Will studied the map on the wall inside the security offices at Phipps Plaza. There were a thousand ways the hand-off between Reuben Figaroa and Virginia Souza could spin out of control. Deshawn Watkins, the chief of security, outlined a few of them for Amanda.
“There are four possible points of approach directly into level three.” Deshawn pointed out three different escalators and the elevator that serviced all three levels inside the main atrium. “Then there’s another set of escalators if you go through the Belk department store. One up, one down. Then there’s this elevator here inside Belk, and another elevator here at the street entrance. None of the main elevators go to the parking garage except this one here and here.”
Amanda said, “So, we’re effectively inside a sieve.” She looked at her watch. They were assuming that the meet would take place on the hour or half hour. She told Will, “It’s eleven-sixteen. If we get past noon, we’re going to have to rethink this. There’s no telling how many people will turn up here for lunch.”
Deshawn said, “You’re talking most of the people who work in the stores, a lot more kids. This place is filled by twelve-thirty.”
Will rubbed his jaw as he studied the map on the wall. The layout was familiar. He’d been to Phipps with Sara more times than he would’ve liked. The mall was three levels, stacked like a wedding cake with the smaller top tier pushed to the front. There was a round, open atrium that ran through all three floors. The railings were glass with polished wood and gold handrails. The elevator had a glass back. Will couldn’t help but be reminded of Marcus Rippy’s nightclub, though the ambience was the exact opposite. The floors were sparkling clean. Skylights brought in ample sunshine.
Reuben Figaroa sat in the food court area on the third level, the same as he’d been the entire time. He had picked a good location to trade off his son. Or maybe Virginia Souza had chosen the spot. Even on a Tuesday, the top level was a mecca for preschool children. The Legoland Discovery Center hosted Toddler Time every Tuesday morning. The movie theater was running a cartoon marathon. Kids weren’t the only problem. There was a large, open food court with several fast-food restaurants. Scattered through the rest of the mall were elderly mall walkers and shoppers perusing the over one hundred stores.
If Will was going to trade off a kid for money, this is where he’d do it.
Then again, they didn’t know whether or not Reuben Figaroa meant to make a trade.
A public place. A controlling man who owned a lot of guns. A terrified little boy. A woman who had built her life around hurting kids.
This could go like clockwork or it could go like hell.
Will mentally walked through the best-case scenario: Souza walks into the mall with Anthony. The good guys scoop up the kid and return him to his father. Second best: Souza manages to give them the slip as she makes her way to the food court, she trades Anthony for the money, the good guys isolate her on the second level, then make an arrest.
Will didn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario, the one where Reuben, who didn’t mind hitting women, demanded payback. The one where Virginia Souza had a gun or a knife and a kid in her hands. The one where they went to a second location that there was no way to control.
Then there was Laslo.
Then there was the possibility that Souza had an accomplice.
As the Mama in charge, she had her pick of young girls who would do her bidding. Any one of them—any two or three of them—could be posing as one of the young mothers in the food court.
Souza’s girls were street savvy. They would know what a cop looked like. They could warn Souza. They would have her back if the trade went south. They were all as feral as Angie, hardened and mean and desperate to do whatever it took to protect their family.
Amanda said, “She won’t take the elevators. That’s not a quick getaway.”
“It wouldn’t make sense to go down to the parking garage.” Deshawn pointed to the map again, the glass elevator in the atrium. “She’d have to go down two levels, then this is the closest exit. But we can keep the elevators from going down to the garage if you want.”
“Do that.” Will told Amanda, “Reuben has the knee brace. He won’t be able to move fast.”
“Let’s hope it’s not Reuben we’re following out of this mall.” Amanda asked Deshawn, “How would you get out of here? Down the escalators to the second level, then what?”
“Level one is the only way out.” Deshawn was still at the map. “If we take out the parking garage, there are twelve street entrances. Three each at Belk, Saks, and Nordstrom. Then we’ve got two more entrances off of Monarch Court and one more entrance off the Avenue of the South. Either one can take you to Peachtree or the Interstate. I’d go this exit at the valet parking station.”
“Makes sense,” Amanda said. “Reuben’s car is parked in front of Saks. He takes a right, he’s in the car, then onto the interstate.”
“Or home,” Will said, but Amanda’s look told him that she didn’t think it was likely.
Her radio clicked. She walked to the other side of the room, checking in with the team. Twelve uniformed cops from the APD’s Buckhead precinct were scattered around the mall. SWAT was on the roof and staked out across the buildings on the corner. Mall security was keeping to its regular rounds so as not to raise suspicion. Three of the GBI agents from the chase cars outside Reuben’s house were spread out near the escalators. The fourth was trailing Laslo, who had been casing the mall for the last hour and a half.
Angie was right about Reuben Figaroa. He had come early to give himself a tactical advantage. Which was good, because it had given Amanda time to set up her people, too.
Will’s biggest concern was, had Virginia Souza done the same?
All they had to identify the woman by was her last booking photo, which had been taken four years ago. Her long, stringy brown hair and smeared makeup made her look like central casting’s idea of an old whore. If Souza was as smart as Angie said, she’d know that she couldn’t walk into Phipps Plaza looking like herself. The mall was too high-end for her to go unnoticed.
Deshawn said, “We can call in maintenance, maybe put up a barrier on that escalator, make it look like it’s broken down.”
Will said, “I’m worried that might tip him off.”
“He doesn’t look jumpy.”
“No,” Will said, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. A composed man was a man who had made up his mind.
They could detain Reuben. You didn’t need cause to do that. But then Souza might have a spotter who warned her off, and the next time they saw Anthony, he would be in a gutter or on the internet.
Will looked at the bank of high-definition monitors on the wall. The displays were in full color. There was no need to toggle through the different security cameras. There were sixteen screens. The largest monitor, the one in the center of the wall, showed Reuben Figaroa.
He was sitting at the back of the food court, one level up from where Will stood. The open atrium was at his shoulder. There was no way he could escape over the side. Even a basketball star couldn’t survive a three-story fall. Fortunately, the tables immediately around him were vacant. The other shoppers were keeping a wide berth. The mothers seemed especially suspicious of a man sitting alone in the place where they had brought their children.
Reuben had come incognito, a Falcons hat tight on his bald head. A laptop was on the table in front of him. He was slumped in the chair in an attempt to conceal his height. His mustache and goatee had grown into a full beard because he was one of those guys who needed to shave every four hours. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans, not exactly combat gear, but close enough. A large duffel bag was at his feet. Because of the T-shirt, they knew he wasn’t wearing a gun, but the duffel bag was easily large enough to accommodate a rifle or an automatic machine gun or a handgun or all three.
Amanda was off the radio. She told Will, “Laslo just left the mall. He moved the car to the Ritz-Carlton. He’s parked in the valet lane. This is about to happen.”
Deshawn said, “He’ll leave out the Nordstrom side to get to the Ritz.”
“I’ll let SWAT know.” Amanda gave Will the radio, then headed toward the door. “Faith is on her way up. I’ll take my place. Will, be ready to move wherever you’re needed. Belt and suspenders.”
Deshawn picked up a desk phone. He told Will, “I’ll tell Nordstrom security we think they’re going to see some action.”
Will watched the monitors. The security office was right outside a single escalator that led to the top floor. Amanda held on to the handrail as she climbed. Like Reuben, she was in disguise, dressed in a pastel blue tracksuit and white T-shirt that she had picked up at one of the stores. Her big purse was empty except for her revolver and three speedloaders. She was wearing glasses. A floppy, white old lady hat was on her head. Like everyone else on the team, she wore an earbud that worked as a two-way radio, picking up her speech through a vibration in her jaw.
Instead of walking toward Reuben, she sat down at one of the tables outside Belk, about sixty feet away. She kept her back to him. Phil Brauer, one of the agents from the chase cars, was already at the table with two cups of coffee. They blended in well, passing for an old retired couple with time on their hands.
Amanda said, “We’re in place.”
Deshawn asked Will, “You sure we don’t just clean this place out?”
“It’ll tip her off.”
“That’s a big risk.”
“We’ve got someone inside the Legoland, another at the theater. We’ll lock down everything the moment there’s any sign of trouble.”
“What about the pedestrians?” He pointed to the monitor showing the food court. “There’s at least a dozen people there.”
Will had counted nine, including a table of four young mothers with babies in strollers. Amanda had placed herself between the women and Reuben Figaroa. “If we don’t get this kid today, then the woman who has him will trick him out to the nearest pedophile.”
“Jesus.” Deshawn let that sink in. “What’s your plan if she tries to run off with the kid, takes him hostage or something?”
Will tapped the rifle on his shoulder.
“Jesus.”
Faith entered the room. She was wearing the black suit she kept in the trunk of her car instead of her usual GBI blue shirt and kakis. Her gun was on her hip. She nodded at Deshawn, asking Will, “What’ve we got?”
“Amanda is here with Brauer. She put herself between Reuben and this table.” He pointed to the four young mothers. They were laughing. One of them was feeding her baby. Another was on her phone.
Faith said, “They can take cover inside the Belk if they need to.”
Will said, “We’ve got one of our guys inside Legoland. Store security knows to bring down the gate if there’s trouble. They’ve been keeping the kids to the back where there’s a birthday party. The gift store is at the front, so there aren’t a lot of potential problems there. Same with the movie theater. The cartoon lets out at noon, but we’ve got APD inside, behind the concession stand and at the mall exit, ready to lock them in place.” He showed her the map on the wall. “We’ve got the escalators covered here, here, here, and here.” He pointed to the corresponding area. “Laslo is parked across the street from here. SWAT is outside.”
“They’re good. I didn’t see them.”
“We gave all the store managers Souza’s booking photo. They’ve been told not to approach her. We didn’t want to pass the photo to the clerks and start a lot of chatter.”
“She’s not going to look like her booking photo.”
“It’s all we have.”
Faith stared at Reuben Figaroa. “I don’t like that duffel bag. Even with a million bucks in cash, it doesn’t need to be that big.”
Will followed her gaze to the monitors. Reuben was still sitting at the table, staring at his laptop. “We had one of our guys sitting near him, but Reuben got spooked, so we had to pull back.”
“He couldn’t tell what was in the bag?”
“No, but Reuben’s been looking at pictures of the wife and kid on the laptop, scrolling through them over and over again.”
“Who’s that?”
Will looked at the big monitor. A young woman was walking toward Reuben. She sat down three tables away. Her head was bent toward her phone. White earbuds disappeared into her hair. She was wearing what most of the other mothers were wearing, some variation on a gym outfit.
Reuben stared at the woman for a long while before turning back to his laptop.
Faith said, “Her shoes are wrong.”
Will looked at the red shoes. They were slip-ons. “You mean because she’s not wearing sneakers?”
“A woman who can sit around a mall on a Tuesday morning in her workout clothes doesn’t buy her shoes at Walmart.” She added, “Also, why is she here if she isn’t with a kid?”
Will studied the other women on the periphery of the food court. Invariably, they had some form of child attached to them, whether they were holding a baby or dragging a toddler away from the Legoland.
Deshawn said, “It’s eleven-twenty-eight.”
“Green jacket.” Faith stepped closer to the monitors. “That’s a woman, right?”
An androgynous-looking woman was waiting outside the elevator on the first level. She was wearing dark sunglasses and a Braves baseball cap with the brim pulled low. Her jeans were dark blue. The dark green jacket was zipped almost to her neck. Her hands were tucked into the pockets.
Deshawn said, “She doesn’t work here. At least not so that I’ve noticed.”
“Is that Souza?” Faith asked. “She could have the kid somewhere else, maybe in a car downstairs.”
A second location. The worst of the worst-case scenarios.
Will got on the radio. “We need a quiet sweep of the garage. Check for Anthony in a parked car.”
The woman pressed the elevator button again. Her hand went back into her jacket pocket. There was something furtive to her movements. She was clearly nervous.
Will clicked on the radio again. He told Amanda, “We might have someone in the elevator. Green jacket. Stand by.”
“10-4,” Amanda said.
“She doesn’t look young, right?” Faith practically had her nose touching the monitor. “The way she carries herself. She’s not talking on her phone or listening to music. It’s too hot for that jacket.”
Deshawn said, “We’ll see her face when she gets on the elevator.”
The doors slid open. Green Jacket didn’t look up as she got on. She kept her head down, hands still tucked deep into her pockets. The doors started to close, but her arm shot out, stopping it.
“Shit,” Faith said. Yet another woman was getting onto the elevator. Tall, blonde ponytail, dressed in a V-necked T-shirt and running shorts. She was trying to wrangle a two-seater baby stroller onto the elevator. An infant was in the front seat. A little girl dressed like a character from the Lego movie slept in the back.
“I don’t like this,” Faith said. “That’s two kids. Two hostages.”
As they watched, Green Jacket leaned down, gripping the front of the stroller and pulling it onto the elevator. There was an exchange of pleasantries before the doors closed. They silently rode up to the third level.
“She’s still not looking at the camera,” Faith said. “Nobody keeps their head down all of the time like that.”
Will held the radio to his mouth. “Green Jacket, getting off the elevator.”
Phil Brauer stood up from the table. He threw away his coffee cup in the trash can. Green Jacket helped the blonde maneuver the stroller out of the elevator, then walked toward the movie theater. Brauer sat down at another table. He put his phone to his ear. Will heard the man’s voice on the radio. “Can’t tell with the hat. She’s got dark hair. Looks about the right age.”
They all leaned closer to the screens. Green Jacket stood in front of the box office. She looked up at the board that showed the movie times.
“Is it her?” Faith asked. “I can’t—”
“Contact,” Amanda said.
Reuben Figaroa was standing up.
The blonde with the tandem stroller stood on the other side of his table.
Virginia Souza.
The bottom girl had cleaned up well. She had dyed her hair honey blonde instead of bleaching it. Her makeup was understated. Her clothes accentuated her body, but didn’t show off too much. The ponytail gave her a more youthful look. She had been here before, taking time to study the other women to make sure she would blend in.
“It’s Anthony,” Faith said.
She was right. Anthony was in the back of the stroller. He was dressed in pink. His legs were folded up underneath him. He was too big for the seat. His eyes were closed. They were shaped like Angie’s. His skin was Angie’s. His jeopardy was Angie’s.
Will clicked the radio. “It’s her. She has Anthony and an infant in the stroller. There’s a second woman, probably backup, three tables over, red shoes.”
Amanda said, “Alpha team, Delta team, lock down.”
She was closing off Legoland and the theater.
Faith asked, “What are they saying? They’re just standing there.”
There was obviously a terse exchange going on between Reuben and Souza. Will saw the man’s fists were tightly clenched. He kept looking at his son, then at Souza, like he couldn’t decide whether or not losing Anthony was worth the pleasure of killing her.
“She told him about her backup,” Faith guessed. “That’s the only reason he’s not on top of her. Red Shoes has to have a gun.”
“The iPad,” Will said, because he knew how these women worked. “Souza wants to put Reuben on the hook for more money. She thinks she can get the iPad from Angie.”
Amanda cut in. “Brauer texted. He can’t hear them. He can’t see what Red Shoes is doing. Can anyone see her hands?”
Will told her, “She’s got her phone in her lap.”
“The purse,” Faith said, because like almost every woman there, Red Shoes had a purse that could easily accommodate a handgun.
Phil Brauer moved his chair, turning sideways. He was holding out his cell phone like he needed glasses to read something, using his peripheral vision to check on Green Jacket.
She was still looking at the box office times. She still had her hands in her pockets.
Faith said, “They’re sitting down.”
Reuben was in his chair. He didn’t slump like before. His shoulders were straight. His legs were so long that his knees reached the other side of the small table. Souza had to keep her chair pulled back so that she could face him. Her mouth kept moving. She seemed blind to the effect her words were having.
Faith said, “This is taking too long. She’s worked men more than half her life. Why can’t she see that he’s about to explode?”
“Just go in.” Deshawn sounded desperate. “Why aren’t you guys moving? Nobody’s armed.”
“You don’t need a gun to throw a baby over the side of that balcony.”
“Jesus.”
Will squinted at the infant in the front seat of the stroller. “Can you tell if the baby is moving?”
Faith shook her head. “Where’s the diaper bag, the sippy cups, the extra blankets, the wipes?”
“You think it’s fake?”
“Why would she bring a baby? They’re too much trouble.” She said it again, “This is taking too long.”
Reuben Figaroa seemed to be thinking this same thing. He had his hands clasped together in his lap. He wasn’t reaching for his duffel bag. He wasn’t talking. He glared at Souza as she lectured him. His anger was like a third person at the table. Will could almost see the crank on his back winding tighter and tighter. Souza either had no idea what she was doing or she assumed that she had all of the power.
Reuben Figaroa didn’t like women with power.
“Red Shoes is getting up.”
The young woman stood and walked toward the escalator. Her phone was pressed to her ear.
Will kept his eyes on Virginia Souza. She was warning Reuben about something, giving him an ultimatum. Her finger jammed into the air. She didn’t seem to notice that her chair was moving, sliding her closer and closer to the table.
Will said, “He’s got his feet hooked around the chair legs.”
“What’s he doing under the table?”
Reuben’s hands were working on something, peeling at something.
Will put the radio to his mouth.
It happened so fast that he didn’t have time to press the button.
Souza’s chair yanked forward, pinning her to the back. Reuben plunged a large knife straight into her throat. Her hands went up. He grabbed her wrists, holding them with one hand while with the other he stabbed her belly again and again underneath the table.
“Shit!” Faith hissed.
Blood poured down Souza’s chair. She slumped over.
Reuben stood with the duffel bag. He reached for Anthony.
“Watch out!” Deshawn screamed.
Green Jacket was drawing down on Reuben. Double barrel, stainless steel Snake Slayer. Two shots from the derringer would send ten .38 special-sized projectiles flying through the air.
Phil Brauer ran toward the woman, but it didn’t matter.
Reuben pulled a Sig Sauer out of his duffel and shot Green Jacket in the head.
“Lock down!” Amanda ordered. “Now!”
Will ran from the room, his rifle slamming into his back. Faith was on his heels. They were fifty yards from the atrium, one level below the food court. He felt like he was running on a treadmill as he circled the large opening. Every step forward took him two back. Faith bolted up the escalator to the third floor. Will rounded the far side of the atrium. He slung around his rifle, slid across the floor on his knees, and took up position across from where Reuben Figaroa stood.
The barrel of Will’s rifle rested on the railing. His eye was to the scope. The safety was off. His finger stretched along the trigger guard.
He took a breath.
Forty yards.
He could make the shot in his sleep, but Reuben held Anthony to his chest, his giant arm crushing his son’s ribs. The muzzle of the Sig Sauer was pressed against Anthony’s temple.
Amanda said, “Drop it!”
Her stance was wide. She had her revolver out, fifteen feet from her target. Faith had stopped the escalator. She was lying flat to the stairs. Phil Bauer was kneeling behind a table. They had formed a triangle, trapping Reuben inside. Like Will, they were all looking for a shot. Like Will, they were all coming up short. Anthony covered his father’s heart, his lungs, his belly, anyplace that a bullet could stop him.
Reuben screamed, “Back the fuck up!”
Will looked through the riflescope. Reuben’s finger was wrapped around the trigger. One single twitch and Anthony’s life would be over. Will knew that Amanda was going through the same checklist that he was. If she hit Reuben’s leg, he could still pull the trigger. If she aimed for his head and missed, he could still pull the trigger. If she hit his head, he could still pull the trigger. If she miscalculated by even the smallest fraction, she could end up killing a six-year-old boy.
Amanda said, “You’re surrounded. There’s no way out.”
“Get the fuck out of my way.”
Will tensed. Reuben had an athlete’s reflexes. In seconds, he could flick his wrist and shoot Amanda, and Will would be left with the same bad choices.
Reuben walked toward Amanda. He limped in his knee brace. “Get back, bitch.”
“You don’t want to do this.” Amanda backed up. Will’s view was obstructed as she passed in front of the elevator. “Put the gun down and we can talk.”
Reuben kept walking, Anthony tight to his chest. Will moved counter to him, rifle up, praying for a clean shot.
Reuben punched the button on the elevator. “I’m walking outta here.”
“Put the boy down,” Amanda said. “Put him down and we’ll talk.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
The sound of his father shouting was enough to wake Anthony from his stupor. His eyes went wide as he realized what was happening. He started screaming, a high-pitched sound like an animal caught in a trap.
The elevator doors opened. Reuben got on. Will had a straight line through the glass wall of the elevator. He still couldn’t shoot. Even from this distance, he wasn’t sure the bullet wouldn’t pass through Reuben and kill Anthony.
The doors closed.
Will jogged back around the atrium. The elevator car passed the second floor. He ran toward the next escalator. The stairs were going up. Will shuffled down, his feet tripping on the metal treads. He grabbed onto the rails, lifted his legs, and hurled his body the rest of the way down.
His feet hit the floor just as the elevator doors opened.
Anthony was crying. He squirmed to get out of his father’s arms. Reuben struggled to hold on to the kid and the gun. He was yelling at the boy to be quiet. Will ran at a crouch, using the back of the escalator for cover. The butt of his rifle was jammed into his shoulder. He kept one eye on the sight.
Anthony kept flailing, arms wide. His feet kicked, landing a blow on his father’s bad knee. Reuben dropped him.
Will swung around and pulled the trigger.
The world stopped spinning.
The butt of the rifle recoiled into Will’s shoulder. There was a flash at the end of the muzzle. The cartridge ejected out to the side. The bullet sliced the dense air like a knife cutting open a bag of flour.
Reuben Figaroa’s shoulder jerked back. He slammed against the elevator doors and slid to the floor.
Will followed him down, going to one knee. His trigger finger started to pull back again, but Anthony stopped him.
Reuben had the Sig pointed at his son’s back. His aim was steady.
Will had put the bullet in the wrong shoulder.
Reuben said, “Come here, boy.”
Will was fifteen feet away from Anthony. Reuben was less than two.
“Anthony,” Will said. “Run.”
Anthony didn’t move.
Will slid his knee across the floor, trying to get a better angle. Reuben’s flanks were protected by the deep elevator alcove. The only shot that could take him out would have to come from the front.
“Stop.” Reuben’s eyes tracked back and forth between Anthony and Will, and then Faith.
She was on the other side of the escalator. Another triangle, again with Reuben at the center. Will heard footsteps as more officers approached, but he didn’t dare take his eye off Reuben Figaroa.
“Anthony,” Reuben ordered. “Get over here, boy.”
Faith said, “Anthony, sweetheart. Come to me. It’s okay.”
Will slid over a little bit more. His finger tensed on the trigger.
Reuben screamed, “Now, God dammit!”
Anthony stepped back.
Will took his finger off the trigger.
Reuben wrapped his injured arm around his son. Anthony fell into him, his head blocking his father’s face. The Sig pressed at the boy’s temple. Anthony didn’t struggle. He didn’t speak. He had learned to be still when his father was angry. All of his fear channeled into his lip that quivered like his adoptive grandmother’s, and the look of resignation in his eyes that he’d inherited from Angie.
When she talked to Will about the abuse, she never talked about it. She only gave advice: All you have to do is wait until it’s over.
Anthony was waiting for the inevitable. The screaming. The hitting. The black eye. The split lip. The sleepless nights as he waited for the door to open.
“Back away.” Reuben had to rest the side of his hand on his son’s shoulder. He was panting hard. Blood poured from the bullet hole just below his clavicle. They were at the same impasse as the one upstairs, only now, Reuben was even more desperate.
Will said, “Put down the gun. You don’t want to do this.”
“Shit.” Reuben’s hand started shaking. Blood slipped down his other arm. The muscles were spasming, tensing his chest and shoulders. “What’d you hit me with?”
“Hornaday 60 grain TAP URBAN.”
“Tactial Application for Police.” His eyelids were heavy. His face was slick with sweat. “Reduced penetration for urban environments.”
Will used his back foot to push his knee forward. He couldn’t come from the side. He had to get closer. “Sounds like you know your ammo.”
“You see that Snake Slayer that bitch pulled?”
“Probably had .410 Bonds in the chamber.”
“Lucky I stopped her.” Reuben blinked sweat out of his eyes. Will wondered if the man’s vision was blurring. There were a lot of important things near the clavicle. Subclavian arteries. Subclavian veins. Sara would know. She would record the damage in Reuben Figaroa’s autopsy, because if the man hurt Angie’s grandson, he would not walk out of here alive.
“Let’s talk this out,” Will said. “You’re gonna need surgery. I can help you.”
“No more surgery.” He shook his head. He was blinking more slowly now. His arm was not so tight around Anthony. The muzzle of the Sig had tilted upward, but Reuben could still put a bullet in his son’s brain.
Will moved closer.
Faith made a noise. Anthony looked at her. Will did not. He knew she was trying to wave the boy over.
“Don’t.” Reuben straightened the gun.
Will asked, “What’s the trigger pull on that Sig? Five and half pounds? Six?”
Reuben nodded.
“Why don’t you move your finger? You don’t want to make a mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes.”
Will slid closer. Ten feet. If Reuben moved just a little to the side, Will was close enough for the head shot. To make one. To receive one. Will couldn’t trust the gun in Reuben’s hand. It was upstairs all over again. Reuben could flick it out and kill Will. He could flick it back and kill Anthony.
Will said, “You’re not doing too well, man.”
“I’m not,” he agreed. The arm around Anthony started to relax again. The boy could pull away, but Reuben could still shoot the gun. At Anthony. At Will.
“Let’s talk this out.” Will repeated. He pushed a few inches closer. The rifle was out in front of him. Thirty-nine inches of weapon. One hand on the grip, the other on the stock. Will slid his hand farther down the barrel. His shoulder would dislocate if the gun went off. He curved his back, buying the illusion of extra space.
Reuben said, “I can’t leave my boy alone.”
Will couldn’t look at the kid. He couldn’t see Angie’s eyes looking back at him. “You don’t have to take Anthony with you.”
“There’s nothing left for him,” Reuben said. “Jo’s gone. My career is gone. That video gets out, and my freedom is gone.”
Will said, “Do you see how close I am?”
Reuben’s eyelids fluttered. He straightened the Sig.
Will said, “I can pull the trigger right now.”
“So can I.” Reuben’s breathing was shallow. His skin had no color. Will could see every single pore in his face, every single follicle of hair. “I’m not going to leave my boy alone.” He swallowed. “Jo wouldn’t want that. Her real mother left her. She would never leave her son.”
Will pushed himself closer. He thought about why Reuben was doing this, how the loss of control had spun out his life. He asked, “How do I stop this, Reuben? Tell me how to save your son.”
“Who killed her?”
Will tried to think of the best lie to tell him, the one that would keep him from murdering his son. That Jo was still alive, that Reuben had something to live for? That Jo was dead, but the woman behind her murder was in police custody? That she was Jo’s mother? That she had tried to ransom her own grandson?
Reuben was out of patience. “Who, man? Who killed Jo?”
“The woman upstairs.” He couldn’t tell if he’d made the right choice, but he had to keep going. “Her name is Virginia Souza. She’s a prostitute who met Jo in jail. They argued. Souza took out her revenge.”
To Will’s great relief, Reuben started nodding, like that made sense. “Was it over drugs? What they fought over?”
“Yes.” Will moved another millimeter, then another. His hand slid farther down the barrel. Too far to safely hold on to the stock. There was no way he could safely fire the rifle now. “Souza knew that Jo was rich, that she had money. She followed her to the party. She kidnapped her. She took Anthony.”
Reuben nodded again. The reason was obvious. His wife had hidden her addiction. She would hide other things. “Bitch is dead now.”
“That’s right,” Will said.
“Jo, too.” He stopped to swallow. “She betrayed me. Betrayed everything we had. She didn’t listen to me.”
“That’s what women do.”
“They just take and take and spit you out like you’re nothing.”
The muzzle of the Sig had tilted up again, but again not enough to clear Anthony’s head. Reuben was faltering. His muscles were twitching. His nerves were in array. His finger could pull the trigger by mistake or by design. Whether it was pointing at Will or at Anthony when it happened was going to be a delicate dance.
“Stop moving,” Reuben said.
“I’m not moving.” Will moved up.
Reuben’s throat flexed as he swallowed. “She kept it from me. The pills. She stole that video. I know she’s the one who stole it. Ruined my life. My son’s.” He swallowed again. “My son.”
Will was close enough now. He could only grab one thing: the gun or Anthony.
Anthony or Will.
All it came down to was which direction the gun was pointing.
“It’s okay.” Reuben was looking at Will now, a flatness to his eyes. His mouth gaped open. His lips were blue. He was having trouble getting air. He blinked, slow. He blinked again, even slower. He blinked a third time, and Will lunged forward, his arm swinging through the air, backhanding Anthony out of the way.
Reuben’s head exploded.
Hot blood splattered Will’s face and neck. Bone was inside his mouth, up his nose. His eyes were on fire. He fell back, dropped the rifle. He clawed at his face. Strings of muscle and tissue caught up in his fingers. He sneezed. Blood sprayed onto the floor. He could barely see it. He was standing, walking backward like he could get away from the carnage, but the carnage was all over him.
“Will!” Amanda yanked him forward by his arm. He stumbled, tripping over his own feet. She kept pulling him, then dragging him across the atrium, down a corridor where he bounced off the wall. He was completely blind. Carpet was under his feet. He tried to open his eyes but he couldn’t. Splinters were ripping apart his eyeballs—shards of Reuben Figaroa’s bone and teeth and cartilage.
“Lean over.” Amanda pushed him down.
Cold water streamed into his mouth, his face. Chunks of gray matter slid down his skin. He saw light. He blinked. He saw white porcelain, a tall faucet. They were in the bathroom. He was leaning over the sink. Will reached for the soap dispenser. It ripped off the wall. The bag burst. He took handfuls of soap and scrubbed his face and neck. He ripped off his shirt. He scrubbed his chest until the skin was raw.
“Stop,” Amanda said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” She grabbed his hands. She made him stop before he peeled the skin off his body. “You’re okay,” she told him. “Take a breath.”
Will didn’t want to take a breath. He was sick of people telling him to take a breath. He stuck his head under a different faucet in a clean sink. He rinsed out his mouth. The water was pink when he spat it into the bowl. He rubbed his face, scratching the skin, making sure there were no more pieces of Reuben Figaroa in his eyes and hair.
“Drink some more water.”
He picked something out of his ear. Red grit, part of a molar.
Will threw the tooth against the wall. He leaned his hands on the basin. His breath was like fire in his lungs. His skin burned. Phantom drops of blood slid down his face and neck.
“It’s all right,” Amanda said.
“I know it’s all right.” He closed his eyes. It wasn’t all right. Blood was everywhere. In the sinks. Pooling onto the floor. The bathroom was freezing. He was shaking from the cold.
“Anthony?” He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.
“He’s safe. Faith has him.”
“Jesus,” Will mumbled. He tried to regulate his breathing, to get back some sense of control over his body. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I wasn’t sure Faith had a line.”
“She did. I did. All of us did. But he beat us to it.” Amanda started pulling paper towels from the dispenser. “Reuben Figaroa killed himself.”
Will’s head jerked up in surprise.
“The second Anthony was gone, Reuben put the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger.”
Will stared at her in disbelief.
She nodded. “He killed himself.”
Will tried to play it back in his head, but all he remembered was the fleeting concern as he shoved Anthony out of the way that the kid would fall and hurt himself.
Amanda said, “You did everything right, Will. Reuben Figaroa made a choice.”
“I could’ve saved him.” Will wiped his face with a paper towel. The rough paper was like a cat’s tongue. He looked down, expecting to see blood but finding only the dark stain of water.
Was Faith wiping Anthony’s face in another bathroom?
When the gun had gone off, the boy had been standing as close to Reuben as Will had been. For how many years would Reuben’s son feel the slick fibers of his father’s brain dripping down the side of his face? How many nights would he wake up screaming, scared that he was suffocating on the gray matter and bone that he’d sniffed up into his nose?
“Will,” Amanda said. “How could you have saved him?”
Will shook his head. He had made the wrong choice. He’d felt it in his gut even as the lie had come out of his mouth. “Reuben would’ve put down the gun if I’d told him the truth about Jo. That she was alive. That he had something to live for.” He wadded up the paper towel into a ball. “You heard what he said about not leaving Anthony alone, that Jo wouldn’t want that. No way he would’ve pulled the trigger if he’d thought there was still a chance that his family was intact.”
“Or he would’ve shot you instead. Or been shot by any one of us, because he stabbed a woman to death two floors above us. He shot another woman in the head. He beat his wife for nearly a decade. He threatened to murder his own son. Where are you getting this notion that there was some romantic bond between Reuben Figaroa and his wife that you could magically invoke and make everything better?”
Will chucked the paper towel into the trash.
“If you love someone, you don’t go out of your way to hurt them. You don’t torture them. You don’t terrify them or make them live in constant fear. That’s not how love works. It’s not how normal people work.”
Will didn’t need Amanda to point out that there wasn’t much daylight between Angie and Reuben. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to pass on today’s parable.”
Amanda didn’t respond. She was looking at his bare chest. The round, perfect Os that the cigarettes had seared into his flesh. The black tattooing left by the electrical burns. The Frankenstein stitches around the skin graft from when a wound refused to close.
Before Sara, he would’ve scrambled to cover himself. Now, he was just intensely uncomfortable.
Amanda unzipped her jacket. “I used to come watch you on visitation days.”
Visitation days. She meant at the Children’s Home. Will had always looked forward to the visits until he started dreading them. All the kids were bathed and trotted out for prospective parents. And then the kids like Will were trotted back in.
“I couldn’t adopt you. I was a single woman. A career gal. Obviously, I was unfit to take care of anything more than a pet rock.” She wrapped her jacket around his shoulders. Her hands stayed there. She looked at him in the mirror. “I stopped visiting because I couldn’t stand the longing. Not my own, which was hard enough, but your longing broke my heart. You wanted so badly for someone to pick you.”
Will stared down at his hands. There was blood crusted into his cuticles.
“I picked you. Faith picked you. Sara picked you. Let that be enough. Let yourself accept that you’re worth it.”
He used his thumbnail to scrape out the blood. His skin was still pink. He shivered again from the cold. “She’s going to be alone.”
Amanda helped him into the jacket. “Wilbur, women like Angie are always going to be alone. No matter how many people surround them, they will always be alone.”
He knew that. He had seen it all of his life. Even when Angie was with him, she still held herself apart. “Do you think we have a case against her for letting Delilah die in the trunk of her car?”
“With Jane Doe as our only witness? No security footage, no DNA, no incriminating fingerprints, no smoking gun, no corroborating testimony, no confession?” Amanda laughed at the futility. “It’s Denny who’s going to suffer. I can keep him out of jail, but he’ll lose his job, his pension, his benefits.”
Will didn’t want to feel sorry for Collier, but he did. He knew too much what it felt like when Angie threw you to the wolves.
“Let me get this.” She tried to zip the jacket. She couldn’t get it closed past his chest. The bottom was too short. The waist hit him above his navel. “I’ll have to buy you another shirt before you go back out there. You look like a Filipino sex worker.”
She meant it as a parting shot, but he couldn’t let her go yet.
“It’s never going to catch up with her, is it?” He said, “The people she hurts. The damage she does.”
“Trust me, Will. Life always makes you pay for your personality.” Amanda gave him a rueful smile. “It catches up with her every single second of the day.”