Thanks to everyone reading. Appreciate the comments also! Bad Language, bad situations, and tough choices. Told from Kara's point of view ... the kitchen floor of Noonan's.
Bob Royce, never Bobby or Robert, was old. Too old to hold his own anymore with younger convicts. Lucky for him he befriended a con ten years younger than himself, Oliver Denning, years ago. Oliver needed some help with storing contraband and Royce was a master at hiding things. The money he robbed from the Henderson Bank, three million six hundred and fifty thousand dollars, was still stashed in an old army trunk buried outside Gotham. Royce planned on going back to it after he served his time but things didn't work out after he cut the nose off of a prison guard and discovering he liked cutting people up. He was the most feared prisoner in his day – no one, guard or convict, wanted to be on his bad side. This was his only chance at getting to his stash. Even if he had to share it.
The kitchen phone rang. And continued to ring. Kara could hear the faint shuffling of feet. They're using sign again to communicate. Crap. I wonder if I can move a little, try to get a glimpse of where they're at. If they're using sign they'll have to watch each other instead of the hostages, instead of me. Nice and slow, Kara.
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, GLASSES?!" Munson yelled. "NO ONE GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO MOVE!"
"NO, Munson, not her! Shoot one of the others – the cripple," Royce suggested. "When the time comes, Glasses belongs to me."
"NO – PLEASE NO! I didn't mean to upset you! I'm getting cramped on the floor like this. It hurts where you kicked me. I won't move again. I'm sorry!" Kara listened intently for the movement of a gun hammer as John's whimpers of fear filled the air.
Danine cried out again as Oliver snarled, "YOU are not calling the shots, Glasses. Get that through your fucking head!"
"She's gonna be trouble," Munson's voice was quiet and deadly. "I say we do her now. The cops have us pinned down anyway. We ain't goin' anywhere. This whole thing's a bust."
"NO," Royce sounded almost desperate. "We'll get out of here."
"Yes, yes we will," Oliver sounded thoughtful. "Glasses is going to make sure of it. You only listen when someone else gets hurt, Glasses. We can probably work with that. She seems to like the cripple – maybe they got a thing going on. Time to put that to the test."
A meaty thunk sound and John let out a shriek of pain followed by sobs.
"That's the sound of a knife cleaving through a finger," Royce said. "Clean through. Any preference for the next one, Glasses? Maybe I should just do the whole hand… slowly."
The metallic smell of copper filled the air.
Rao, no! I'm so sorry, John. They're watching me like hawks. If I make one move they'll start shooting the hostages. Keep quiet, Kara.
Another meaty thunk accompanied John's cry.
"Piece by piece, Glasses," Royce taunted. "Like I'm gonna do you … but slower."
"So, what's your plan, Glasses," Oliver asked. "What's your brilliant plan to get us out of here so your boyfriend doesn't lose any more parts?"
"He's … he's not my boyfriend. He's just an employee here. I'm sorry I moved. Please don't hurt anyone else."
"Oh – look at that. You've finally figured out who's in charge. Now, I asked you a question. What's your plan for getting us out of here? I'm sure you've thought of something," Oliver was moving with Danine again.
"I'm not asking this to make you mad," Kara prefaced then hurriedly went on, "where exactly do you need to go? I mean, are you headed straight for the border, or are you going to need to stop."
"You trying to make sure we kill everyone?" Oliver sneered. "We tell you everything so your friends here tell the cops after we're gone? Damn, Glasses, here I thought you were concerned for their safety."
"I … you … you don't have to tell me exactly where or anything. I … I meant it like if you're … making stops along the way or going straight through. I heard you … before … ask the police for a plane too. That's why I'm asking… I mean, if you're going to make stops why not get a helicopter instead of a plane? The small ones can land almost anywhere - even in the street outside this building." Emphasis smaller as better. I'll only have the pilot to worry about. Make sure you keep sounding weak and beaten. These guys don't like it when you sound confident and John's paying for it.
Silence – except for the damn phone still ringing and John's sobs.
Yeah, I bet none of you brilliant minds thought to get a chopper instead of a plane at the airport. Now to throw in another carrot.
"The company I work for … Catco. It … it has a helicopter. Equipped with a … a police radio. You … you guys, you guys can listen in on what the police are saying."
Keep stuttering. Time to act as horrified as you are – I'm so sorry, John. They're still quiet – bet Oliver's thinking it over. Seems like he's the one in charge. What are the police saying?
"…no, sir. They haven't picked up the phone since we told
them why we didn't go in. We haven't heard any shots from
inside the building except for the one shot heard by the
responding officers about five minutes after they barricaded
themselves in there. We still don't have an accurate count of
the number of hostages. We're still reviewing Catco's exterior
security footage to see how many customers went in. The
manager said there were only four employees working because
they had that fundraiser at the park. I think that reporter has
a rapport with them somehow. They wouldn't have thrown out
her name otherwise. And they did call back to find out why
we didn't come in. That says something. I heard about what
they did to the guys in the prisoner van transporting them to
Gotham. If we haven't got any dead bodies yet that reporter's
doing something right."
"Any demands yet?"
"None except the initial ones for the tactical unit, a plane, and
to see Supergirl. Wish she'd get her ass – uh, butt – over here."
"Let this reporter keep working them. Keep the entry teams
prepped to enter. Immediate entry if they start shooting the
hostages."
"Yes, sir. Immediate entry if the hostages are getting shot."
"Well, Glasses, you've finally come up with something useful," Oliver said at the same time another kick was delivered into her blind side.
"Aaahhh," Kara cried out. Pretend it hurt. Sell it, Kara. That's right, ragged breaths. Let the bullies think they've hurt you.
"Fuck! I must have broken one of her ribs or hit part of the floor," Munson exclaimed. "I think my toes are broke. Cheap ass prison shoes."
"Take the shoes off of that one. He looks like his feet are pretty big," Oliver ordered.
"Okay, mother fucker, you stay exactly where you are. One move and there'll be a hole where your dick was," Munson threatened.
Scuffling sounds for about a minute then the sound of a boot hitting flesh and a male voice crying out in pain.
"Yeah. These boot's will do. Thanks, mother fucker," Munson almost sounded happy.
"What's the name of that place you work for, Glasses?" Oliver asked. "You know how to fly one of those helicopters?"
"Catco… and … I don't, I don't know how to fly a helicopter … they've got a couple of pilots on staff. They're pretty good." Keep the answers short, Kara. Like you're out of breath.
The kitchen phone stopped ringing.
"Yeah, police bitch, we're still here. No one's been totally dismembered … yet. Royce is getting a little antsy so I suggest you listen up. That company Danvers works for … Catco. They got helicopters. I want one of them. Totally fueled up – have them land in front of this place. You make sure the police radio's working on that chopper, bitch, or one of the hostages will be leaping to the ground and going splat."
"Now I gotta figure out who gets to come with us and go skydiving. You're coming with us for sure, Glasses," Oliver said as soon as he hung up the phone.
Don't bother saying anything. He didn't ask you a question … let him think you've learned your lesson. Let him be the boss. I know Cat will come through with the chopper – if the police let her. Hope Leadford's the pilot. He's ex-military and he doesn't look too intimidating.
"We're gonna need all of them," Munson said. "Those snipers will pick us off on the way to the helicopter."
"Yeah," Royce agreed. "They can't land that helicopter too close to the doors. We can take everyone but the cripple. That gives us plenty of shielding and bargaining chips."
Keep still. Don't let them know how small the helicopter is. Let them find out for themselves. When the copter's on the ground. Then you can negotiate because they won't want to let it go. They're already psyching themselves up to leave – to beat the police. Bet Royce is thinking about how he's going to defend himself from the other two after he uncovers his money.
"Why you so quiet, Glasses? You were all talky before. Now you ain't got nothing to say? How come? You leading us into a trap?" Oliver's voice was hard.
Crap! Play the wounded card.
"You didn't … didn't ask me anything," Kara's voice was weak and breathy. She let her voice hitch a little, "If … if I say anything … without you asking … me or someone else gets …hurt. What … what do you want…me to say? You don't have … to worry about police snipers? … cause … cause you don't." Throw in a few coughs. Let them wonder why I said that.
"Really, Glasses? You think we're fucking stupid?" Munson asked about fifteen feet from where he was standing a few seconds ago.
Can you guys just stay in one spot?
"Wind …wind from the blades…it'll throw the bullets off. Snipers … can't shoot through that. The … police know that. They won't … risk it. Can't. Too many people …. in offices," Kara finished her sentence with another couple weak coughs. Not too much – Oliver has a thing against damaged goods. Have to make sure he doesn't change his mind. Make sure he takes me.
The three convicts were silent.
Oliver's weighing what I said. The other two are clueless. Probably wondering why they didn't think of that. Oliver is trying to read me … that's why he's in charge. They rely on his judgment with people – I've got to be careful. I can't let anything ring false. One slip and this whole gamble is for nothing. People will die.