” Sherm scoffed. “Thanks for letting us know, Pops. I hadn’t figured that out yet. Anything else you want to let us in on?”
“Why make it worse by taking hostages? Why not just let us go?”
“I’m sorry, your name is?”
“Roy. Roy Kirby.”
“Well, Roy, the reason I’m not letting you go is so if the cops bust in here with tear gas and pepper grenades and laser sights and body armor and all that shit, I can use you as a human shield. I figure that’s why you survived your heart attack— for me to use as cannon fodder. Sound good?”
“Then keep me,” Roy offered, “and let the others go. At least let the boy have a chance.”
“Sorry. No.”
“But he’s just a little boy.”
“And you’re just an old man. But both of you will make excellent cannon fodder. You know what I’m saying?”
“I’ll pray for you,” Roy said.
“You do that, Pops. But I think Martha over there has that covered already.”
He kicked the cane closer to me, pushed Roy back against the wall, and moved on to the next hostage— the comic book geek, whose real name turned out to be Oscar. After Oscar came Dugan, the bearded guy with the crush on the older teller.
“Dugan? That your first name or your last?”
He eyed Sherm like he was a squashed bug. “None of your business.”
While Sherm taped Dugan’s wrists, I checked John’s pulse. It took me a moment to find it, but it was there— weak and slow— but still there. He moaned, beginning to regain consciousness. I could only imagine the agony he’d be in when he woke up. My own pain was coming back as well, now that the adrenaline rush had left my body. My head hurt so bad that my vision blurred. I tried not to let on and stood back up, using my foot to keep the pressure on his makeshift tourniquet.
“How is he?” Sherm asked.
“Not good. Not good at all. He’s going to die, Sherm. You know that, right? Kelvin shot him in the stomach. He’s going to fucking die.”
“Nothing we can do about that now, Tommy.”
“He’s our friend, man. Of course we can do something about it. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Benjy stirred in excitement.
“I can help him, Mr. Tommy. I really can.”
“Sit down, kid,” Sherm warned him, finishing up with Dugan’s hands.
“Benjy!” His mother looked anxious again.
“It’s okay,” I told her, and turned to Benjy. “Sit down for me, buddy. Okay?”
Pouting, he let out a frustrated sigh but did as he was told. I thought of T. J., doing the exact same thing when Michelle told him to turn off Justice League Adventures and get ready for church.
“What’s your name?” I asked his mother.
“Sheila.”
“Okay. Just try to keep him still, all right?”
She nodded.
“That man is going to go see Jesus soon if we don’t help him. Or maybe the monster people. Tell them, Mommy. Make them believe me.”
She pulled him close and whispered something in his ear. Benjy leaned back against the wall and folded his arms, clearly unhappy with this turn of events.
Meanwhile, Sherm had moved on to the older teller, Sharon. She grimaced in pain as he pressed her wrists together.
“Does that hurt?” he grinned.
She nodded, and Sherm pressed down harder, leering.
“Leave her alone,” Dugan growled, “or so help me I’ll—”
Sherm wheeled on him, shoving the barrel of the .357 under his nose. Dugan didn’t even flinch. He had some big brass balls, I’ll give him that.
“You’ll what? Kick my ass? Kill me? Motherfucker, you are in no position to threaten me. I’m in charge. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“I don’t care what you do to me, but if you hurt Sharon, I’ll come back from the grave just to watch you fry.”
The light went on in Sherm’s eyes. He stood up, grinned at me, and looked back down at them.
“Ohhhhh, I get it. I see now. You’re slipping her the old salami. Goddamn, why didn’t you just say so, Dugan? It’s cool, man. You’re popping the old Viagra and Sharon here is your piece of ass, and you don’t want anybody else sticking their dick in her. Shit, I can respect that. Here’s to you, player.”
Dugan sputtered, his face turning scarlet.
“You foul-mouthed little white trash punk. Take this damn tape off of my hands and we’ll see how tough you are.”
Sherm’s grin vanished, his voice growing serious again.
“Relax. She’s all yours, Dugan. And Tommy there can have Sheila. Old women and milfs don’t do it for me.”
“What’s a milf?” Roy whispered.
“Mom I’d Like To Fuck,” Oscar mouthed back.
Roy closed his eyes and shook his head.
Sherm ignored them and turned his attention to the young, blond teller.
“Now you on the other hand . . .” He ripped off another piece of duct tape and crouched down beside her. “What’s your name, girl?”
“K-k-kim.”
“Kim.” He rolled it around on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name. Yo, Kim, check this shit out. I’m gonna be a rich man, soon as I get out of here. Maybe you can come with me. We’ll go live in the Bahamas and shit, run around naked all day and get high.”
He leaned forward to kiss her and she shut her eyes, cringing against the wall. Sherm finished binding her hands, then grabbed her face with one hand and drew her toward him.
“C’mon, baby, what do you say? Dude like me and a fine girl like you? You don’t have to be a star to be in my show. Give me those seven digits so I can give you a call when this is over.”
“F-fuck off, you piece of shit.” The curses sounded strange coming out of her mouth, as if she wasn’t used to saying them.
Sherm’s eyes grew wide, but his response was cut off as Keith burst into laughter. Tears streamed down the manager’s face, leaking from his swollen eye. His busted lip pulled back in a sneer as he chuckled.
“Good for you, Kim.”
Sherm finished with Kim and stood up, turning his full attention to Keith.
“I saved the best for last.”
Sherm stepped toward him and Keith stopped laughing. Suddenly, he looked very small and very afraid.
“Tommy, make sure they stay quiet. Keith and I are gonna go have a nice, private talk.”
“But what about the cops?”
“Five-oh won’t be bothering us for a while. They’re still trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.”
“How do you know that?”
“These cops weren’t responding to the robbery. I’m sure of that. When a silent alarm gets triggered, the police dispatcher puts it out to the cars immediately. They get this strong-ass warning tone on their radios— they
