Chapter Three: Someday the Rain Will Fall
The floor of the bank was wet from the continuous customers traipsing the weather from outside in. The quiet air conditioning buzz had been shut off at the same time as the power lines had been severed.
With his fingers intertwined behind his head, Tony shifted his eyes towards the head boots of the ski masked criminals, since that was more or less all he could see of those criminals in his current position.
Four sets of boots: black, heavy duty issue. Out the corner of his eyes he could make out one of the bank clerks, the security guard who had had his gun and handcuffs taken off him, lying face down into the cold stone floor. No-one else was visible without completely turning his head. Adding the security guard he'd say fifteen now. Fifteen trapped in this bank which was turning quickly into a dilemma.
There was a soft jingle of bullet casings bouncing on the floor as one of the goons changed his magazine. "Now that I have your full attention." The apparent leader's voice drawled unpleasantly. "I'll ask politely for all your ladies and gentlemen to make your way towards the vault." His voice there was something…familiar about it. Horrible familiar. But it had a husky quality now.
Tony raised his head, meeting the eyes of one of the gun men, although his eyes were immediately drawn to the gun rather than the hidden face.
"Come on, up, up, up." Leader Man clapped his gloved hands together, urging his captives to stand. Pushing himself up off the damp floor, Tony brushed himself down whilst taking a skirting look around at the other captives. Green eyes met a pair of pale blue across the room, locked for a moment, one showing barely hidden relief, the other the same barely hidden confusion, before the blue eyes broke the contact.
The vault was an old fashioned turn wheel with the stiff wheel on the outside, the code and safe on its own electricity system. A clerk quaked inside his smart blue uniform, sweat beading on his forehead as Gunman Two, Tony had originally nicknamed him, approached him, weapon in hand.
"Open it," It wasn't exactly a suggestion. Obviously new at his job, the clerk just stared wide eyed at the gun, mouth parted in panic. Rolling his eyes Gunman Two turned to the captives. "Simon." Ah, name of a captive. Gunman Three is Simon. Mental note, Tony. Gunman Three, now known as Simon, stepped forward as Gunman Two grabbed the young girl. The mother yelled her protest, but Simon already had her arm in a lock. Gunman Two secured the young girl, who was fighting fruitlessly against his grip. "Now, open it."
The clerk quaked harder, whimpering softly. "Hey!" A voice called from the crowd. Gunman Two and Simon both swung their heads towards the noise. "What you gunna get with the little girl." Tony pushed his way in front of Simon, shoulder back, standing tall. "I'm a much better interrogative hostage. Older, better bait, better hostage, more handsome, better talker, much better company." He gave the little girl a reassuring wink, smiling. Gunman Two considered the boy in front of him before coming to a decision. "Here alone?" He asked curtly, still holding a tight grip on the little girls arm.
"All on my lonesome," He lied smoothly. Gunman Two, in one fluid movement released the girl – Simon releasing the mother at the same time – and pulling Tony towards him. The boy didn't resist. "Hey…Malcolm." Tony started casually, licking his lips slightly as the muzzle rested against his side. "Mind giving me that code?" The clerk whose nametag read Malcolm switched his terrified gaze onto Tony, eyes still wide like a deer in the headlights.
"Urh…um 1, 1, 7 – 6, 1, 6 – 1, 9, 7, 3." Malcolm finally stuttered. Gunman Two jerked his head to Simon, who punched in the code. With a scrape and a heave, the vault door was hauled open. The vault was wide and square.
"Welcome to your new accommodation." The Leader Man's voice called from behind whilst his three goonies shepherded the captives inside, guns in plain and obvious sight. Tony was still being grasped tightly by Mr. Number Two when Leader Man strolled up casually, leaning his gun against his shoulder. "So quick to be a hero, young man. Hmn, we'll remember that."
With a swift swing of the muzzle, the leader caught Tony a glancing blow to the head. Number Two let go of his arm, causing him to stumble straight into the vault, landing heavily on the stone floor. There was a soft, echoing chuckle as the vault door banged shut, a series of soft clicks the tell-tale sound of a locking mechanism.
There was silence for a few moments.
"We're all gunna die! We're gunna suffocate. Oh, lord, oh God." A soft muttering started up from the corner where Malcolm was huddling.
"Suffocate…what's he talking about, Matt??" Asked one of the two men that had been having a heated discussion at the desk to his companion.
"Steve, think about it. This is a vault, full of paper. Paper doesn't need to breath."
"So, this is airtight?" The mother spoke up softly, holding her daughter close.
"Mommy, what's airtight?"
"Shh, Anna, sweetie."
Tony blinked, bringing up a hand to rub the side of his head. "Ow." He muttered quietly. Someone knelt in front of him, a hand falling gently onto his shoulder, another cupping his jaw in a warm grip.
"Seeing straight?" Gibbs soft voice questioned, taking his hand off Tony's shoulder to probe the air hit by the gun muzzle.
"I'm fine, dad. Had worse walking into walls." Tony smiled reassuringly, trying to push his father's hand away.
"That doesn't inspire confidence, kiddo, first time I saw you walk into a wall you knocked yourself out." Gibbs reminded him, switching to check the reaction of Tony's pupils in the dim yellow light offered by the vault.
"I don't remember that,"
"Exactly."
"Okay, bad example. I've had worse falling down the garden steps." They didn't have any steps in their garden. Slightly more satisfied, Gibbs sat back on his heels, glancing up at the other captives. Tony relaxed his tense shoulders slightly, letting out a breath. "How long d'you the air'll last?" Tony broached the silence that had developed, only broken by Malcolm's quiet mutterings. Gibbs shrugged, he really didn't know. "Long enough for us to get out." He replied finally.
Outside the vault the four gunmen had gathered around the corner, their leader standing calmly with his arms folded. One of them reached up and pulled off his ski mask, breathing a sigh of relief as he was freed from the hot fabric.
"Elliot, what the hell are you doing?" Gunman Two hissed.
"It's not like there are any cameras, and you already know what I look like." Elliot replied obviously, rolling his grey eyes. He was a tall man, well built with a scar across his right eyebrow. Simon turned towards their leader.
"What are we waitin' for, boss? We got the hostages, we got the kid, and we got more than enough. What we doing?" The leader turned his cold eyes onto Simon, looking at him patronisingly.
"We are waiting, Simon, for the negotiator."
They didn't have to wait long.
The vault opened slowly, the rush of air a cooling breeze from the heat which had been building up quickly. Elliot and Simons stood present, both standing directly straight.
"You, you and you." Simons pointed to three of the hostages, namely Tony, the old man and the female bank clerk, her name-tag reading Siobhan. Getting slowly to his feet, Tony nudged his foot subtly against Gibbs'.
"Stay here and leave the door open, El." Simon ordered, chivvying the three along in front of him. El cocked his weapon evidently. "Any of ya think about running, you'll be runnin' with a hole in ya head." He sneered behind his mask. Gibbs stood calmly, still watching the corner where he'd seen his son disappear. It wasn't just the bank robbery and the device making his stomach twist uncomfortably. It wasn't just the gunman in front of him, he'd faced down worse. No, his son was no longer in his sights and there was a voice echoing down from the main area away from the vault. The words were muffled, but the tone was obvious: it was angry.
Seconds passed slowly, with Elliot standing comfortably in front of the door whilst the rest of the hostages, save Gibbs, huddled at the back, some sitting on the floor, some leaning against the walls.
Minutes passed on, the voice got louder, the words still undesirable, if unheard.
Then there was a scream. Then there was a gunshot.
I'm kinda mean, aren't I. C'mon, cliff-hangers are how I keep going. And it's not like you have to wait long. I love reviews, I love readers, I love when I get e-mails saying someone's added this to their story alerts. It makes a writer feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Warm and fuzzy's good. Warm and fuzzy gets more replied. Well, this is a short one. Next one will be longer, or at least more active. Thank you!
Soul Music