The normal mid-afternoon bustle of the news room was noticeably absent today as most of the anchors and reporters were glued to a bank of television monitors where they watched a special press conference from the President.
There had been a significant terrorist strike on a civilian neighborhood in the Middle East and most of the reporters were scribbling notes for the 5pm lead story, except for Chris, who had been fumbling for file footage to compliment a local interest story that was to air on the 10PM newscast later that day.
"Goddamn it!" Chris yelled from behind a cubicle wall. Chris’ field producer, Joel, emerged from the other side of the cubicle, noticing the sea of tapes and papers scattered all over the desk and cubicle floor.
"What’s wrong dude? You lose a porno tape?" Joel tried to lighten the moment.
"I’ve lost the B-Roll that we shot for background on that homicide story; the one we shot over in Mid City last week," Chris grumbled, slinging tape after tape onto the desktop.
News rooms typically archive pre-fab video shots of various scenes that can be used, though indirectly related to a particular story, for future segments; In this case, Joel had shot some street scenes that Chris needed to compliment a segment that he'd been reporting for the past few weeks.
He was working on a follow-up piece which he'd planned to tie in to the latest crime stats that the Police Superintendent had released earlier in the week.
"No big deal," Joel dismissed; "we’ll go out and get some shots this afternoon. Joel calmly suggested.
Joel paused for a moment, before continuing. "You know, Chris, you seem a tad edgy; everything OK?" Joel quizzed.
"Yeah, I’m just pissed about this B-roll...and I'm having a bit of confusion in the relationship department right now," Chris waved Joel off the topic.
"Trying to come to grips with your sexuality?" Joel nonchalantly suggested with fake empathy.
Joel was an expert at handling Chris and most reporters in general. He was a consummate pro at lightening the mood at just the precise moment with temperamental reporters. It's an invaluable talent which separates a good producer from a mediocre producer.
Among many jobs that they perform, “handling” reporters can sometimes be the toughest task, as reporters can be quite moody. A fine line indeed.
Chris removed his glasses and tossed a video tape to the trash can before answering Joel.
"Yeah, Joel, you pegged me. As a matter of fact, I’m sad, devastated actually." Chris paused for a moment, gazing into Joel's eyes before continuing.
"It’s you; why won’t you leave your fucking wife and move in with me. God dammit Joel, we can move to L.A. or New Hampshire, we'll get married and harvest blueberries...maybe even purchase a Toyota Tundra and take it to the beach on the weekends...I love you Joel; there! I said it out loud," Chris feigned tears.
Both Joel and Chris glanced over and noticed that the assistant news director had been taking in their conversation. He nervously smiled and quickly darted away.
Chris and Joel laughed, knowing that the director was eavesdropping the entire time.
"Well, that's gonna be fun to watch circulate around the office," Joel assumed, shaking his head. "Fuck em' if they can't take a joke," Joel shrugged.
"I wasn't joking Joel," Chris corrected, placing the palm of his hand on top of Joel's, trying to maintain a straight face.
"Fuck you!," Joel jerked his hand away.
As the moment had clearly lightened, Joel reassured Chris about his tape dilemma. "Look, let’s go get some B-Roll in a few minutes and we’ll edit it into your segment in time for the 10...Then we can do a few shots of whiskey before we come back to work," Joel suggested.
"Being drunk at work? We're not news anchors," Chris deadpanned.
"Why do they get to do it and we can't? Joel whined.
"Because they sold their souls to the Devil...It's how they cope. Plus, I believe that it's written into their contracts"
"So you've never taken a shot or two in between stories before you come back to the station?" Joel skeptically asked.
"I haven't been sober at work since hurricane Katrina," Chris flippantly announced.
"Seriously??" Joel nervously asked.
"Of course not...I was drunk before Katrina too; Katrina just legitimized it," Chris answered, never looking up from a pile of papers on his desk.
Joel and Chris worked well together and were good friends outside of the newsroom. He'd learned a lot about Chris and his reputation from Marie. Joel genuinely enjoyed working with a reporter who wasn't all about ego, fame and playing by the book.
Theirs was a working relationship of mutual respect and admiration.
On a neighborhood street corner in Mid City, Chris was chatting on the phone with Erin, making dinner plans. During their conversation, Chris stared at Joel who was positioned a half block down the street shooting footage of a squirrel playing at the base of an oak tree near Scott Street. Chris tried as hard as possible to pay attention to Erin as he dismissively shook his head, smiling at Joel's foray into the wild kingdom.
"Yeah, we’re gonna finish up some file footage and I’ll stop by later tonight if you want," Chris assured Erin.
"OK, sounds good, what time?" Erin asked.
"I don’t know, I’ll call you; shouldn’t be real late, it’s been a slow ass news day."
OK, just ring me when you’re heading over," Erin requested.
After his call, Chris lit a cigarette and slowly wandered over to Joel.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Chris asked.
"Shhhh. You're gonna scare the squirrel. You never know when you need a good squirrel shot," Joel continued, in a whisper, steadying the camera near the ground between his legs.
"I can answer that Joel…Never," Chris flatly answered.
"Oh, c’mon Chris, who doesn’t like squirrels? They’re playful, they’re fun, they’re…"
"Tree rats," Chris completed Joel’s sentence. "I used to shoot em’ when I was a kid in Virginia...and not with a camera," Chris continued.
"Why you gotta be a hater man? Why cant you build bridges instead of walls?" Joel teased. "You know they’re gonna rise up?"
"Who?"
"The animals; they were here first. They’re gonna wise up one day and BAM! Lights out for all of us," Joel announced with conviction.
"Well, until I see a cow march into a convenience store with a gun and demand all the cash, I'll still be having a burger for lunch today ," Chris assured.
"Yeah? Don't blame me when your dog kills you in your sleep tonight," Joel warned.
"Yeah? I got news for ya', It's not my fucking dog," Chris sarcastically quipped.
Joel’s 2-way dispatch radio crackled to life; it was Howard, the news director.
"Joel, what's your position? Howard's voice conveyed urgency.
I'm over in Mid City shooting B-Roll with Barrow," Joel answered, noticing that Chris had just flipped his cigarette butt at the squirrel.
"Excellent! You two get over to d’Hemecourt now! We got a scoop from NOPD dispatch, a MAJOR hostage standoff," Howard ordered.
Chris grabbed the 2-way.
"How big Howard?" Chris asked.
"Fucking huge; the FBI and ATF are on the scene. They don’t call those guys out for petty shit," Howard assured.
It occurred to Chris that d’Hemecourt is Thomas’ street. He looked at Joel with a sense of concern and urgency.
"Hoist the satellite mast; we'll transmit shots back here, that street will be a circus and we'll never get the van in there. We can run from here," Chris ordered.
The tiny house was surrounded, the road strewn with men and women fully clad in lead vests. FBI, SWAT, ATF and NOPD splashed in bright yellow across their backs. The narrow, unassuming street was completely blocked as a helicopter hovered overhead.
Chris and Joel plunged through; Joel’s camera was aimed, shooting every second of raw footage which was transmitted to the van a couple blocks away and back to the REM screens at the studio.
This was, indeed, breaking news in more ways than one, as Chris and Joel were about to learn, first hand.
Chris and Joel rounded the corner finding a dark reality; it was indeed Thomas’ house. Anxiously scanning the crowd, Chris finally spotted Thomas
"What the fuck Thomas, what’s goin’ on here??" Chris demanded.
"My baby girl Chris, my baby girl!! The motherfucker got my baby girl!" Thomas helplessly screamed as two NOPD officers tried to calm him.
"WHO?? Who has her Thomas??" Chris pressed.
"One of my boys was keepin' some of his shit in there," Thomas vaguely explained.
"What shit?" Chris sternly asked.
"I don't fuckin' know C...I think he was movin' or some shit like dat' and needed some storage space; his boy was coming wit' him to get it and then, for some reason, shit went bad with them two," Thomas frantically explained the dire situation in which he found himself. He did so with a lie.
Chris skeptically glanced over at Joel, then to the cops and back to Thomas.
"He killed my friend; he’s got my baby girl Chris!! Felicia is in there!!" Thomas screamed.
Thomas had never felt so helpless or scared in all of his life. Chris felt the same, but didn't show it.
"You stay put," Chris ordered.
Chris stepped away to get with Joel but was intercepted by an FBI agent; the lead agent on scene.
The FBI claimed jurisdiction, as the agent explained to Chris, due to the fact that the man who held Felicia hostage had been the target of an investigation for months in an ongoing multi state gun import/export sting.
"I’m special agent Hobbs," the lead agent introduced himself to Chris. "This guy gave us some demands," he continued.
"What does he want?" Chris pried.
"He wants a news crew in there; he wants to go on TV," the agent replied.
"WHY?" Chris asked, with a half laugh.
"He knows that we won’t shoot someone on live television; this guy knows what he's doin', He figures that a live television camera is a better weapon to him right now," Agent Hobbs explained.
Hobbs continued; "Look, we can’t tell you and your camera guy to go in there and, ideally, we'd prefer not to put you in there, but you know as well as I do that your shots give us eyes in the room. You could buy us some time.
"Oh no...not a chance," Joel voiced adamant refusal to Chris.
"Oh, c'mon Joel...think of the ratings bonanza," Chris deadpanned.
"I understand your apprehension and can't blame you, but if you can get him close to the small kitchen window, we’ve got a sharpshooter in the house next door; we can drop this guy fast."
"I was kidding about the ratings; with that, our answer is No!" Chris interrupted.
"Suit yourself, but we could sure use your help," Hobbs delicately insisted.
"He’s got a fucking 7 year old in there," Chris reasoned.
"We won’t miss, sir," a field agent interjected.
"With all due respect, agent, I’m not worried about you missing, I’m worried about the fucking therapy the kid's gonna go through after seeing a guy’s brains fly against a box of Honey Nut Cheerios on the kitchen shelf," Chris snapped.
"Mr Barrow," Hobbs calmly interrupted; "Might I have a private word with you?"
Hobbs called Chris to the side as Joel suspiciously looked on from several yards away.
"Look, she’s already gonna need post event counseling as it is Mr. Barrow; this is a very nasty character holed up in there and he will not give up. I’d rather risk having the kid in therapy than having the family standing over her coffin. He’s a murderer and I assure you that he has no regard for human life; we know this guy" Agent Hobbs made his case.
Chris casually glanced over Agent Hobbs' shoulder to Joel, who slightly shook his head in disagreement from a distance. Agent Hobbs leaned over to whisper something into Chris' ear.
"OK, we’ll go in," Chris nervously agreed.
"What was that?" Joel pried. "Why did he whisper in your ear?"
"Nothing, don’t worry," Chris assured.
"Good...so we're not goin' in...right?" Joel eagerly asked.
"Oh, yeah, we're goin' in," Chris casually answered.
"Are you outta you're fucking mind??" Joel begged. "he's drunk by the way!" Joel yelled over to Hobbs, pointing at Chris.
Thomas’ aunt arrived as Chris and Joel readied themselves to enter the house. She bolted through the barricades with the force of an armed robber. NOPD frantically struggled to contain her.
"Ma’am, calm down, we can’t let you in there," the cop warned.
"My baby, my grand baby!!" she screamed to the sky as tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.
Thomas came to his aunt's side, trying to console her. She slapped him as hard as she could before the cops grabbed her.
"Ma’am, don’t do that, we will take you to jail if we have to; you gotta settle down. I know this is tough but we’re gonna get her outta there. Please ma'am, trust us," the officer begged.
"You told me Thomas, you promised me!" She cried.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" Thomas pleaded for his Auntie's trust.
"Bullshit Thomas! If anything happens to that girl you don’t gotta worry bout' no prison, I’ll kill you myself," Auntie sobbed.
Chris and Joel slowly entered the house. The gunman held a 9mm sidearm to the back of Felicia’s head.
"You two, get over here away from that fuckin’ door," the gunman screamed from behind a sofa, slowly revealing himself and Felicia. He held his gun tight to Felicia's cheek.
"No need for vulgarities," Chris smugly urged.
"Yeah? Fuck you motherfucker!" The gunman snapped back.
"Okay, that went well," Chris whispered to Joel. "I've always had a bit of awkwardness with first impressions," He continued.
Felicia looked toward Chris, her eyes brightened. "MR. CHRIS!!" She yelled.
"Hey sweetheart, you OK?" Chris asked, wearing a comforting smile.
"I gotta go to the bathroom," she softly replied.
"Yeah, me too, as a matter of fact, I think I just did," Chris joked, smiling as he locked eyes with the gunman.
Chris' face turned serious as he made his initial plea; "Look, we’re here, we can film whatever you want, transmit what you want us to transmit or help however we can. You got us, why not just let her go on out there to her aunt?" He reasoned.
"You think I’m fucking stupid boy? Inside that news building and on that TV, you may mean somethin’ to them people out there, but you don’t mean fucking shit right now. All they care bout’ is this little girl right here, not your skinny ass."
"Well, as Joel, and any number of my co-workers will readily attest, they don't really care much for me at work," Chris corrected.
Across town, Erin was in the middle of house cleaning when she flipped on the noon newscast.
"Jesus!" She gasped, staring at the screen.
Images of the standoff caught her attention from the breaking news report, especially concerning was a tiny portion of the screen which was occupied by a publicity photo of Chris and Joel.
The caption beneath scrolled: Channel 10 reporter and camera man inside house with captor.
Erin fell backwards onto the sofa. She immediately and frantically called her friends. Anxiety raced through Erin's body; she was scared.
"Goddamn it Chris!!" She yelled toward the television.
In the pub, a mere three blocks from the crime scene, every TV was tuned to channel 10 as patrons and employees alike were glued to the news; Marie was one of them. She could barely watch, feeling a rush of panic and helplessness throughout her body.
Back inside the house, two hours had passed when Chris exerted another attempt at reasoning with their captor.
"Look, I realize that you and I didn't get off to a great start, but this standoff can’t go on forever; you know that, right?" Chris calmly asked.
"Yeah, motherfucker, I don’t need your smart ass; I don’t need your smart fucking mouth tellin’ me what’s up in here so shut the fuck up!"
Chris carefully continued, trying to convey a message to the gunman without alarming Felicia.
"Then, you know what eventually happens in these situations, right?
"What the fuck you talkin’ bout? Speak English motherfucker," the gunman barked.
"I'll speak English, Spanish or gang talk if you'd like," Chris offered.
"No salir con vida," Chris sternly advised in Spanish.
"What the fuck does that mean in Mexican?" The gunman demanded.
"This ain't NOPD...these are Federal agents," Chris began. "There will come a time, and it'll come soon, when the lead agent outside will call the situation; eventually they’ll accept this for what it is, in the interest of public safety," Chris explained, matter of factly.
"Yeah? So what?" The gunman laughed.
"Look, let's just get the little girl out...why don't you just shoot Joel and we'll call it a day; he doesn't have much to live for," Chris joked.
The gunman laughed, looking over to Joel; "Ya' boy just threw yo' ass under tha' bus dawg."
"I'm kidding, of course. Joel and I plan to move away to New Hampshire soon, but that's a long story. When the agents on the other side of that door decide to call this situation, it means that the good of the many will outweigh the good of the few...four, in our case," Chris replied, solemnly staring the gunman squarely in the eyes.
"How you figure that boy?"
"Because, I’ve seen it," Chris grimly assured.
"Full breach," Joel interjected.
"Hey!! Shut the fuck up baldy!" The gunman snapped, pointing his gun toward Joel.
Joel placed his camera on it’s side, surreptitiously transmitting images from inside the house. Chris looked toward the camera, shooting a casual glance over to Joel.
The four of them sat silently for a half-hour; only sounds of distant sirens, emergency crews and the periodic whooshing of chopper blades above served as background noise.
Finally, the captor spoke, breaking a nervous silence. "You got a family Guy Smiley?"
"Chris laughed."
"What the fuck is so Goddamn funny?"
Chris shook his head, looking toward the floor. "I watched Sesame Street too; holy shit! Maybe funding to PBS is money well spent," Chris continued. His sarcasm flew soundly over their captor’s head.
Joel grew quite nervous at Chris' little game; he prayed that Chris’ sense of humor wouldn’t inflame the situation.
Un fucking believable, Joel thought. He was well aware that Chris was known as a notorious smart ass from his conversations with Marie and colleagues. In this particular situation, Joel felt it to be distinctly unhelpful to anger the mean and dangerous guy with a gun ,as evidenced by a confused look that he shot to Chris.
Chris looked back to their captor with a calm smile before continuing.
"I just remembered your previous question," Chris began. "As a matter of fact, I do not have a family because they‘re all dead; nothing like car accidents or plane crashes or anything daring such as that. Pretty much old age, cancer, heart attacks and such. it’s not been a good year for the Barrow‘s," Chris explained.
The captor silently listened, wondering if his talkative hostage might, in fact, be crazy.
Chris continued, "On top of that, I created a bit of a mess, what with being a total shit head and all. I tend to make lots of bad choices and, in doing so most recently, I found myself involved in a classic love triangle which, in turn, caused everyone a great deal of unnecessary grief which landed me in a bit of a spot.
The gunman and Joel stared at Chris with bewilderment as he continued to take open inventory of his, admittedly, troubled life.
"Right now I‘m in a spat with a very good friend and I‘m 42, with no prospects looming on the near horizon to procreate. It's quite sad actually. And now, I find myself here, in this house, with you. There's a gun, a little girl and my friend Joel over here.
Chris took a long breath and smiled. "How‘s your day goin? He asked the gunman with a sigh.
"You talk too much news man," the gunman snapped.
"My ex girlfriend told me the exact same thing, many times actually," Chris energetically agreed.
"Well," the captor began, "regardless of how much of a piece of shit people like you think people like me are, I got a family; I gotta make money just like you do.
"You see Joel," Chris interrupted, looking at the gun and then to Joel's camera, "you two have something in common'; you both shoot people for money," Chris joked.
WHAT THE FUCK???? Joel screamed in his mind. He wanted to kill Chris himself at this point. Where could he be going with this? Joel wondered.
Joel and the rest of the news room had heard rumors and speculation about Chris’ back story. They'd heard about how he’d been in some pretty heavy shit from Bosnia to the inner city. Chris had encountered many types of people and situations and became numb to an unhealthy level.
In working with him, Joel had also noticed Chris' uncanny ability to make his interview subjects look to one direction while he’d hit them from another. HOPEFULLY, Joel prayed, he still had it in him. Maybe this was a tactic, or maybe he really is suicidal, as recent office rumors had suggested.
Chris casually continued. "If you have one, a family that is, you’re lucky; savor every minute while they’re here. No one gets out alive as the saying about life goes," Chris slightly laughed, looking at Joel.
WHAT??? Jesus Christ! Joel screamed in his mind. Why would he use that saying on this fucking guy??? "Goddamn it, Chris, this isn’t a therapy session!!" Joel barked.
"Hey, Kodak, shut the fuck up...I'm enjoying watchin' this motherfucker melt down," the gunman interrupted before Chris continued.
"I’d like to think that some people would miss me," Chris dryly announced. "Only time will tell, shortly perhaps...maybe even in time for the 10pm report; I certainly know the news director would appreciate that," Chris joked, looking toward Joel.
"What the fuck is wrong with you boy?" The gunman barked.
"Me? Plenty, Chris answered. I can’t speak for Joel over here, but I’d actually like for all of us to be alive to do the live report. But, I don’t dwell on long-term things too much anymore. Maybe it’s A.D.D, I‘m sorry, what were we talking about?" Chris diverted.
The gunman shot a puzzled glance to Joel. Joel pursed his lips and nervously shrugged.
"Of course, I rarely was concerned about other people until recently," Chris explained. I am now. I seem to have been given a second chance and don't seem to be doing very well with that...but I gained a pet from the experience. I have learned something though...one only needs a few people who they care about, and a healthy conscience, which, even though you do what you do, I sense that you have."
"What the fuck Smiley?? We gonna hug and sing a song now boy? you just find yourself?" The gunman laughed.
"What is it with my friends thinking that I wanna hug and sing songs? Felicia's dad accused me of the same thing recently," Chris laughed. "Enough about me, how bout’ you?" Chris dryly asked, diverting the subject. "Tell me about the family?"
"Got a wife and a little girl,' the captor proudly answered.
"Nice; how do they feel about your career; because my girlfriend hates my job?" Chris demurred.
"You tryin’ to fuck with me boy?"
"Not at all," Chris innocently replied. "I’m just makin' small talk before we all get invaded by a small army on the other side of that wall; actually, I’m a reformer who's trying to get into heaven, according to some. But, that’s another conversation you should have had with my ex girlfriend several months back."
Chris paused before continuing; he measured his words with a certain level of humility. "As I recall, that was about the time when the sexual relations portion of our relationship ended. Well, at least for me; her sex life was still quite active...from what I'm told."
"You a crazy motherfucker," the captor laughed, looking at Chris with disbelief.
Chris continued, "Although, back in the day, she’d have told you that I’d be sitting in Hell right now enjoying beers with my dad and shoveling coal…perhaps," Chris nonchalantly averred, his words rolled with rapid fire.
"I’m thirsty Mr. Chris," Felicia whined, sounding like an irritable little 7 year old.
Chris smiled at Felicia and then looked to the captor with a knowing expression. "Bet that reminds you of someone at home huh?"
The gunman looked down at Felicia and then back to Chris.
Holy shit! Joel thought. This guy is softening.
"Look, it’s not gonna hurt anything to get her some water," Chris reasoned. "She’s thirsty; I’m sure you know how kids can be though... What’s your little girl’s name?" Chris pried.
"It’s Shaunna; why the fuck you care?"
"Just thought we were talkin’ family here," Chris disarmingly replied. "I like to live vicariously through others; Shaunna is a beautiful name. I bet you love her a lot," Chris pleasantly smiled, slowly tapping in to their captor's emotions.
Next door, the sharp shooters were in place. This was their best chance. If the hostile entered the kitchen, they’d only have one shot.
Soon, they’d have to execute a full breach, something the command team wished to avoid at all costs. Especially with a little girl in the mix.
"Let’s get the little girl some water," Chris harmlessly suggested with a shrug.
The gunman studied Chris’ face, then looked to Felicia before giving in.
"You two go first," he reluctantly ordered, waving his gun.
In the kitchen, Chris pointed to the upper cabinet near the window.
"The glasses are up there, I think," Chris casually pointed, shooting a solemn glance to Joel as the gunman faced the cabinet in front of the tiny window.
Their captor reached above the sink, positioning his body perfectly for the snipers next door. The cabinet door opened, revealing only household cleaning supplies and some rags. The gunman quickly looked back to Chris with a knowing expression as a faint pop of tinkling glass permeated their silent stare. In an instant, a perfect circle materialized through the window.
The standoff had come to a conclusion as the gun and gunman fell unassumingly to the floor. Chris never broke eye contact with him.
The house instantly filled with an army of officers who screamed orders, securing each room. They forged a surreal, chaotic push through every opening of the house.
"Number 1, CLEAR!"
"Number 3, CLEAR!"
"Number 2 CLEAR!"
"Southwest entrance secure!"
Agents yelled through their radio headsets, storming through the house until they arrived at the kitchen where the lead assault agent radioed back:
"Subjects secure, hostile down!"
"Roger that," Hobbs affirmed through the headset.
Felicia ran to Chris’ arms as quickly as possible.
"Is he OK Mr. Chris?"
"Yeah, sweetheart, he just fainted; he’s fine," Chris calmly answered, still staring at their captor.
Chris handed Felicia off to one of the female agents.
"I’ll be outside in a second sweet heart," He assured Felicia.
"How come?? Why not now?" Felicia whined.
"Well," Chris began, glancing over to Joel, "the mean man back at the TV station is gonna make me and Joel work for a little bit and then I’ll be out after that honey."
"OK," Felicia giggled. "I’m still thirsty!!"
Chris looked to the agent, "can you get her a bottle of water please? And perhaps a shot of Tequila for me...Oh, and some toilet paper for my friend Joel over there."
The agent laughed. "Yeah, him and me both," she agreed.
Chris stared at the gunman as he lay dead in the kitchen floor; he wondered about this man’s little girl and his wife. He wondered about himself and the path that he'd followed months ago, laying on the ground in front of the shop. His thoughts finally turned to Thomas and his appointment with fate.
As Miss Joyce said, first chances! Not second chances. The gentleman on the kitchen floor chose unwisely and this was his price. Thomas had made unwise choices also, but it wasn’t too late. As for Chris, he finally, truly, felt that perhaps it wasn’t too late for he as well.
The event at that shop gate wasn’t a second chance for him and what Marie and Miss Joyce had been telling him finally made sense.
Chris smiled as Joel scrambled behind him, feverishly filming as much as possible.
"I was ready to kill ya’ myself," Joel nervously laughed.
"Yeah?" Chris flippantly responded.
Joel lowered his camera as Chris silently stared at the gunman for a moment longer.
"Look, Joel, I know that people at work think I'm crazy," Chris dismissed. "Maybe I am, who knows?"
"Nah!" Joel dismissed. "By the way," Joel changed the topic; "What did Hobbs whisper to you earlier?"
Chris lead Joel to the living room where he used his foot to lift the lid to a crate that the gunman had been sitting on, revealing enough C4 explosives to level half a city block.
"He assured me that this guy was prepared to go down, but on his own terms. He also told me that if we went in, he'd vouch for Thomas with the Justice Department and cut him a deal that would keep him out of prison. Pretty crazy, huh?" Chris dismissed.
"Hey," Joel interjected, "that was the least crazy, crazy shit, I’ve ever seen. Thomas has a good friend; I hope he knows that. And, even though you offered me up as a sacrifice, I'm glad that you're a friend, asshole."
Chris quickly corrected Joel, "Now that I think about it, I believe the word I'm searching for is not crazy, I believe the word is stupid, selfish or suicidal; not exactly the sort of things of which friendships are formed." Chris blankly stared at the floor.
"Fuck yeah it is!" You never met my ex-wife," Joel exclaimed. "Chris?" Joel tried to snap Chris out of his somber reflection. "It worked my man! You hit the guy from left field and it all worked out in the end for us all...well, except for the big dead guy over there," Joel pointed to the gunman.
Chris grimly stared at the gunman who lay, lifeless in the middle of the kitchen floor.
"Chris, the good guys are all alive and well, ya' know?" Joel boasted.
Chris intently studied Joel’s face before answering...
"I hope so."
copyright, Pontchartrain Press 2008
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