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“Let’s go,” she snapped. “Or I’m going to shoot the two of you where you stand.”
CHAPTER 82
I SAT DOWN, took my gun up out of my lap, and put it on the table as Donna had told me to do. But I didn’t release it from my grip. I moved slowly, using whatever few seconds I could gain to assess our situation.
The dining room was a twelve-by-twelve-foot open-ended box with two arched entranceways, one from the living room to the dining room, the other from the dining room to the kitchen.
There was a squat lowboy on the wall to my right, and past Conklin, on the opposite wall, were a pair of windows.
The table and chairs were too big for the room and took up the center of it, leaving very little margin around the sides.
Donna was standing six feet across the table from me, aiming her ladylike Colt with steady hands. If I leapt for her, she’d shoot. No doubt about it. The only way she could miss was if her gun jammed or she had a heart attack.
I couldn’t count on either of those possibilities. Accordingly, I didn’t see how we were all going to get out of this room alive.
I put the safety on my gun and slid it across the table. Conklin was also sitting down. He’s a quick draw and good shot, but his gun was in its holster on his hip.
He showed Timko that he wasn’t holding a gun and said in a very reasonable tone of voice, “Donna, no. Put that away. You, too, Mr. Brenner. We’re just here to talk. No need to get bent out of shape. You don’t want to accidentally shoot a cop. You really don’t.
“And just so you know, I called for backup before we entered the house. So there are going to be cruisers in your driveway any minute.”
Had Richie called for backup?
That would have been prudent, but I’d been busy getting out our Kevlar vests and hadn’t noticed what my partner had done.
Time had slowed to one solitary frame per second. I was alert to the facial expressions of the two people holding the guns, watching the tension in their hands at the same time.
Donna Timko was focused and tightly coiled.
Walt was relaxed. He handled his weapon casually, like he was familiar with it and welcomed an opportunity to let ’er rip.
“Right,” Walt said to Conklin. “Cops are on the way.”
Conklin said, “Pulling a gun on a cop is plenty bad enough, Walter. But, if you shoot a cop, no one can help you. Understand what I’m saying? Put the guns away and we’ll forget this happened. Right, Sergeant? Or, you have a running head start. See how far you go.”
Donna sat down and braced her elbows on the table. She held her Colt with both hands, the muzzle pointed at my face.
I was still desperately trying on scenarios, looking for something that would get the fewest number of us killed.
Sweat beaded on my scalp. I thought of Julie and Joe. That I might not see them again. Had I even kissed them on the way out the door this morning? I couldn’t remember.
I knew that I wouldn’t survive a head shot.
Donna Timko was showing visible signs of stress. She was red-faced, and the muscle in her left jaw was twitching. It looked to me like she could go off any moment.
She said, “Walt, take Mr. Conklin’s weapon, why don’t you? And then we’ve got to figure out what to do with these crumbs.”
CHAPTER 83
I HAD NO problem believing that Donna Timko was a loose cannon. She was adrenalized. Her gun was braced four feet directly across the table from me. Her finger was on the trigger and she’d aimed her gun just so.
If she sneezed, she’d shoot me between the eyes.
Two feet to my left, Conklin sat in the chair with his hands in the air at shoulder height.
Walter Brenner stood to the right of his sister, training his gun on Conklin, grinning and bouncing on his feet like a four-year-old waiting for a pony ride.
Forget ponies. Make that a crazy four-year-old with a gun.
