what same-sex marriage meant.
“Well, you see, Megan, some girls like girls, so they marry girls. And some boys like boys, so they marry boys.”
Owen picked up his cellphone from the counter and dialed home. No answer. He tried Max’s mobile, but it switched him over immediately to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message.
He was pulling out some change to pay his check when someone said, “Hey, turn the sound up. Where’s that happening?”
The TV screen showed the front of a Chase bank. The banner said
“What’s going on, Daddy?”
“Someone’s robbing a bank,” the man said.
“Why?”
“Because he wants their money.”
“Will they give it to him?”
“If they do, he’ll have to give it back. It belongs to other people.”
According to the reporter on the scene, the robbery had begun barely twenty minutes ago, but the bank was already surrounded by police. A sweep of the camera showed snipers on the corners of buildings across the street. Helicopters hovered overhead. The amazing thing, the reporter said, was that the robber was a senior citizen, apparently a doctor, who was holding a woman employee hostage.
“Hey, don’t you want your change?” the counterman called out, but Owen was gone.
Lieutenant Nat Saperstein was hoping the hostage negotiation guys would get there soon, but word was they were hung up on the FDR. In the meantime it was his show, until such time as the SWAT team should get the go- ahead to take over. He had snipers on the roofs and an offensive football team of beefy guys blocking the only other exit. There was no way this scumbag was getting away, though why a doctor in his seventies or eighties suddenly gets it into his head to rob a bank, well, you have to wonder.
“Loo, we got a possible lever here.”
Saperstein put down his binoculars and turned to see a uniform holding on to the arm of a young man, teenager really.
“Kid says the guy inside is his father.”
“Oh yeah? You got some ID?”
“He’s actually my uncle, but he adopted me. He’s been losing it lately. He was talking about robbing a bank, but I never thought he was serious.”
“Like I said, got some ID?”
Owen pulled out his wallet and showed him his driver’s licence. “Please don’t shoot him,” he said. “He’s not going to hurt anybody.”
Saperstein looked from the licence photo to Owen and back again. “Maxwell? Good news, kid. It ain’t your uncle in there.”
“I’m telling you, it’s him. I saw him on TV, through the front window when he was closing the blinds. He’s not using his real name. He was going to make it something Jewish. He’s always wanted to play a Jew.”
“What are you, Ku Klux Klan? ‘Play a Jew.’ You think robbing banks is playing a Jew? Get this asshole outta here.”
The uniform made a move to grab Owen again.
“Pfeffernan! Dr. Pfeffernan-that was the name he was gonna use.”
The lieutenant’s face changed now. He gestured at the uniform to let go of the kid. “Okay, son, you have my attention. Tell me more.”
“His name is Magnus Maxwell-Max. He’s British. A former actor. He likes to play different roles. He said he wanted to do an educated Jewish New Yorker, a doctor.”
Saperstein looked him over. The kid looked sincere, and sincerely scared.
Owen went through his wallet and found an old photo of him and Max together at Niagara Falls. “This is him.”
Saperstein looked at the photo, raised his eyebrows.
“He looks pretty different, kid.”
“That’s his theatrical training. He loves wigs and makeup, the whole deal. If you let me talk to him, I’m sure I can get him to come out.”
“You’re welcome to try.” He keyed in a number on his cellphone and handed it to Owen.
An American voice answered, a New York voice. “You’re trying my patience here, Lieutenant. How many times do I have to tell you: move your men back.”
“Max,” Owen said into the phone, “it’s me. Owen. You have to give this up. You have to quit while you’re ahead.”
“I’m sorry, young man. You must have the wrong number.” There was a click.
“He hung up on me,” Owen said, handing the phone back.
“That’s okay, kid, you did your best. Negotiation team’ll be here in a-Hey, wait a second!”
Owen took off and ran straight through the crime scene tape. He was in the cordoned-off area, trying not to think of the snipers positioned above him. The front door was open; he was able to walk right in.
“Owen, me lad. What brings you here?”
The actual sight of Owen shook Max into dropping the American accent. He was in his surgical scrubs, seated in one of two executive chairs that had been pulled from offices. The other was occupied by a black woman with big gold earrings. A telephone on a long extension cord was on the floor between them.
“This is Miss Leary,” Max said. “She’s playing the role of hostage, though with a disappointing lack of conviction. I let the others go.”
“Oh, you an Englishman now?” Miss Leary said. “Why don’t you make up your mind who you are before you go robbing banks? You know this man?” she said to Owen. “Would you inform him, please, that his ass is in a world of trouble?”
“You have to let her go,” Owen said. “There must be a hundred cops out there. Snipers. Helicopters. The works.”
“Well, yes, that’s the point,” Max said. “If I let Miss Leary go, all those guns are very likely to go off.”
“Max,” Owen said, “the show is over. You’re not getting out of this. The only question is how hard you want to make it on yourself. The sooner you let her go, the easier things will be.”
“The sooner I’ll be back in Sing Sing, you mean.”
“Don’t you talk trash to this boy when he’s telling you the truth,” Miss Leary said. “Mister, I get the feeling you a whole lot dumber than you look.”
“Madam, can you not at least try to understand your role?” Max said. “Could we have some cowering, please? Some begging? Quivering?”
“The only person going to be begging around here,
“Casting problems,” Max said to Owen. “Make an error in casting and no amount of good writing or good direction can make up for it. Look what I’m stuck with.” He gestured at Miss Leary as if she had been delivered to his door by mistake.
“You think you in some kind of movie here? This my life we’re talking about. Yours too, and this sensible young man’s as well.”
“Madam, you don’t know him,” Max said. “He’s the least sensible person I’ve ever met. Wants to be an actor.”
“Max,” Owen said, “I told them you’d let her go, that you don’t really want to hurt anyone.”
“Thank you for that, Owen. That’s very helpful. I do hope your acting career takes off, because you’re not what I’d call a first-class negotiator.”
“Young man, would you tell this old party to undo this handcuff?” Miss Leary pulled up on her manacle, shaking it. “Believe it or not, I do not enjoy being held prisoner in my place of employment.”
