Hostage by R.D. Zimmerman

his mike, then lunged at Congressman Clariton and did the same. Working as speedily as possible, Bradley shut down the lights, next turned to the camera and started detaching it from the tripod.
    “Bradley, give me the tape!” demanded Todd, for whatever happened he couldn’t lose that very special tape of Clariton’s comments.
    Bradley popped open the camera and threw the videotape at Todd, who caught it and stuffed it in his briefcase. Quickly getting soaked, Todd returned to Bradley’s side, the two of them dismantling the equipment and throwing it in the nylon bags.
    “You all go ahead!” shouted Todd to Clariton. “We’ll be right behind you! Go out the door and take two rights. The escalator’s right there and then it’s a clean shot to the front door!”
    Lyle took the congressman by the arm and said, “This way, sir!”
    “Come on, Carol!” called Clariton.
    Just as they were heading to the main doors, though, three people burst in: two men, one of them skinny, one of them with a shaved bald head, and a woman with big blond hair. Wearing smoke masks, they were pushing a large cart, and the skinny guy turned around, took a chain, and padlocked the door shut behind them. The woman and the bald guy dug into the cart and pulled out two guns, which they trained on Todd and the others. Lyle immediately stepped in front of Clariton.
    “Get down on the floor!” screamed the bald man, his voice only slightly muffled by the mask.
    “Facedown, now!” seconded the woman.
    Clariton half-emerged from behind Lyle and blurted, “You can’t do this!”
    “Just watch, dumbo!”
    “I’m a U.S. congressman.”
    “Really?” said the skinny guy as smoke poured in through all the vents and water rained down on the far side of the room. “I thought you were Julia Child.”
    “That includes you, big guy! On the floor,” shouted the bald man, training his gun on Lyle, “before I start blasting the shit out of you!”
    Todd glanced at Lyle, saw his right hand ever so slightly begin to rise up the side of his sport coat. Would he resist or—
    A small door at the end of the curtains was suddenly thrown open, and a woman came charging right into the room. Of all people, thought Todd, staring at her in total disbelief.
    “Holy shit!” yelled the woman as she rushed into the room, completely panic-stricken, “there’s a fire in the kitchen! You—” She suddenly froze, surveyed the situation, spotted Todd. “What’s going on?”
    Todd stared at his Channel 7 nemesis. “Cindy, where the hell did you come from?”
    As the leader, the guy with the shaved head, rushed toward her brandishing his gun, Lyle reached beneath his sport coat and pulled out a pistol. With three bold steps he charged across the room, lunging at the woman with the gun. He batted the pistol from her hand, then grabbed her, spinning her around and pinning her from behind as if she were as weak as a paper doll.
    Pressing his pistol against her temple, Lyle shouted at the other guy, “Put down your gun!”
    “Fuck you, Rambo!”
    And with that the bald guy in the smoke mask grabbed Cindy Wilson, jabbing his gun at her head. For a weird moment everything was oddly still as the alarm shrieked on and water poured from the lone sprinkler. Staring at the men and the women they each held, Todd and the others were completely still.
    Knowing he held trump, the guy holding Cindy Wilson calmly declared, “Go ahead and shoot my friend. It doesn’t make any difference, right?”
    Not even struggling in Lyle’s grasp, the skinny blonde calmly said, “Yeah, do it. I’m next to dead anyway.”
    “But this one…” He yanked on Cindy Wilson’s arm, poked the barrel of his gun into her cheek. “This one doesn’t want to die, do you, darling?”
    “No!” Cindy struggled, then froze. “No, please… please!”
    “Shoot her!” ordered the skinny blonde.
    “No!” screeched Cindy, starting to buck.
    “I’m going to do it!” yelled the leader.