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, any place that a bullet could stop him.
Reuben screamed, ‘Back the fuck up!’
Will looked through the rifle scope. 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 on to 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.’