Standoff (7 page)

If Donna were telling the truth, no one would be coming through the rear door silently. Ronnie would be signaled of an attempt well ahead of time.

"What about the rest rooms?" he wanted to know. "Any windows in them?"

She shook her head no.

"It's true," Gladys chirped. "I was in the ladies'. If you ask me, better ventilation wouldn't hurt."

Those worries laid to rest, Ronnie divided his attention among Sabra, his hostages, and the increasing movement outside, which was more than enough to keep him occupied.

Tiel excused herself from Sabra's side and asked

Ronnie if she could get into her satchel. "My contacts are dry. I need my wetting solution."

He glanced quickly toward the bag where it sat on top of the counter. She'd left it there after retrieving the hand

wash for Doc. He seemed to be debating the advisability of granting her permission when she said, "It won't take a sec. I can't be away from Sabra long. She likes having another woman nearby."

"Okay. But I'm watching you. Don't think I'm not."

The young man's bravado was affected. He was scared and frazzled, but he still had his finger on the trigger of the pistol. Tiel didn't want to be the one responsible for sending him over the edge.

She moved to the counter where Ronnie could see her digging into her satchel in search of the small vial of solution.

She uncapped it and tilted her head back to apply the drops. "Damn," she cursed softly, holding a finger over her eye. She then removed her contact lens, dug around in the bag for another bottle of solution and proceeded to clean the lens in a small pool of solution in her palm.

Without turning to look at Gladys and Vern, she spoke to them in a whisper. "Does your camera have a tape in it?"

Vern—bless him—was inspecting a loose cuticle on his left hand and looking about as conspiratorial as an altar boy. "Yes, ma'am."

"Fresh batteries too," Gladys added as she folded her crew sock down to form a cuff around her ankle. She inspected it, then, deciding she liked it better the other way, rolled it back up. "It's all set to go. Get ready. We've got a distraction planned."

"Wait—"

Before Tiel could finish, Vern went into a fit of coughing.

Gladys leaped up, tossed their tote bag onto the counter within Tiel's reach, then started whacking her husband hard between his shoulder blades. "Oh, Lord,

Vern, not one of your strangling spells. Of all times to get choked on your own spit. For mercy's sake!"

Tiel popped in her contact and blinked it into place.

Then, as everyone including Ronnie was watching the old man gasp and gurgle in an effort to regain his breath while Gladys smacked away as though beating a rug, she reached into the tote bag for the camera.

She was familiar enough with home recorders to know where the power switch was located. She flipped it on and punched the Record button. She then set it on a shelf, wedging it between cartons of cigarettes and praying it wouldn't be noticed. She didn't have high hopes for the quality of the picture, but amateur videos had proved invaluable in the past, including the Zapruder film of JFK's assassination and the disturbing video of the Rodney King beating in Los Angeles.

Vern's coughs subsided. Gladys asked Ronnie's permission to get a bottle of water for him.

Tiel replaced the contact-lens cleaner and wetting solution in her bag and was about to withdraw her hand when she spotted her audiocassette recorder. She sometimes used the minuscule recorder during interviews as a supplement to the video recording. Later, when writing her script, she didn't have to sit in an editing booth and watch the video in order to hear the interview. She could replay it on the tiny recorder.

She hadn't intentionally brought it along. It was a tool of her trade, not a vacation item. But there it was, buried in the bottom of her bag, looking to her like a broadcast news icon waiting to be excavated. She imagined it radiating a shimmering, golden aura.

She palmed the recording device and slipped it into the pocket of her slacks just as Sabra gave a sharp cry. Franti

cally, Ronnie looked around for Tiel. "I'm coming," she told him.

Giving the elderly thespians a thumbs-up as she stepped around them, she rushed back to Sabra's side.

Doc looked worried. "Her pains have slowed down somewhat, but when she has one it's acute. Where the hell is that doctor? What's taking so long?"

Tiel blotted Sabra's sweating forehead with a pad of gauze she had moistened with cool drinking water. "When he—or she—does get here, how effective can he be? What will he be able to do under these circumstances?"

"Let's just hope he has some experience with breech births. Or maybe he'll be able to convince Ronnie and

Sabra that a C-section is mandatory."

"And if neither is the case… ?"

"It will be bad," he said grimly. "For all concerned."

"Can you do without a bulb syringe?"

"Hopefully the doctor will bring one. He should."

"What if she hasn't dilated… ?"

"I'm counting on nature taking its course. Maybe the baby will turn on its own. That happens."

Tiel stroked the girl's head. Sabra appeared to be dozing.

The final stages of labor hadn't even begun, and already she was exhausted. "It's good she can take these short naps."

"Her body knows that later it'll need all the strength it can muster."

"I wish she didn't have to suffer."

"Suffering is a bitch, all right," he said, almost to himself.

"The doctor can give her an injection to relieve the pain. Something that won't harm the fetus. But only up to a point. The closer she gets to delivery, the greater the risk of giving her drugs."

"What about a spinal? Don't they administer that in the final stages of labor?"

"I doubt he'll try to do a block under these conditions, although he might feel confident enough."

After a moment of thought, Tiel said, "I think going the natural route is nuts. I guess that makes me a disgrace to womankind."

"You have children?" When his eyes connected with hers, it felt like she had been poked lightly just below her navel.

"Uh, no." She quickly lowered her gaze from his. "I'm just saying that if and when I ever do, I want drugs with a capital D."

"I understand completely."

And Tiel got the impression that he did. When she looked at him again, he had returned his attention to

Sabra. "Do you have children, Doc?"

"No."

"Earlier you made a comment about daughters that led me to think—"

"No." His fingers loosely encircled Sabra's wrist, as his thumb pressed her pulse point. "I wish I had a blood-pressure cuff. And surely he'll bring a fetoscope."

"That…"

"Monitors the fetal heartbeat. Hospitals now use fancy ultrasound devices. But I'd settle for a fetoscope."

"Where did you get your medical training?"

"What really concerns me," he said, ignoring her question,

"is whether or not he'll perform an episiotomy."

Tiel winced at the thought of the incision and the delicate area subjected to it. "How could he?"

"It won't be pleasant, but if he doesn't, she could easily tear and that'll be even more unpleasant."

"You're doing my nerves no good, Doc."

"I imagine all our nerves have had better days." Again he raised his head and looked across at her. "By the way,

I'm glad you're here."

The look was just as intense, the eyes as compelling, as before, but this time she didn't chicken out and look away. "I'm not doing anything constructive."

"Simply being with her is doing a lot. When she's having a pain, encourage her not to fight it. Tensing the muscles and tissue surrounding the uterus only increases the discomfort. The uterus was made to contract. She should let it go about its business."

"Easy for you to say."

"Easy for me to say," he conceded with a wry smile.

"Breathe with her. Take deep breaths inhaled through the nose, exhaled through the mouth."

"Those deep breaths will help me, too."

"You're doing fine. She feels comfortable with you. You neutralize her shyness."

"She admitted to being shy with you."

"Understandable. She's very young."

"She said you don't look like a doctor."

"No, I don't suppose I do."

"Are you?"

"Rancher."

"You're a real cowboy then?"

"I breed horses, run a herd of beef cattle. I drive a pickup truck. I guess that makes me a cowboy."

"Then where'd you learn—"

The ringing of the telephone brought their private conversation to a halt. Ronnie snatched up the receiver.

"Hello? I'm Ronnie Davison. Where's the doctor?"

He paused to listen, and Tiel could tell by his expression that he was hearing something that distressed him.

"FBI? How come?" Then he blurted, "But I didn't kidnap

her, Mr. Galloway! We were eloping. Yes, sir, she's my main concern too. No. No. She refuses to go to a hospital."

He listened longer, then glanced at Sabra. "Okay. If the phone'll reach." He dragged the telephone to Sabra, stretching the cord as far as it would go. "The FBI agent wants to talk to you."

Doc said, "It won't hurt her to stand up. In fact, it might do her good."

He and Tiel supported Sabra beneath the arms and together assisted her to her feet. She baby-stepped far enough to take the extended receiver from Ronnie.

"Hello? No, sir. What Ronnie told you is true. I'm not leaving without him. Not even to go to the hospital. Because of my daddy! He said he'll take away my baby, and he always does what he says." She sniffed back tears. "Of course I came with Ronnie voluntarily. I—" She caught her breath and gripped a handful of Doc's shirt.

He lifted her and carried her back to the makeshift birthing bed, depositing her gently. Tiel knelt beside her and, as Doc had instructed, coaxed Sabra to relax, not to fight the contraction, and to breathe.

Ronnie was speaking anxiously into the telephone. "Listen here, Mr. Galloway, Sabra can't talk anymore. She's having a contraction. Where's the doctor we were promised?" He glanced through the plate glass. "Yeah, I

see him. You bet I'll let him in."

Ronnie slammed down the receiver and dropped the phone back onto the counter. He started for the door, then, realizing how exposed he would be to sharpshooters, ducked behind the Frito-Lay display again. "Cashier, wait until he's at the door before you unlock it. Then, as soon as he comes through, relock it. Understand?"

"What d'ya think, I'm stupid?"

Donna waited until the doctor was pushing on the door

before she flipped the switch. He came inside, and everyone in the store, including the young doctor, heard the metallic click when the door relocked.

Nervously he glanced over his shoulder at it before introducing himself. "I'm, uh, Dr. Cain. Scott."

"Move over here."

Dr. Scott Cain was a handsome man of medium height and build, in his early to mid-thirties. Wide-eyed, he scanned the people huddled in a group in front of the counter. Gladys waved at him.

His gaze swung back to Ronnie. "I was making my rounds at County when I was paged. Never would've guessed I'd be called in on an emergency like this."

"With all due respect, Dr. Cain, we're short on time."

Tiel shared Doc's impatience. The wet-behind the-ears

Dr. Cain was obviously awed to find himself a player in such high drama. He hadn't fully grasped the seriousness of the situation.

Doc asked if he'd been apprised of Sabra's condition.

"I was told she was in labor and that there might be complications."

Doc motioned him toward the prone girl. "Is it okay?"

Cain asked Ronnie, glancing fearfully at the pistol.

"Open up your bag."

"Huh? Oh, sure." He unlatched the black valise and held it open for Ronnie's inspection.

"Okay, go ahead. Help her, please. She's in a bad way."

"It would seem so," the doctor remarked as a contraction seized Sabra and she moaned.

Reflexively she reached for Tiel's hand. Tiel held on tight and spoke to her encouragingly. "The doctor's here,

Sabra. Things are going to get better now. I promise."

Doc was providing the doctor with pertinent information.

"She's seventeen. This is her first child. First preg

nancy." They took up positions near the girl, Doc on

Sabra's right side, Dr. Cain at her feet, Tiel on her left.

"How long has she been in labor?"

"Preliminary contractions started mid afternoon Her water broke about two hours ago. Pains escalated sharply after that, then for the last half hour they've tapered off."

"Hi, Sabra," the doctor said to the girl.

"Hi."

He placed his hands on her stomach and examined the mound with light, massaging squeezes.

"Breech, right?" Doc asked, seeking confirmation of his diagnosis.

"Right."

"Do you think you can turn the fetus?"

"That's very tricky."

"Do you have experience in breech births?"

"I've assisted."

That wasn't the hoped-for answer. Doc asked, "Did you bring a blood-pressure cuff?"

"In my bag."

The doctor continued to examine Sabra by gently probing her abdomen. Doc extended the blood-pressure cuff to him, but he declined to take it. He was speaking to

Sabra. 'Just relax, and everything will be all right."

She glanced at Ronnie and smiled hopefully. "How long before the baby comes, Dr. Cain?"

"That's hard to say. Babies have a mind of their own. I

would prefer taking you to the hospital while there's still time."

"No."

"It would be much safer for you and the baby."

"I can't leave on account of my father."

"He's very worried about you, Sabra. In fact, he's outside.

He told me to tell you—"

Her whole body jerked as though having a muscle spasm. "Daddy's here?" Her voice was high, thin, panicked.

"Ronnie?"

The news upset him as much as it had Sabra. "How'd he get here?"

Tiel patted the girl's shoulder. "It's okay. Don't think about your father now. Think about your baby. That's all you should be concerned with. Everything else will work out."