November 1
“I’d be glad to leave, just as soon as Jeanne is ready,” Phillip smiled. “She’s upstairs, right? Won’t be but a moment.” He put his hand on the screen door.
“Get your filthy hand off that door,” Alex growled. “And get the hell off of my property. Both of you.”
“I don’t think we’ll do that, Mister MacKenzie,” Frank said. “Let’s do this quietly, now, shall we?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“It’s on its way,” Frank said. “But since you’re holding Mister Brookfield’s daughter, here, we simply don’t need one. Open this door.”
“Go to hell,” Alex said. He reached behind the front door.
“Unwise,” Frank said, drawing his gun. “Get your hands where I can see them. Now.”
Alex froze; Phillip could almost hear the ideas banging into each other in his brain. For that moment, he saw every possible way the situation could end. He saw the baseball bat coming from a mile away, the screen door taking the brunt of the force, with Frank blowing Alex away in the next instant. He heard the slam of the front door and the pounding of enraged footfalls up the staircase, Alex ready to put a messy end to the hostages. He saw Alex produce the shotgun from behind the door, cocked and ready, and felt the impact as the buckshot shredded his torso.
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