Standoff (15 page)

Ronnie's trial and sentencing; the Davison-Dendy

Standoff—a retrospective one year later.

She could do interviews with Special Agent Galloway, the Dendys, Ronnie's father, and Sheriff Montez. And the elusive Dr. Bradley Stanwick.

Of course it remained to be seen if Doc would agree to an interview, but anything was possible, and Tiel was an optimist.

For the next few days and weeks, she would be in the glare of the broadcast media spotlight. No doubt she would get a lot of ink, too, in newspapers and periodicals.

The TV station would benefit hugely from her national exposure. Ratings would soar. She would be the darling of the newsroom, and her popularity would extend to the carpeted offices upstairs.

Eat your heart out, Linda Harper.

Ronnie interrupted her reverie. "Ms. McCoy? Is this him?"

The videographer materialized out of the shadows be

yond the gasoline pumps. The camera weighted down his right arm, but it was also like an extension of it. He was rarely seen without it. "Yes, that's Kip."

Mentally she rehearsed what she was going to say as an open. This is Tiel McCoy, speaking to you from inside a convenience store in Rojo Flats, Texas, where a drama involving two

Fort Worth teenagers has been unfolding for the last several hours. As already reported, earlier today Ronnie Davison and

Sabra Dendy…

What was that? A twinge of conscience? She ignored it.

This was her job. This is what she did. Just as Dr. Stanwick had applied his skill to the emergency birth, she was now applying her particular skill to the situation. What was wrong with that? It wasn't exploitation.

It wasn't!

If Sam Donaldson found himself on a hijacked airliner and had an opportunity to feed a story to his network, would he decline to do so just because the lives of other people were in jeopardy? Hell, no. Would he tell the head honcho at his network that he didn't want to do the story at the risk of invading the privacy of his fellow hostages?

Don't make me laugh.

People made news. The most compelling stories were about people whose lives were in peril. The more immediate the danger, the more gripping the story. She hadn't created this situation to further her career. She was merely reporting on it. Sure, her career would benefit, but still, she was only doing her job.

Earlier today Ronnie Davison and Sabra Dendy fled their high school in defiance of parental authority—and ultimately in defiance of the law. These two young people are now engaged in a standoff with the FBI and other law enforcement agencies. I am one of their hostages.

Kip was at the door.

"How do I know he hasn't got a gun?" Ronnie asked nervously.

"He's a genius with a video camera, but I doubt he would know which end of a gun to point." It was true. Kip looked about as menacing as a marshmallow. Through a viewfinder, he saw the lighting and angles that would produce beautiful moving pictures. But he was woefully myopic when it came to seeing himself in a mirror. Or so it seemed. He was endearingly sloppy and ill-groomed.

Ronnie signaled Donna to activate the electronic lock.

Kip pushed his way inside. The door was relocked behind him. He jumped nervously when he heard the metallic click.

"Hi, Kip."

"Tiel. You okay? Gully's wound up tighter than an eight-day clock."

"As you can see, I'm fine. Let's not waste time. This is

Ronnie Davison."

Obviously Kip had expected a rough-looking thug, not the clean-cut, all-American boy Ronnie personified.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Where's the girl?" Kip asked.

"Lying down over there."

He looked in Sabra's direction and hitched his chin in greeting. "Hey."

Katherine was asleep in her mother's arms. Tiel noted that Doc was still sitting on the floor with his back to the freezer, where he could easily monitor Sabra but remain concealed by a revolving rack of snack food.

"Better get started," Kip said. "That Galloway was hyper about this taking no more than five minutes."

"I've got a few remarks to make first by way of intro,

then you can tape Ronnie's statement. We'll save Sabra and the baby for last."

Kip handed Tiel the wireless microphone, then swung the camera up onto his shoulder and fitted the viewfinder against his eye socket. The light mounted on top of the camera came on. Tiel took up a preplanned position, where the majority of the store's interior could be seen behind her. "Is this okay?"

"Fine by me. Sound level's okay. I'm rolling."

"This is Tiel McCoy." She made the brief opening remarks she had rehearsed. Her statement of the facts was impassioned but not maudlin, having just the right blend of empathy and professional detachment. She resisted the temptation to embellish, believing that Ronnie and

Sabra's comments would be more stirring than anything she could say.

When she finished, she signaled Ronnie forward. He seemed reluctant to move into the bright light. "How do I

know they won't take a shot at me?"

"While you're on camera and posing no immediate threat? The FBI has enough of a PR problem without the public outcry that would create."

Apparently he saw the logic in Tiel's argument. Moving into place, he cleared his throat. "Tell me when to go."

"You're on," said Kip. "Go."

"I didn't kidnap Sabra Bendy," he blurted. "We ran away. Simple as that. It was wrong of me to rob this store.

I admit that." He went on to explain that they had been driven away by Mr. Dendy's threat to separate them permanently from each other and their baby. "Sabra and I

want to get married and live together with Katherine as a family. That's all. Mr. Dendy, if you won't let us live our own lives, we'll end them right here. Tonight."

"Two minutes," Kip whispered, reminding them of the time limit.

"Very good, Ronnie." Tiel took the microphone from him and signaled Kip to follow her to where Sabra lay.

Quickly he positioned himself above her for the best possible camera angle.

"Be sure you're getting the baby, too," Sabra told him.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm rolling."

Ronnie had taken a typically masculine approach—aggressive, contentious, challenging. Sabra's statement was perhaps more eloquent, but equally and chillingly resolute.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't falter when she concluded with, "It's impossible for you to understand how we feel, Daddy, because you don't know what it's like to love someone. You say you only want what's best for me, but that's not true. You want what's best for you. You're willing to sacrifice me, you're willing to give up your granddaughter, just to have your way.

That's sad. I don't hate you. I pity you."

She ended just as Kip said, "Time's up." He turned off the camera and lowered it from his shoulder. "I don't want to go over the time limit and be the cause of all hell breaking loose."

As he and Tiel picked their way back toward the door, he said, "A guy named Joe Marcus has called the newsroom several times."

"Who?"

"Joe Mar—"

"Oh, Joseph."

"He was making such a pest of himself they finally patched him through to me here."

"How'd he know about this?"

"Same as everybody else, I guess," Kip replied. "Heard it

on the news. Wanted to know if you were all right. Said he was worried sick about you."

In the intervening hours since her telephone conversation with him, she'd almost forgotten the wife-cheating, lying rat with whom she had planned to spend a romantic holiday. It seemed a very long time ago that Joseph Marcus had held any appeal for her. She could barely remember what he looked like.

"If he calls again, hang up on him."

The unflappable photographer shrugged laconically.

"Whatever."

"And Kip, be sure and tell Galloway and company that

Agent Cain and the rest of us are faring well."

"Speak for yourself," Cain said. "You tell Galloway that I

said—"

"Shut up!" Ronnie yelled at him. "Or I'll let that Mexican muzzle you again."

"Go to hell."

Kip looked reluctant to leave Tiel in such a hostile environment, but a pair of headlights flashed twice. "That's my signal," he explained. "Gotta go. Take care, Tiel."

He slipped through the door and Ronnie motioned

Donna to lock it behind him.

Cain started laughing. "You're a fool, Davison. You think that video means doodle-dee-squat? Galloway only saw a way to stall a little longer, get more manpower in here."

Ronnie's eyes sawed between the FBI agent and Tiel, who shook her head. "I don't think so, Ronnie. You've talked to Galloway. He sounds sincerely concerned for everyone. I don't believe he would trick you."

"Then you're no smarter than he is." Cain snickered.

"Galloway's got a psychologist out there, coaching him on how to deal with this situation. They know how to smooth

talk. They know which buttons to push. Galloway's got over twenty years in the Bureau. This standoff is chicken feed to him. He could handle it in his sleep."

"Why don't you shut up?" Ronnie said angrily.

"Why don't you eat shit?"

Vern, who'd come awake for the TV camera, said, "Hey, watch your language in front of my wife."

"Never mind, Vern," Gladys said. "He's an asshole."

"I gotta go to the John," Donna whined.

"I want everybody to settle down and be quiet!" Ronnie yelled.

He looked haggard. He had composed himself for the camera, but now his nerves were beginning to fray again.

Fatigue, jangled nerves, and a loaded handgun made for a lethal combination.

Tiel could strangle Cain for goading him. In her opinion, the FBI would be better off without Agent Cain. "Ronnie, how about allowing us a bathroom break?" she suggested. "It's been hours for all of us. It may help everyone relax until we hear back from Galloway. What do you say?"

He thought it over. "You ladies. One at a time. Not the men. If they have to go, they can do it out here."

Donna excused herself first. Then Gladys. Tiel went last. While in the rest room, she rewound the audiotape in her pocket recorder and spot-checked it. Sabra's voice came through, muffled but distinct enough, saying about her father, "That's the kind of person he is. He hates to be crossed." She fast-forwarded, stopped it again, depressed the Play button, and heard Doc's gritty baritone. "… at everybody. At everything. Goddamn cancer. My own inadequacy.

"

Yes! She'd been afraid the tape had run out before that confidential conversation. He would be a fantastic guest

to have on Nine Live. If she could persuade him to do it.

She would just have to, that's all. She would begin the program with file footage of his travails following his wife's death, then ask for an updated viewpoint on those unhappy events that had reshaped his life. They could segue into a discussion about destroyed dreams. A psychologist, possibly a clergyman, could join them to expand on that theme: What happens to one's spirit when one's world falls apart?

Excited by the prospect, she replaced the recorder in her pocket, used the toilet, and washed her face and hands. By the time she came out, Vern was headed toward the men's room to empty the bucket the men had used.

As Vern passed Cain, he asked Ronnie, "What about him?"

"No. Unless you're volunteering to unzip him and do the honors."

Vern snorted and continued on his way. "Looks like you're gonna have to wet yourself, G-man."

The Mexican men, catching the gist of the exchange, snorted with ridicule.

Tiel rejoined Doc, whose gaze was fixed on the two men seated near the refrigerated cabinet with the shattered glass door. Tiel followed the direction of his thoughtful stare. "I wonder about that," he murmured.

"What?"

"The two of them."

'Juan and Two?"

"Pardon?"

"I nicknamed the short one Juan. The taller one—"

"Two. I get it."

He turned away and resumed his spot near Sabra. Tiel looked at him quizzically as she sat down beside him.

"What's bothering you about them?"

He raised one shoulder in a shrug. "Something's out of joint."

"Like what?"

"I can't put my finger on it. I noticed them when they first came into the store. They were acting weird even then."

"In what way?"

"They were heating up food in the microwave, but I got the impression they weren't really here for a snack. It was like they were killing time. Waiting on something. Or someone."

"Hmm."

"I picked up this… I don't know… bad vibe." He chuckled with self-deprecation. "I was leery of them, but never in a million years would I have looked twice at Ronnie

Davison. Just goes to show how misleading first impressions can be."

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. I noticed you when you came into the store."

Inquisitively, he arched an eyebrow.

The directness of his stare was both exciting and unsettling.

It caused a fluttering in her tummy. "You cast an imposing silhouette, Doc, especially with your hat on."

"Oh. Yeah. I've always been tall for my age."

It was meant as a joke, and it worked to the extent that

Tiel was able to resume breathing.

Then he said, "Thanks for honoring my request not to be on camera."

Conscience was more than a twinge this time. It was a jabbing needle and much harder to ignore. She mumbled an appropriate response, then, eager to change the subject, gestured toward Sabra. "Any change?"

"Bleeding's increased again. Not as bad as before. I

should get her to nurse the baby again. It's been over an hour, but I hate to disturb her while she's sleeping."

"They're probably already watching that video. Maybe she'll be in a hospital soon."

"She's a trooper. But she's exhausted."

"So is Ronnie. I see signs of disintegration. I wish I

hadn't watched all those dramas about hostage situations

—fiction and non. The longer something like this drags on, the more excitable everyone becomes. Nerves snap. Tempers flare."