Fic: An Ideal For Living (2/4), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: An Ideal For Living (2/4) - Gene's POV
Author: dak
Word Count: 7506
Rating: Blue Cortina
Spoilers: SET AFTER 2x08, haven't seen the finale, don't read this, also spoilers for 1x06
Warnings: violence, swearing, and of course a little angst
Pairing: Sam/Annie
Disclaimer: As much as I've begged and pleaded, BBC has still refused to sell me the rights, gosh darnit.
A/N: Realized that this is going to need four parts, not three, because I'll need to write an epilogue.
This is a fic in four parts - Prologue, Gene's POV, Sam's POV, Epilogue - about a bank robbery/hostage crisis, where Gene is on the outside trying to solve the situation and Sam is trapped inside as one of the hostages.
This is Gene's view of the story.
Part 1 - Prologue
Traffic was rerouted, gaping pedestrians were held back, and several police officers stood around with their hands in their pockets. For a hostage crisis, it was all quite pedestrian for the folks waiting outside.
“How many are stuck in the bank?” Gene Hunt had finally arrived, for once his tardiness having nothing to do with oversleeping, over-drinking, or overeating. A body had been found across town, up above Waterloo Road, and some inconveniently placed nuns had delayed his normal, quicksilver fast driving skills.
“Don’t know, Guv,” Ray replied, chomping on his gum while he, Chris, and Gene stood outside the perimeter. An actual, cordoned-off perimeter. Tyler would be proud. “One bird was able to sneak out ‘fore they locked the doors. Cartwright’s with ‘er now.”
“Soon’s the plonk gets summit out of her I want to know. Did we get a hold of those building plans?”
“Building manager brought ‘em over ‘bout ten minutes ago. I set ‘em up in the crisis center,” Chris answered.
“Crisis center?” Gene scoffed.
“Well, its, er, what DI Tyler did before with that Reg Cole bloke. Just thought...” Chris trailed off, believing he’d embarrassed himself enough already.
“Proper little Hyde boy you’re turning out to be,” Gene mocked, though Chris could tell it was a good-natured jab. “Right then. Where is our special hideaway?”
“Seafood restaurant ‘cross the street,” Chris pointed to a small doorway on the other side of the road that was teeming with uniformed officers and gawking spectators desperate for a glimpse of the action.
“Why’d you have to pick there Chris?” Ray grimaced. “You know I can’t stand the smell of fish.”
“ ‘S not so bad, Ray. They mainly do shellfish anyhow.”
“You’ve eaten there?”
“Took me girlfriend once. Turns out she’s allergic but din’t know. Face swelled up like a chipmunk.” Chris laughed, cupping his hands near his face, mimicking puffy cheeks.
“Can we save the gossip for tea time ladies?”
The two detectives mumbled quick “sorry Guv’s” and followed their DCI across the street to Chris’ designated Crisis Center. The inside of the restaurant was about as mundane as the area around the bank. Other than some confused diners who were forced out before they had finished their meals and were demanding answers and/or compensation for their trouble, the dining room was quite quiet.
Plod were standing about, sipping tea and chatting about the unnaturally lovely weather for this time of year. A few WPCs were on hand to comfort any kiddies or old ladies distraught by the recent events. The only person who seemed to be doing anything productive, Gene noted, was WDC Annie Cartwright.
Annie was talking to a weeping woman, (gorgeous hair, even better breasts), but when she saw Gene and the others enter she quickly excused herself and hurried over to the team.
“Guv,” she took his attention from the woman’s heaving chest. “Miss Perry was the woman who got out. She said it was three men, all armed, wearing balaclavas. She ran out when they fired the first shots but didn’t think anyone was injured. They were all aiming at the ceiling when she left.”
“Notice how many customers? Tellers?”
“Only that it was busy, a lot of people running over to do their banking during the lunch hour. Probably ten to fifteen, and there were at least three employees. And one child.”
“Bloody hell. They’ve got a kid in there? You sure?” Ray motioned outside towards the closed off bank.
“She says she remembers him because he couldn’t stop asking his mum questions about the bank. Seven or eight years old she thinks,” Annie double-checked her notes.
“That’s a lot of people, Guv,” Chris spoke nervously. “You...you think we should ring the Boss?”
“Leave the picky pain out of this for now. Probably only wet himself if he found out we had a nice, juicy hostage crisis to solve. Then poor Cartwright’d have to scrub the piss out of his trousers,” Gene spoke with authority, walking over to check the building plans.
“ ‘Sides, nearly got us all killed las’ time we had hostages,” Ray smirked as he joined the Guv by the table.
“Don’t remember you being cuffed to that radiator, Raymondo,” Gene stated as he poured over the blueprints and Ray’s grin quickly faded.
“Doesn’t look like there’s any way in, ‘cept the front entrance.”
“Nothing round back?” Ray wondered in disbelief.
“Use to be but the manager said some new construction covered it up,” Chris shared. “Solid brick now. He said we might be able to get in through the roof,” he pointed to it on the prints. “Make our way down through the bank manager’s office an’ the like but if we wanted to reach the lobby, we’d have to come in through here.” Chris turned a page to find an internal diagram of the bank. “Only one door, right next to the vaults, which is where they’ll probably be working. Right Guv?”
“How long’s it been?” Gene asked, concentrating on the plans, hoping to see something, anything, that the building manager didn’t catch.
“ ‘Bout forty minutes,” Ray answered, checking his watch.
“These aren’t nutters like Cole. They’ll want something. They’ll make demands. Have we heard anything yet?” All three of his officers shook their heads. “Do we know anything else about them, ‘sides what Blondie Big Tits over there told us?” Again they shook their heads.
“Right.” Gene stood up straight, pulling his gloves tight and fixing his coat. “Guess I’ll have a word with ‘em then, shall I?” Gene grabbed a megaphone one of the plod had been examining and stormed out of the restaurant, heading straight for the bank. Ray immediately followed, while Chris hung back with a concerned looking Annie.
“You alright, Cartwright?” Chris asked when he noticed Annie staring into space.
“What? Yes. Sorry. It’s just...” She lost herself in thought again.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just something Sam said this morning.”
“He’s not breaking up with you is he?” Chris looked positively horrified.
“No. No,” Annie laughed. “It’s nothing. C’mon. We better go make sure the Guv doesn’t antagonize the hostage-takers.”
“We’re prob’ly already too late,” Chris sighed as he followed Annie across the street.
Sure enough, Hunt had already moved inside the perimeter, standing behind an old van just in case, but looking no less intimidating then a rabid badger who had missed his supper. Chris and Annie lined up next to Ray, who was still hanging back by the rope.
“Oi! Listen up you tossers! This is DCI Hunt! CID! In case you’re thicker than a spanner soaked in Lyle’s Golden, which you obviously are since you’ve tried to rob a bank in my city, you should know you’re surrounded by impatient bastards, with short tempers, and loads of bullets!”
“Do you have your gun?” Ray whispered to Chris.
“Damn it! I knew I forgot summit,” Chris scolded himself.
“I left mine in me locker,” Ray confessed.
They both looked at Annie.
“I still haven’t finished my firearms training,” she explained nervously.
“Really?” Ray smirked again. “Thought Tyler was givin’ you plenty of practice on ‘is pistol.” He completed the sentence with what would certainly be considered a rude gesture and he and Chris chuckled until Gene’s booming voice brought them back to the present.
“So! Might as well save us all the trouble, since you’re already nicked, throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up like the good little scumbags you are!” Gene lowered the megaphone and waited for a response. There was nothing at first, then movement could be seen inside. A second later a window was cracked open and a voice shouted back.
“Up yours copper!” It was a Southern accent, not a local boy then, Gene decided. Shame on him. “You come near us, we start shooting hostages! An’ we’ve got plenty to spare! You wait for our instructions!” The window slammed shut.
Gene stared hard at the windows, as if he could blow them apart with just a look, then strode back to this team.
“I think that went well, Guv,” Ray stated, chomping away, and in all honesty Gene couldn’t tell if he was being encouraged or insulted. Ray could be shifty like that when he wanted to. At least with Tyler the verbal abuse was always obvious. “What do we do now, then?”
“Little tosspots are bound to get hungry eventually, better yet, thirsty.”
“ ‘Specially if we turn up the heat,” Ray nodded, a grin creeping over his face, which caused Annie and Chris to share a nervous glance.
Annie was the first to speak up when Gene seemed to be approving Ray’s plan. “Are you sure that’s wise Guv? It didn’t seem to help with Cole.” Annie avoided mentioning that back then Sam had thought it was an awful idea. She had become used to avoiding Sam’s name when in debates at work. If she didn’t, they would all assume she was only siding with the DI because they were sleeping together, rather than the fact that Sam actually knew what he was talking about some of the time. Well, that was a hazard of a relationship at work.
Gene did think over her words, but only for a moment, before reaching his decision. “Like I said. These spastics aren’t like Cole, are they? They went in to rob the bank, got stuck inside, and now they want out. Don’t want to die in some ill begotten blaze of glory now do they? They’ll tell us what they want. Let’s see if we can’t speed ‘em up with a little sweat.” He nodded at Ray and the DS ran back to the Crisis Center to track down the building manager.
*
“Listen up coppers!”
It only took about twenty minutes for the robbers to come forward with their demands.
Gene was almost definite it was the same man as before. Maybe the other two were local. Maybe they thought someone would be able to identify their voices if they spoke.
“We’ve got loads of people here, all ready to get a bullet to their heads if you don’t give us what we’re asking!”
Gene was back behind the van, Ray beside him, with Chris and Annie listening from behind the perimeter. “What are you asking for then?” Gene shouted back.
“We want...the money we came in for!...”
“Like hell,” Gene muttered under his breath.
“A car for us to drive off in!...”
“Oh, any particular model,” Gene mocked with Ray.
“And we’ll be taking one of the hostages with us!...”
“Is a lovely day for a drive, isn’t it DS Carling?”
“We’ll kill ‘em if you follow us! But if you don’t we’ll leave ‘em safe and sound where they’ll be found!”
“Did that just rhyme? Maybe we should check the local universities for any disgruntled poets.”
“Well!”
“Give us a moment to think it over an’ we’ll get back to yeh!” Gene answered back, then he and Ray stepped out of shouting distance, walking over to where Chris and Annie were waiting. “You ladies got all that?” He asked his DCs.
“Money, car, hostage.” Chris nodded, reading from his notes. “That don’t seem too bad.”
“He sounded odd Guv,” Annie thought aloud. “Like he was reading from a list or something. The way he paused in between demands.”
“Prob’ly what took so long to hear from ‘em,” Gene scoffed. “Had to learn how to write first.”
Suddenly, the sounds of a struggle could be heard from inside the bank. Gene pulled out his gun and ran to the back of the van. Ray, Chris, and Annie all followed but since Gene didn’t turn to see, he didn’t realize they were unarmed. They waited there several tense seconds. Whatever was happening seemed to be over, but Gene didn’t make the mistake of relaxing.
There were another few silent seconds, even the crowds around the restaurant had stilled, until, from inside, a woman screamed, something crashed, and a gun went off. A few guns actually. Three shots. Then it all became deathly still.
Gene looked back at his team, gun still raised. “Where the bleedin’ hell are your shooters?”
They all looked sheepishly at their feet and Gene let out an aggravated sigh as he turned back to the bank. “Useless, bloody tossers. Every last one of yeh...Oi!” He shouted at the window. “ ‘Less you tell us what happened in there, I can only assume you’ve already killed all those hostages which means we’ve got no reason to wait ‘round out here!”
There was no noise from inside, or at least no noise that could travel through the building’s brick walls.
“We can’t make a move ‘less you twats are armed. Cartwright.”
“Yes Guv.”
“Go back to the nick, pick up guns for all the men.”
“Sir, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to sign out...”
“Phyllis will help you sort it, just go!”
Annie nodded, grabbing the nearest plod to give her a ride to the station. Gene’s eyes were locked on the bank, hoping to hear something from the brutes inside.
“Guv,” Chris spoke, “ ‘S dangerous in there, innit?”
“Gee, Chris, and how did you come to that conclusion? Was it the guns or the screaming?”
“I was jus’ thinkin’, if there’s a kid in there, maybe...well y’know what DI Tyler said before?”
“Do you record everything ‘e says then practice it at home?” Ray jibed, but Chris ignored him.
“They need us to implement their demands...” Chris stumbled over the words, trying to sound as convincing as his DI while racking his brain for the correct terminology. “Quid pro quote, right? They give us summit an’ we give them summit.”
“Point, Chris?” Gene rolled his eyes.
“Well, maybe if we give ‘em some water or summit like that, they’ll let the kid go. One less hostage we ‘ave to worry about. Guns an’ stuff. No place for a kid, really.”
Gene carefully thought over Chris’ words. He didn’t much care what the papers said about him but he certainly didn’t want himself or any of his team to be blamed for the death of a child. “Good a place to start as any, Skelton.” Gene, gun raised again, focused his attention on the window he’d spoken to before. “Can you wankers hear me? You’ve got a boy in there. I need to know if he’s alright!”
There was a long silence.
“So help me, if you’ve shot a defenseless, little kiddie I’ll personally see to it that you never even make it to jail in one piece, let alone live to serve your sentence!”
Again, there was more silence but Gene and the others could see someone moving towards the window. He waited, his naturally thin patience already wearing out. Finally the window was lifted up and the Southern voice wafted through the air.
“The boy...the boy’s fine!”
The man was definitely more nervous now. It was obvious in his voice. The boy might have been fine but Gene was almost certain that someone else was not.
“I want to see ‘im for meself!” Gene hollered back, initially receiving no response. “Well?” Still nothing. Reluctantly, Gene decided to try it Tyler’s way. “If you’ve got loads of hostages in there, you don’t really need one little kid, do you?” He could still see the figure by the window and prayed they were listening. “Why don’t you send him an’ his mum out and we’ll send yeh over summit to drink.” The figure moved. Was he turning to talk with his mates? Was he preparing to close the window?
“Water?” The voice finally called back.
“If that’s what you want.”
Another moment of silence. Gene was desperate to storm the building, shoot the bad guys, save all the women and children. All this waiting. How the hell could Tyler do it?
“Ten bottles! Ten bottles of water for the kid and the mum!”
“You heard ‘im,” Gene nodded to Chris and Ray. “Grab some from the restaurant and bring ‘em over.”
“And we want a uniformed officer to bring it to the door! One officer! Unarmed! No funny stuff or the mum gets to buy her little boy his very
own pint-sized coffin. Got that?”
“We’re getting the water now!”
Chris and Ray, more Ray than Chris actually, bullied the restaurant owner into handing over some of his precious bottles of Perrier, loaded them in a bag and gave them to PC Broyer who would be making the exchange. The nervous, young officer nearly dropped the bag of glass bottles twice on his way inside the perimeter.
“S-sorry,” he mumbled to DCI Hunt as he grasped the heavy bag even tighter.
“Right,” Gene sighed. “Knock three times, like they said, wait for ‘em to open the door. While they’re handing over the kid and the bird try to see inside, see if any of ‘em took off their masks and look over the other hostages. Try and see who got shot. But don’t hang about. They’re already more nervous than a Jew in Germany, no need to make it worse. Got it?”
“Yes sir. Absolutely sir. Understood sir.”
Gene turned to the window. “We’re sending over our officer now!”
“Fine!” The voice shouted back.
Gene flicked his head from PC Broyer to the door. The officer nodded and slowly made his way past the van, onto the pavement, and up to the bank door.
“How old is he? Twelve?” Gene mocked as together he, Ray, and Chris watched the PC stumble up the bank steps and knock quickly on the heavy door. They all waited with baited breath as the door cracked open. It was hard to see but a gun was definitely shoved in Broyer’s face while a black-gloved hand reached out and snatched the heavy bag away. The gun remained as a small, ginger boy was shoved outside, followed by his equally ginger mother. The door slammed shut as soon as the woman was out and the gun was drawn back.
PC Broyer hurried the terrified mother and calm son back across the pavement, past the van, and under the rope. He handed them off to a waiting WPC then went back to speak with Hunt. “I’m-I’m sorry sir,” the officer stuttered, out-of-breath. “I tried to see but they didn’t open the door far enough. The man at the door, he still had his mask on and he never spoke.”
“Right,” Gene stated, obviously disappointed. “Good work. Shove off then.”
The PC nodded quickly and Gene watched him run back under the rope, past the WPC who, together with the newly released mother, was having trouble controlling the young boy.
“No! I have to talk to ‘im. Only ‘im! It’s me respons-sility!” The lad was growing more annoyed every time the WPC tried to pull him towards the crisis center. “Muuuuum!” He whined as he was grabbed forcefully by the arm and away from the rope. The boy looked around frantically, hoping to find someone who would listen. “D...C...I Hunt!” He enunciated each letter of the title. “I’ve got summit for DCI Hunt!”
His interest truly piqued, Gene strolled over the few steps to the rope. “Hold it!” He shouted to the frustrated WPC. “I’m DCI Hunt, lad. You need to see me?” Gene crouched down so he was eye level with the ginger nut.
The boy immediately stopped struggling and looked Gene over with a very serious expression. “Can I see some iden’fication please?” He asked sternly but politely, causing Gene to almost chuckle.
“Harry...” his tired mother sighed.
Gene reached into his pocket and pulled out his warrant card. The boy, Harry, reached out, opened the little flap that covered Gene’s name, and studied the card carefully. Satisfied, he pulled back his hand and reached into his pocket, pulling out a rectangular piece of paper.
“This’s for you.”
Gene reached out to take it. “Is it from the hostage-takers? The men with the guns?”
Harry shook his head no.
“From one of the other customers, like you?”
Harry shook his head yes. Gene carefully unfolded the paper. Hastily scrawled on it was the information he’d been hoping for. It listed the three robbers and the names they’d been calling each other (Mick, Robby, and a question mark by the third), what they were armed with, and how many hostages there were (eleven customers incl. boy, five employees).
It was only after Gene had digested the information that he realized the handwriting on the paper was familiar, much too familiar, and that there were small smears of blood around that too familiar scrawl.
Gene turned the paper over and examined the other side of what was apparently a check. His blood froze faster than his grim expression.
“Harry?” Gene said calmly, never taking his eyes off the check.
“Yes sir?”
“Who gave this to you?”
“Another customer sir.”
“A man?”
Harry nodded.
“What did he look like?”
“Uhm...” He looked up at his mum for support.
“Go on then, love,” she encouraged him weakly.
“ ‘E had really, really short hair, like me minister, ‘cept with...with...” he looked at his mum again, not sure of the word.
“Sideburns?” She helped and Harry nodded vigorously.
“What was he wearing?” The words nearly stuck in Gene’s throat.
“Uhm...Mum? What was ‘e wearing?” Harry whispered upwards.
“Oh lord. I dunno. Trousers?...An’...a jacket. A black, leather jacket,” she quickly remembered.
“Is this blood his? Was he hurt?”
Harry looked sadly at his feet and nodded his head. “ ‘E got shot when they got angry,” Harry whispered then looked back up at Gene. “ ’E said you better not get ‘im killed just cos you’re an impatient, cantankerous, alcoholic dinosaur who wants to get to the pub by five.”
“Harry, that’s enough,” his mother scolded.
“You see where he was shot?”
Harry hung his head again. “I don’t like to look at blood sir.”
“I’m sorry Chief Inspector. May we leave now?” The mother asked nervously.
Gene slowly rose from his kneeling position, eyes still locked on the paper in his hands. “Go over to our crisis center. Give your statements to one of the plonks,” he ordered, then with practiced calm, walked back to Ray and Chris. “We have a problem,” he said solemnly and showed the bloodied check to his officers.
Pay to the order of......Sam Tyler
*
“He said...he said he was going to the bank today. Finally open an account. Prove...prove that he was staying,” Annie smiled weakly but didn’t cry. There was no reason to cry. Sam was going to be fine. He was fine. “I didn’t think...”
The operation had slowed considerably once they learned one of their team was inside, on his own. It was a dangerous position for a lone copper to be in, especially if the hostage-takers learned that Sam was a cop. Hopefully he hadn’t told them. No. Tyler was smarter than that. Stupid enough to accidently reveal it but smart enough to not do it on purpose. Gene prayed that it was one of Tyler’s good days.
When Annie had returned with the guns, Gene had taken her over to a corner of the crisis center and calmly explained the new situation. She had needed help sitting down but Gene was proud that she’d kept her head about her. He hadn’t felt the need to tell her about the blood. It was probably only a scratch anyway. If Tyler had been able to write down all that after being shot, it had to be just a nick.
“We’ll get him out Cartwright. If I have to personally shoot down every one of those bastards to do it, we’ll get him out.” Gene placed a hand on her shoulder. It was quite the openly sincere gesture on his part but he felt she deserved it.
“He’s done this before, remember Annie?” Chris tried to comfort her but inside he was just as nervous as she was.
“Nowt can kill him,” Ray grunted through his cigarette. “Believe me. I’ve tried,” he stated, pointing at himself.
“Guv,” Annie said, rising from her seat, “I’d like to interview the boy and his mother. See if there’s anything else they might remember that could help us.”
“Cartwright, I think--”
“Do not tell me to go home sir,” she stated, a little more crossly than she meant to. She took a deep breath and brushed some hair out of her eyes. “I’m fine Guv. The team needs me here and I can do plenty to help.”
Gene leaned back and loosely crossed his arms. “What I was going to say DC Cartwright, was I think that is a good idea.”
“Oh. Sorry sir.”
“Right. So, if you want Gladys home in time to cook your dinner, best get on with it then.”
“Yes Guv.” Annie ducked around Gene, pulling her note pad and pen from her pocket along the way, and found Harry and his mother sitting at a table with their assigned WPC.
Gene watched her introduce herself and sit down, smiling with a happy expression only he and Sam would be able to identify as forced. Confident she was stable enough to do her job, Gene motioned for Ray and Chris to follow him outside. The three men walked to the edge of the perimeter and peered at the building while lighting their cigarettes.
“You...you really think the Boss is alright, sir?” Chris searched for some comfort.
“Tyler knows what he’s doing,” was all Gene would say on the matter.
“So, how’re we goin’ to play this now Guv?” Ray asked.
Gene continued to stare at the building.
“Maybe we could trade ‘em summit for the injured hostages,” Chris suggested.
“Already gave ‘em water, what else could they want?” Ray argued.
“I dunno. They might get hungry after awhile,” the DC shrugged.
“You want to trade Tyler for a sandwich?” Ray nearly laughed. “Might work. ‘Bout all e’s worth anyhow.”
“Just forget about Tyler!” Gene suddenly bellowed. “There are thirteen other hostages in that building and we can’t afford to lose single one of ‘em.” Gene turned on the spot, wiping his hand across his face, then spun back around to face Ray and Chris. “We’ll keep tryin’ to sweat ‘em out. Meanwhile, I want to find a way onto that roof and into that lobby that won’t cause ‘em to add a few more holes where they don’t belong!”
Chris dropped his fag and stubbed out the butt. “I’ll go talk to the building manager.”
“I’ll see if Cartwright got anything else out of the ginger snaps,” Ray followed Chris back across the street, leaving Gene alone to glower at the shut-up building.
*
Another hour had passed.
Hunt swore it was because he wanted the fruit-picking sodomites inside to feel like they were already in Hell, make them grateful when Gene Hunt saved them from their little sauna so they would enjoy their trip to jail.
Ray and Chris, though they never said it for fear of their own lives, were pretty certain their DCI was taking his time so as not to do something which might get Tyler killed. Of course, it was a catch-22. If Tyler was injured badly, which they really had no proof of as Gene continued to repeat, he should be getting immediate medical attention. Yet, if they moved too quickly there was more a chance that something could go wrong and even more hostages would be headed for Oswald instead of home.
Though Annie had tried her best, Harry and his mother, Mrs. Weir, couldn’t think of anything else to tell them. Mrs. Weir had reluctantly admitted that she had kept her eyes closed most of the time, trying desperately to block out the sights and sounds of what was going on around her. Harry was doing his best to tell Annie what he saw, but he was only a child and couldn’t remember the details that might help end the crisis. Anything they did know, Sam had already relayed to them in his note.
Several attempts to get in through the roof had failed, boiling Gene’s blood even more. The roof door, the only other way in or out of the building, had rusted shut to do disuse. Gene had been sorely tempted to hammer, melt, or even blow the door apart but that amount of noise would certainly alert the hostage-takers to their presence. A roof entrance was made a last resort.
Gene had tried several more times to speak with the Southern ponce that had negotiated with them before but he was either ignored or simply asked “did you get that car yet?”
Gene was refusing to offer anything else until they brought it up first. They, apparently, weren’t interested in anything else unless it was on their earlier list of demands. It was a stalemate in the truest sense of the word.
Another hour went by.
Ray, Chris, and Annie re-interviewed the few witnesses who had seen the men go into the bank, desperate to learn their identities. Gene had sent Jeff and a few of the other detectives back to CID with the names Tyler had given them, try and see if they could match the names with any previously known bastards. There was nothing to report so far, according to Phyllis who was radioing the Guv every fifteen minutes with updates.
It was quiet in the building. No more gunshots, which was a good thing, but so very, very still. The sunshine and gentle breeze swirling round the streets of Manchester mocked the tense malice that was built up on this singular city block. Even the reporters that had gathered at boundaries edge had backed off, a few staying while others went off in search of new stories to meet their deadlines.
Another hour went by.
Gene continued to glare at the bank and the old building, with its Blitz-damaged architecture, stared back with its own quiet, empty eyes. It was coming down to who would blink first, and while Gene was a master of the Western showdown, even he was only human.
Another half-hour and someone blinked.
The heavy, main door opened a crack, the slightest crack. There had been no pronouncement beforehand, no deals struck. Gene, along with a now armed Ray, Chris, and Annie, stood behind the van, their own guns carefully raised. A dark-clad arm with its own gun peaked out the narrow opening. While the body remained hidden, the door was opened slightly further, enough so that a different body could be forced through, but this hostage wasn’t being released.
The man, in a pale colored button-down and tight, black trousers, was pushed outside, just in front of the door, and used as a shield for the robber, who emerged behind him. Even from this distance, Gene could tell the hostage was drenched in sweat. His skin would have been pale enough to match his shirt, except half his shirt was covered in dark, red blood emanating from his shoulder. If it weren’t for the short hair, Gene wouldn’t have been able to recognize him from his current position.
The short hair and the voice.
“I have a message.”
“It’s the Boss!” Chris whispered, lowering his gun.
“Sam?” Annie asked, trying to see over his shoulder.
“Shut it you divs!” Gene ordered, waving them back.
A gun to his head, injured arm twisted tightly against his back, Sam held out a piece of paper. The gunman whispered something in his ear and Tyler began to read.
“You have one hour to comply with their demands...Obtain them a car. Allow them to leave with the money and one hostage.”
Tyler’s voice was shaking. Even from this far back Gene could see how dazed he was. The mixture of heat and blood loss hadn’t been helping Sam’s brain, probably only loosened the already wobbly screws.
“If you do not...they will start to execute hostages. One every half hour until their demands are met, start...”
Sam stopped reading which was clearly against the rules. The gunman whispered something while pushing the gun harder against Tyler’s scalp with one hand and twisting his bad arm tighter with the other.
“Starting...starting with the copper.”
Gene watched Sam look up, his eyes searching and immediately finding them peaking out from behind the van. He tried to maintain eye contact but seconds after he had finished reading the note, Tyler was pulled roughly inside and the massive door was shut again.
*
The rubbish bin would not live to see another day. In the alley behind the restaurant, the poor metal bin was acting as the outlet for Gene’s pent up frustration. He kicked it, and kicked it, and kicked it until it was no longer a perfect circle, but more of misshapen oblong. Then he picked it up and threw it against the brick wall, just for good measure.
Cracking his knuckles, Gene straightened his tie and marched back into the restaurant.
“Uhm, fifty minutes Guv,” Chris informed him as Gene came through the back door. Skelton held his notebook nervously in his hands, shifting from foot to foot like he needed to take the slash of his life. Ray leaned against the wall smoking his umpteenth cigarette. Annie stood opposite Chris, her arms crossed, the look on her face telling them she was no less than furious that they hadn’t told her Sam had been injured.
“We need to get in that building.” It was not an idea. It was not a suggestion. It was an order.
“How Guv?” Ray exhaled deeply, the smoke swirling around his head.
“If I knew, we would’ve done it already, wouldn’t we?”
“Right Guv,” Ray obediently replied.
Gene started to pace, his hand running through his hair one, two, three times. “Stupid sod never knew when to keep his mouth shut, did he?”
“Maybe...” Chris started apprehensively, “Maybe we could give ‘em what they wanted. But only let ‘em think they got away with it. We could tail the car we give ‘em or summit. Wait for ‘em to drop off the hostage then pick ‘em up?” He shrugged.
“And what if we don’t catch them? What if they give us the slip?” Gene argued back.
“Right. Sorry Guv. ‘S stupid plan,” Chris backed down.
“Why did they have Sam deliver the message?” Annie suddenly asked, the anger within her quickly transforming itself into something productive.
“Hm?” Gene spun round to face her.
“Well, before, they always spoke through the window. Always used the man with the Southern accent. Right? So, why use Sam this time?”
“To get their point across, obviously. Message has got more impact comin’ from our bleedin’ copper than it does comin’ outta that ponce’s mouth through the window, doesn’t it?” Gene countered.
“Yes Guv...But, why take the risk of opening the door? Even though DI Tyler was injured, the way the other man was standing, if Sam would’ve ducked we would’ve had a clear shot,” Annie stood her ground.
“But Tyler didn’t duck did he? Stood there like the blag had a grab on that stick up his arse.”
“He did have a gun to his head, sir,” Chris pointed out.
“It was still a risk for them though, wasn’t it? I’m not saying I don’t agree with you Guv--”
“Good.”
“But--”
“Christ.”
“What if there was more to it than that. Maybe the reason they didn’t communicate through the window was because they couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t how?” Gene questioned, still unconvinced.
“You said earlier, while we were waiting, that maybe they were only using the one man to communicate because we wouldn’t be able to identify his voice. If the others are local, identifiable, and the other man was injured somehow, they’d need to use one of the hostages to give us the message.” Annie was struggling to explain her gut feeling. Gene approved perfectly of gut feelings, as long as they were his own.
“Supposing that is true, Cartwright, where does that leave us?”
“We dressed ‘er up as a nurse before,” Chris chimed in. “We could say we want to send in medical help.”
“And that worked out so lovely last time, didn’t it?” Gene argued. “No. We have to get that roof door open. If they’re so eager to leave they must be done with the vaults. Supposing one of ‘em is injured they’ll need the other two in the lobby to keep an eye on all the hostages.”
“So it’s back to the roof then?” Ray confirmed.
“It’s time for Gene Hunt to bust down some doors.” The Guv stalked out of the crisis center.
*
It took another thirty minutes, heavy amounts of cursing, and the biggest, bastard crowbar Gene had ever seen in his life but they had done it. Chris and armed back up waited on the roof as the roof access door was pried open just far enough for Gene and Ray to be able to slip through.
Annie remained on the ground, radio in hand, keeping a sharp eye on the main entrance and windows. Watching out for any movement, she was ready to radio the Guv in an instant if something went wrong.
Gene had studied the building plans, the manager explaining the best route down, but it was perfectly simple, wasn’t it? They were on the top floor, they needed to get to the bottom floor. All they had to do was take the stairs. Simple. They walked slowly and silently down the first flight of stairs. Gene pulled out his radio.
“Alpha one to Eight-seven-zero.”
“This is eight-seven-zero. We read yeh loud an’ clear Guv,” Chris’ voice crackled over the radio.
“Ray and I are headed down now. Do not do anything until you hear from us and do not contact us ‘less those bastards come flyin’ out the front door usin’ their y-fronts as hats. Got it?”
“Loud and clear Guv. Eight-seven-zero out.”
Gene shoved the radio back in his pocket and motioned for Ray to continue down the stairs. Ray checked his watch as he preceded Gene down the next flight of stairs. “Fifteen minutes Guv.”
“Right.” Gene refused to say anymore. They all knew what it would mean if they failed. Which they wouldn’t. Gene Hunt never failed. At anything. Ever. Period. End of story.
It seemed to take an eternity, walking down six flights of stairs, aware that every step, every breath, every sound could alert the gunmen to their presence, trapping them in the stairwell. As Gene’s foot finally touched the bottom floor he wished it was louder inside. Why weren’t any birds crying? People screaming? Tyler rambling on and on about some hypothetical, psychological bullshit that would have the stupid blags crying in the corner for their mummies, begging to be taken away and punished?
It was too quiet.
Gene covered Ray as the Sergeant opened the exit from the stairwell, entering the back offices of the bank. Just as the plans indicated, right there were the vaults, and they were completely untouched. Gene and Ray shared a quick, confused look but simultaneously decided to worry about it later. There were ten minutes left.
Silent as they’d ever been, Gene and Ray weaved through the offices, emerging behind the teller windows. At the first glance of a pacing, masked figure, they dropped down and listened. And listened. And listened. It didn’t seem to do much good. It wasn’t that the men weren’t speaking, it was they were speaking too fast, in a language that neither Gene nor Ray had ever heard.
Gene motioned to Ray and, keeping low to the floor, they crept along behind the teller booths until they could peak around the corner without being noticed. They couldn’t see much without revealing themselves but they were able to notice how the hostages were lined up against one wall, huddled together, gasping for air in the stifling heat. Some were crying, some were praying, some were clinging to each other for comfort, but they all seemed to be okay. There was no sign of Tyler.
The bottles of Perrier were scattered across the floor, all empty. All the men had removed their suit jackets, if they had them, and rolled up their sleeves. The women had taken off any extra layers they could, while still remaining decent, and were fanning themselves with bits of paper.
They could only see one of the men who was speaking, pacing back and forth across the lobby, constantly checking his watch. Gene peered around the corner further, catching a glimpse of a motionless pair of feet. Someone was kneeling by the body. The other gunman? Where was Tyler?
Gene tried to move out further but Ray tapped him on the shoulder and pulled him back, indicating his watch. They backed out the way they came, abandoning the teller booths and sneaking back out to the stairwell.
“Five minutes Guv,” Ray whispered.
“Keep an eye out there. They decide to move early...”
“I know what to do,” Ray nodded and skulked back inside the offices.
Gene hurried up half a flight of stairs and ripped the radio from his pocket. “Alpha One to Eight-Seven-Zero. You there Skelton?”
“Ready steady Guv.”
“Get your arses down here now. Meet me in the first floor stairwell.”
“Wilco Guv.”
Gene paced at the bottom of the stairs. God it was hot. He loosened his tie and brushed back his hair. He could hear Chris and the others coming down from above. Ray wasn’t shouting for help. He must have things under control. Perhaps Cartwright had been right. Maybe one shooter was down. Blasted plonk. Why did she have to be right about things? What was taking them so long? They should’ve been downstairs by now. It was so damn hot.
“Took you long enough,” Gene whispered to Chris as he and the four other men congregated at the bottom.
“Sorry Guv. Trying to be quiet, like.”
“Be any softer me missus could use you as throw rug.” Gene pulled out his radio and contacted Annie, letting her know they were making their move, then led the way inside the bank proper.
Ray was crouched behind the booths where he and Gene had hid before, and was obviously pleased about the Guv’s return. Gene pushed Ray back and took a fresh look for himself. Still no sign of Tyler but two of the gunmen, the foreign ones, were standing, now quietly discussing something. Whatever it was, they had checked their watches and come to an agreement.
“Copper here,” one ordered in heavily accented English, pointing to the ground at his feet.
It was time to move. Gene gave the signal, held his breath, and leapt into the lobby.
“Don’t move! You’re--”
The two standing gunmen quickly recovered from the shock and fired back at Gene’s head. Ray came round Gene’s side, firing twice and hitting the taller man in the leg. As he collapsed to the floor, the second foreign gunmen dropped his weapon as he saw seven angry, armed police officers aiming their weapons at him from over the teller windows.
“No shoot! No shoot!” He cried out laying down on the floor and placing his hands on top of his head.
Ray rushed forward and cuffed the injured gunmen, leaving Chris to deal with the one who surrendered.
“Guess even ‘armed bastards’ translates into gibberish,” Gene mocked as he stepped properly into the lobby.
“Guv?” A weak voice called out from the corner of the room, near the building’s entrance.
“Tyler!” Gene rushed over, not seeing Sam til he maneuvered around the bank’s center kiosk. He holstered his weapon and knelt down by his bleeding DI. Gene pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and held it tight against Tyler’s shoulder wound. His deputy winced as pressure was applied, jerking slightly at the touch. “Tyler. Sam. Look at me. Where’s the third shooter?”
“There. Over there,” he slightly slurred his words as he pointed across the room to an unconscious man propped up against the wall opposite the hostages.
“Ray!” Gene called out. “That’s our third robber!” He pointed him out to Ray and the Sergeant immediately secured the already helpless man. Gene watched until he felt something slump against his shoulder.
“Oi! Sammy!” Tyler had slouched forward, his head collapsing against Gene’s shoulder. The Guv immediately laid him down, gently slapping him in the face. “Wake up you bastard.” Sam groaned but didn’t open his eyes. “I don’t pay yeh to fall asleep on the job.”
“ ...‘s my day off...”
“Yeah. Well, we need to get you a hobby.” Gene looked around the bank to make sure everything was being handled properly, while still applying pressure to Sam’s wound. “My wife could teach you how to knit. That’d be right up your alley.”
Sam laughed and mumbled something Gene didn’t quite catch, though it sounded vaguely like “2006,” before passing out.
“Chris! Where are those ambulance drivers?”
____
Part 3
Author: dak
Word Count: 7506
Rating: Blue Cortina
Spoilers: SET AFTER 2x08, haven't seen the finale, don't read this, also spoilers for 1x06
Warnings: violence, swearing, and of course a little angst
Pairing: Sam/Annie
Disclaimer: As much as I've begged and pleaded, BBC has still refused to sell me the rights, gosh darnit.
A/N: Realized that this is going to need four parts, not three, because I'll need to write an epilogue.
This is a fic in four parts - Prologue, Gene's POV, Sam's POV, Epilogue - about a bank robbery/hostage crisis, where Gene is on the outside trying to solve the situation and Sam is trapped inside as one of the hostages.
This is Gene's view of the story.
Part 1 - Prologue
Traffic was rerouted, gaping pedestrians were held back, and several police officers stood around with their hands in their pockets. For a hostage crisis, it was all quite pedestrian for the folks waiting outside.
“How many are stuck in the bank?” Gene Hunt had finally arrived, for once his tardiness having nothing to do with oversleeping, over-drinking, or overeating. A body had been found across town, up above Waterloo Road, and some inconveniently placed nuns had delayed his normal, quicksilver fast driving skills.
“Don’t know, Guv,” Ray replied, chomping on his gum while he, Chris, and Gene stood outside the perimeter. An actual, cordoned-off perimeter. Tyler would be proud. “One bird was able to sneak out ‘fore they locked the doors. Cartwright’s with ‘er now.”
“Soon’s the plonk gets summit out of her I want to know. Did we get a hold of those building plans?”
“Building manager brought ‘em over ‘bout ten minutes ago. I set ‘em up in the crisis center,” Chris answered.
“Crisis center?” Gene scoffed.
“Well, its, er, what DI Tyler did before with that Reg Cole bloke. Just thought...” Chris trailed off, believing he’d embarrassed himself enough already.
“Proper little Hyde boy you’re turning out to be,” Gene mocked, though Chris could tell it was a good-natured jab. “Right then. Where is our special hideaway?”
“Seafood restaurant ‘cross the street,” Chris pointed to a small doorway on the other side of the road that was teeming with uniformed officers and gawking spectators desperate for a glimpse of the action.
“Why’d you have to pick there Chris?” Ray grimaced. “You know I can’t stand the smell of fish.”
“ ‘S not so bad, Ray. They mainly do shellfish anyhow.”
“You’ve eaten there?”
“Took me girlfriend once. Turns out she’s allergic but din’t know. Face swelled up like a chipmunk.” Chris laughed, cupping his hands near his face, mimicking puffy cheeks.
“Can we save the gossip for tea time ladies?”
The two detectives mumbled quick “sorry Guv’s” and followed their DCI across the street to Chris’ designated Crisis Center. The inside of the restaurant was about as mundane as the area around the bank. Other than some confused diners who were forced out before they had finished their meals and were demanding answers and/or compensation for their trouble, the dining room was quite quiet.
Plod were standing about, sipping tea and chatting about the unnaturally lovely weather for this time of year. A few WPCs were on hand to comfort any kiddies or old ladies distraught by the recent events. The only person who seemed to be doing anything productive, Gene noted, was WDC Annie Cartwright.
Annie was talking to a weeping woman, (gorgeous hair, even better breasts), but when she saw Gene and the others enter she quickly excused herself and hurried over to the team.
“Guv,” she took his attention from the woman’s heaving chest. “Miss Perry was the woman who got out. She said it was three men, all armed, wearing balaclavas. She ran out when they fired the first shots but didn’t think anyone was injured. They were all aiming at the ceiling when she left.”
“Notice how many customers? Tellers?”
“Only that it was busy, a lot of people running over to do their banking during the lunch hour. Probably ten to fifteen, and there were at least three employees. And one child.”
“Bloody hell. They’ve got a kid in there? You sure?” Ray motioned outside towards the closed off bank.
“She says she remembers him because he couldn’t stop asking his mum questions about the bank. Seven or eight years old she thinks,” Annie double-checked her notes.
“That’s a lot of people, Guv,” Chris spoke nervously. “You...you think we should ring the Boss?”
“Leave the picky pain out of this for now. Probably only wet himself if he found out we had a nice, juicy hostage crisis to solve. Then poor Cartwright’d have to scrub the piss out of his trousers,” Gene spoke with authority, walking over to check the building plans.
“ ‘Sides, nearly got us all killed las’ time we had hostages,” Ray smirked as he joined the Guv by the table.
“Don’t remember you being cuffed to that radiator, Raymondo,” Gene stated as he poured over the blueprints and Ray’s grin quickly faded.
“Doesn’t look like there’s any way in, ‘cept the front entrance.”
“Nothing round back?” Ray wondered in disbelief.
“Use to be but the manager said some new construction covered it up,” Chris shared. “Solid brick now. He said we might be able to get in through the roof,” he pointed to it on the prints. “Make our way down through the bank manager’s office an’ the like but if we wanted to reach the lobby, we’d have to come in through here.” Chris turned a page to find an internal diagram of the bank. “Only one door, right next to the vaults, which is where they’ll probably be working. Right Guv?”
“How long’s it been?” Gene asked, concentrating on the plans, hoping to see something, anything, that the building manager didn’t catch.
“ ‘Bout forty minutes,” Ray answered, checking his watch.
“These aren’t nutters like Cole. They’ll want something. They’ll make demands. Have we heard anything yet?” All three of his officers shook their heads. “Do we know anything else about them, ‘sides what Blondie Big Tits over there told us?” Again they shook their heads.
“Right.” Gene stood up straight, pulling his gloves tight and fixing his coat. “Guess I’ll have a word with ‘em then, shall I?” Gene grabbed a megaphone one of the plod had been examining and stormed out of the restaurant, heading straight for the bank. Ray immediately followed, while Chris hung back with a concerned looking Annie.
“You alright, Cartwright?” Chris asked when he noticed Annie staring into space.
“What? Yes. Sorry. It’s just...” She lost herself in thought again.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just something Sam said this morning.”
“He’s not breaking up with you is he?” Chris looked positively horrified.
“No. No,” Annie laughed. “It’s nothing. C’mon. We better go make sure the Guv doesn’t antagonize the hostage-takers.”
“We’re prob’ly already too late,” Chris sighed as he followed Annie across the street.
Sure enough, Hunt had already moved inside the perimeter, standing behind an old van just in case, but looking no less intimidating then a rabid badger who had missed his supper. Chris and Annie lined up next to Ray, who was still hanging back by the rope.
“Oi! Listen up you tossers! This is DCI Hunt! CID! In case you’re thicker than a spanner soaked in Lyle’s Golden, which you obviously are since you’ve tried to rob a bank in my city, you should know you’re surrounded by impatient bastards, with short tempers, and loads of bullets!”
“Do you have your gun?” Ray whispered to Chris.
“Damn it! I knew I forgot summit,” Chris scolded himself.
“I left mine in me locker,” Ray confessed.
They both looked at Annie.
“I still haven’t finished my firearms training,” she explained nervously.
“Really?” Ray smirked again. “Thought Tyler was givin’ you plenty of practice on ‘is pistol.” He completed the sentence with what would certainly be considered a rude gesture and he and Chris chuckled until Gene’s booming voice brought them back to the present.
“So! Might as well save us all the trouble, since you’re already nicked, throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up like the good little scumbags you are!” Gene lowered the megaphone and waited for a response. There was nothing at first, then movement could be seen inside. A second later a window was cracked open and a voice shouted back.
“Up yours copper!” It was a Southern accent, not a local boy then, Gene decided. Shame on him. “You come near us, we start shooting hostages! An’ we’ve got plenty to spare! You wait for our instructions!” The window slammed shut.
Gene stared hard at the windows, as if he could blow them apart with just a look, then strode back to this team.
“I think that went well, Guv,” Ray stated, chomping away, and in all honesty Gene couldn’t tell if he was being encouraged or insulted. Ray could be shifty like that when he wanted to. At least with Tyler the verbal abuse was always obvious. “What do we do now, then?”
“Little tosspots are bound to get hungry eventually, better yet, thirsty.”
“ ‘Specially if we turn up the heat,” Ray nodded, a grin creeping over his face, which caused Annie and Chris to share a nervous glance.
Annie was the first to speak up when Gene seemed to be approving Ray’s plan. “Are you sure that’s wise Guv? It didn’t seem to help with Cole.” Annie avoided mentioning that back then Sam had thought it was an awful idea. She had become used to avoiding Sam’s name when in debates at work. If she didn’t, they would all assume she was only siding with the DI because they were sleeping together, rather than the fact that Sam actually knew what he was talking about some of the time. Well, that was a hazard of a relationship at work.
Gene did think over her words, but only for a moment, before reaching his decision. “Like I said. These spastics aren’t like Cole, are they? They went in to rob the bank, got stuck inside, and now they want out. Don’t want to die in some ill begotten blaze of glory now do they? They’ll tell us what they want. Let’s see if we can’t speed ‘em up with a little sweat.” He nodded at Ray and the DS ran back to the Crisis Center to track down the building manager.
*
“Listen up coppers!”
It only took about twenty minutes for the robbers to come forward with their demands.
Gene was almost definite it was the same man as before. Maybe the other two were local. Maybe they thought someone would be able to identify their voices if they spoke.
“We’ve got loads of people here, all ready to get a bullet to their heads if you don’t give us what we’re asking!”
Gene was back behind the van, Ray beside him, with Chris and Annie listening from behind the perimeter. “What are you asking for then?” Gene shouted back.
“We want...the money we came in for!...”
“Like hell,” Gene muttered under his breath.
“A car for us to drive off in!...”
“Oh, any particular model,” Gene mocked with Ray.
“And we’ll be taking one of the hostages with us!...”
“Is a lovely day for a drive, isn’t it DS Carling?”
“We’ll kill ‘em if you follow us! But if you don’t we’ll leave ‘em safe and sound where they’ll be found!”
“Did that just rhyme? Maybe we should check the local universities for any disgruntled poets.”
“Well!”
“Give us a moment to think it over an’ we’ll get back to yeh!” Gene answered back, then he and Ray stepped out of shouting distance, walking over to where Chris and Annie were waiting. “You ladies got all that?” He asked his DCs.
“Money, car, hostage.” Chris nodded, reading from his notes. “That don’t seem too bad.”
“He sounded odd Guv,” Annie thought aloud. “Like he was reading from a list or something. The way he paused in between demands.”
“Prob’ly what took so long to hear from ‘em,” Gene scoffed. “Had to learn how to write first.”
Suddenly, the sounds of a struggle could be heard from inside the bank. Gene pulled out his gun and ran to the back of the van. Ray, Chris, and Annie all followed but since Gene didn’t turn to see, he didn’t realize they were unarmed. They waited there several tense seconds. Whatever was happening seemed to be over, but Gene didn’t make the mistake of relaxing.
There were another few silent seconds, even the crowds around the restaurant had stilled, until, from inside, a woman screamed, something crashed, and a gun went off. A few guns actually. Three shots. Then it all became deathly still.
Gene looked back at his team, gun still raised. “Where the bleedin’ hell are your shooters?”
They all looked sheepishly at their feet and Gene let out an aggravated sigh as he turned back to the bank. “Useless, bloody tossers. Every last one of yeh...Oi!” He shouted at the window. “ ‘Less you tell us what happened in there, I can only assume you’ve already killed all those hostages which means we’ve got no reason to wait ‘round out here!”
There was no noise from inside, or at least no noise that could travel through the building’s brick walls.
“We can’t make a move ‘less you twats are armed. Cartwright.”
“Yes Guv.”
“Go back to the nick, pick up guns for all the men.”
“Sir, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to sign out...”
“Phyllis will help you sort it, just go!”
Annie nodded, grabbing the nearest plod to give her a ride to the station. Gene’s eyes were locked on the bank, hoping to hear something from the brutes inside.
“Guv,” Chris spoke, “ ‘S dangerous in there, innit?”
“Gee, Chris, and how did you come to that conclusion? Was it the guns or the screaming?”
“I was jus’ thinkin’, if there’s a kid in there, maybe...well y’know what DI Tyler said before?”
“Do you record everything ‘e says then practice it at home?” Ray jibed, but Chris ignored him.
“They need us to implement their demands...” Chris stumbled over the words, trying to sound as convincing as his DI while racking his brain for the correct terminology. “Quid pro quote, right? They give us summit an’ we give them summit.”
“Point, Chris?” Gene rolled his eyes.
“Well, maybe if we give ‘em some water or summit like that, they’ll let the kid go. One less hostage we ‘ave to worry about. Guns an’ stuff. No place for a kid, really.”
Gene carefully thought over Chris’ words. He didn’t much care what the papers said about him but he certainly didn’t want himself or any of his team to be blamed for the death of a child. “Good a place to start as any, Skelton.” Gene, gun raised again, focused his attention on the window he’d spoken to before. “Can you wankers hear me? You’ve got a boy in there. I need to know if he’s alright!”
There was a long silence.
“So help me, if you’ve shot a defenseless, little kiddie I’ll personally see to it that you never even make it to jail in one piece, let alone live to serve your sentence!”
Again, there was more silence but Gene and the others could see someone moving towards the window. He waited, his naturally thin patience already wearing out. Finally the window was lifted up and the Southern voice wafted through the air.
“The boy...the boy’s fine!”
The man was definitely more nervous now. It was obvious in his voice. The boy might have been fine but Gene was almost certain that someone else was not.
“I want to see ‘im for meself!” Gene hollered back, initially receiving no response. “Well?” Still nothing. Reluctantly, Gene decided to try it Tyler’s way. “If you’ve got loads of hostages in there, you don’t really need one little kid, do you?” He could still see the figure by the window and prayed they were listening. “Why don’t you send him an’ his mum out and we’ll send yeh over summit to drink.” The figure moved. Was he turning to talk with his mates? Was he preparing to close the window?
“Water?” The voice finally called back.
“If that’s what you want.”
Another moment of silence. Gene was desperate to storm the building, shoot the bad guys, save all the women and children. All this waiting. How the hell could Tyler do it?
“Ten bottles! Ten bottles of water for the kid and the mum!”
“You heard ‘im,” Gene nodded to Chris and Ray. “Grab some from the restaurant and bring ‘em over.”
“And we want a uniformed officer to bring it to the door! One officer! Unarmed! No funny stuff or the mum gets to buy her little boy his very
own pint-sized coffin. Got that?”
“We’re getting the water now!”
Chris and Ray, more Ray than Chris actually, bullied the restaurant owner into handing over some of his precious bottles of Perrier, loaded them in a bag and gave them to PC Broyer who would be making the exchange. The nervous, young officer nearly dropped the bag of glass bottles twice on his way inside the perimeter.
“S-sorry,” he mumbled to DCI Hunt as he grasped the heavy bag even tighter.
“Right,” Gene sighed. “Knock three times, like they said, wait for ‘em to open the door. While they’re handing over the kid and the bird try to see inside, see if any of ‘em took off their masks and look over the other hostages. Try and see who got shot. But don’t hang about. They’re already more nervous than a Jew in Germany, no need to make it worse. Got it?”
“Yes sir. Absolutely sir. Understood sir.”
Gene turned to the window. “We’re sending over our officer now!”
“Fine!” The voice shouted back.
Gene flicked his head from PC Broyer to the door. The officer nodded and slowly made his way past the van, onto the pavement, and up to the bank door.
“How old is he? Twelve?” Gene mocked as together he, Ray, and Chris watched the PC stumble up the bank steps and knock quickly on the heavy door. They all waited with baited breath as the door cracked open. It was hard to see but a gun was definitely shoved in Broyer’s face while a black-gloved hand reached out and snatched the heavy bag away. The gun remained as a small, ginger boy was shoved outside, followed by his equally ginger mother. The door slammed shut as soon as the woman was out and the gun was drawn back.
PC Broyer hurried the terrified mother and calm son back across the pavement, past the van, and under the rope. He handed them off to a waiting WPC then went back to speak with Hunt. “I’m-I’m sorry sir,” the officer stuttered, out-of-breath. “I tried to see but they didn’t open the door far enough. The man at the door, he still had his mask on and he never spoke.”
“Right,” Gene stated, obviously disappointed. “Good work. Shove off then.”
The PC nodded quickly and Gene watched him run back under the rope, past the WPC who, together with the newly released mother, was having trouble controlling the young boy.
“No! I have to talk to ‘im. Only ‘im! It’s me respons-sility!” The lad was growing more annoyed every time the WPC tried to pull him towards the crisis center. “Muuuuum!” He whined as he was grabbed forcefully by the arm and away from the rope. The boy looked around frantically, hoping to find someone who would listen. “D...C...I Hunt!” He enunciated each letter of the title. “I’ve got summit for DCI Hunt!”
His interest truly piqued, Gene strolled over the few steps to the rope. “Hold it!” He shouted to the frustrated WPC. “I’m DCI Hunt, lad. You need to see me?” Gene crouched down so he was eye level with the ginger nut.
The boy immediately stopped struggling and looked Gene over with a very serious expression. “Can I see some iden’fication please?” He asked sternly but politely, causing Gene to almost chuckle.
“Harry...” his tired mother sighed.
Gene reached into his pocket and pulled out his warrant card. The boy, Harry, reached out, opened the little flap that covered Gene’s name, and studied the card carefully. Satisfied, he pulled back his hand and reached into his pocket, pulling out a rectangular piece of paper.
“This’s for you.”
Gene reached out to take it. “Is it from the hostage-takers? The men with the guns?”
Harry shook his head no.
“From one of the other customers, like you?”
Harry shook his head yes. Gene carefully unfolded the paper. Hastily scrawled on it was the information he’d been hoping for. It listed the three robbers and the names they’d been calling each other (Mick, Robby, and a question mark by the third), what they were armed with, and how many hostages there were (eleven customers incl. boy, five employees).
It was only after Gene had digested the information that he realized the handwriting on the paper was familiar, much too familiar, and that there were small smears of blood around that too familiar scrawl.
Gene turned the paper over and examined the other side of what was apparently a check. His blood froze faster than his grim expression.
“Harry?” Gene said calmly, never taking his eyes off the check.
“Yes sir?”
“Who gave this to you?”
“Another customer sir.”
“A man?”
Harry nodded.
“What did he look like?”
“Uhm...” He looked up at his mum for support.
“Go on then, love,” she encouraged him weakly.
“ ‘E had really, really short hair, like me minister, ‘cept with...with...” he looked at his mum again, not sure of the word.
“Sideburns?” She helped and Harry nodded vigorously.
“What was he wearing?” The words nearly stuck in Gene’s throat.
“Uhm...Mum? What was ‘e wearing?” Harry whispered upwards.
“Oh lord. I dunno. Trousers?...An’...a jacket. A black, leather jacket,” she quickly remembered.
“Is this blood his? Was he hurt?”
Harry looked sadly at his feet and nodded his head. “ ‘E got shot when they got angry,” Harry whispered then looked back up at Gene. “ ’E said you better not get ‘im killed just cos you’re an impatient, cantankerous, alcoholic dinosaur who wants to get to the pub by five.”
“Harry, that’s enough,” his mother scolded.
“You see where he was shot?”
Harry hung his head again. “I don’t like to look at blood sir.”
“I’m sorry Chief Inspector. May we leave now?” The mother asked nervously.
Gene slowly rose from his kneeling position, eyes still locked on the paper in his hands. “Go over to our crisis center. Give your statements to one of the plonks,” he ordered, then with practiced calm, walked back to Ray and Chris. “We have a problem,” he said solemnly and showed the bloodied check to his officers.
Pay to the order of......Sam Tyler
*
“He said...he said he was going to the bank today. Finally open an account. Prove...prove that he was staying,” Annie smiled weakly but didn’t cry. There was no reason to cry. Sam was going to be fine. He was fine. “I didn’t think...”
The operation had slowed considerably once they learned one of their team was inside, on his own. It was a dangerous position for a lone copper to be in, especially if the hostage-takers learned that Sam was a cop. Hopefully he hadn’t told them. No. Tyler was smarter than that. Stupid enough to accidently reveal it but smart enough to not do it on purpose. Gene prayed that it was one of Tyler’s good days.
When Annie had returned with the guns, Gene had taken her over to a corner of the crisis center and calmly explained the new situation. She had needed help sitting down but Gene was proud that she’d kept her head about her. He hadn’t felt the need to tell her about the blood. It was probably only a scratch anyway. If Tyler had been able to write down all that after being shot, it had to be just a nick.
“We’ll get him out Cartwright. If I have to personally shoot down every one of those bastards to do it, we’ll get him out.” Gene placed a hand on her shoulder. It was quite the openly sincere gesture on his part but he felt she deserved it.
“He’s done this before, remember Annie?” Chris tried to comfort her but inside he was just as nervous as she was.
“Nowt can kill him,” Ray grunted through his cigarette. “Believe me. I’ve tried,” he stated, pointing at himself.
“Guv,” Annie said, rising from her seat, “I’d like to interview the boy and his mother. See if there’s anything else they might remember that could help us.”
“Cartwright, I think--”
“Do not tell me to go home sir,” she stated, a little more crossly than she meant to. She took a deep breath and brushed some hair out of her eyes. “I’m fine Guv. The team needs me here and I can do plenty to help.”
Gene leaned back and loosely crossed his arms. “What I was going to say DC Cartwright, was I think that is a good idea.”
“Oh. Sorry sir.”
“Right. So, if you want Gladys home in time to cook your dinner, best get on with it then.”
“Yes Guv.” Annie ducked around Gene, pulling her note pad and pen from her pocket along the way, and found Harry and his mother sitting at a table with their assigned WPC.
Gene watched her introduce herself and sit down, smiling with a happy expression only he and Sam would be able to identify as forced. Confident she was stable enough to do her job, Gene motioned for Ray and Chris to follow him outside. The three men walked to the edge of the perimeter and peered at the building while lighting their cigarettes.
“You...you really think the Boss is alright, sir?” Chris searched for some comfort.
“Tyler knows what he’s doing,” was all Gene would say on the matter.
“So, how’re we goin’ to play this now Guv?” Ray asked.
Gene continued to stare at the building.
“Maybe we could trade ‘em summit for the injured hostages,” Chris suggested.
“Already gave ‘em water, what else could they want?” Ray argued.
“I dunno. They might get hungry after awhile,” the DC shrugged.
“You want to trade Tyler for a sandwich?” Ray nearly laughed. “Might work. ‘Bout all e’s worth anyhow.”
“Just forget about Tyler!” Gene suddenly bellowed. “There are thirteen other hostages in that building and we can’t afford to lose single one of ‘em.” Gene turned on the spot, wiping his hand across his face, then spun back around to face Ray and Chris. “We’ll keep tryin’ to sweat ‘em out. Meanwhile, I want to find a way onto that roof and into that lobby that won’t cause ‘em to add a few more holes where they don’t belong!”
Chris dropped his fag and stubbed out the butt. “I’ll go talk to the building manager.”
“I’ll see if Cartwright got anything else out of the ginger snaps,” Ray followed Chris back across the street, leaving Gene alone to glower at the shut-up building.
*
Another hour had passed.
Hunt swore it was because he wanted the fruit-picking sodomites inside to feel like they were already in Hell, make them grateful when Gene Hunt saved them from their little sauna so they would enjoy their trip to jail.
Ray and Chris, though they never said it for fear of their own lives, were pretty certain their DCI was taking his time so as not to do something which might get Tyler killed. Of course, it was a catch-22. If Tyler was injured badly, which they really had no proof of as Gene continued to repeat, he should be getting immediate medical attention. Yet, if they moved too quickly there was more a chance that something could go wrong and even more hostages would be headed for Oswald instead of home.
Though Annie had tried her best, Harry and his mother, Mrs. Weir, couldn’t think of anything else to tell them. Mrs. Weir had reluctantly admitted that she had kept her eyes closed most of the time, trying desperately to block out the sights and sounds of what was going on around her. Harry was doing his best to tell Annie what he saw, but he was only a child and couldn’t remember the details that might help end the crisis. Anything they did know, Sam had already relayed to them in his note.
Several attempts to get in through the roof had failed, boiling Gene’s blood even more. The roof door, the only other way in or out of the building, had rusted shut to do disuse. Gene had been sorely tempted to hammer, melt, or even blow the door apart but that amount of noise would certainly alert the hostage-takers to their presence. A roof entrance was made a last resort.
Gene had tried several more times to speak with the Southern ponce that had negotiated with them before but he was either ignored or simply asked “did you get that car yet?”
Gene was refusing to offer anything else until they brought it up first. They, apparently, weren’t interested in anything else unless it was on their earlier list of demands. It was a stalemate in the truest sense of the word.
Another hour went by.
Ray, Chris, and Annie re-interviewed the few witnesses who had seen the men go into the bank, desperate to learn their identities. Gene had sent Jeff and a few of the other detectives back to CID with the names Tyler had given them, try and see if they could match the names with any previously known bastards. There was nothing to report so far, according to Phyllis who was radioing the Guv every fifteen minutes with updates.
It was quiet in the building. No more gunshots, which was a good thing, but so very, very still. The sunshine and gentle breeze swirling round the streets of Manchester mocked the tense malice that was built up on this singular city block. Even the reporters that had gathered at boundaries edge had backed off, a few staying while others went off in search of new stories to meet their deadlines.
Another hour went by.
Gene continued to glare at the bank and the old building, with its Blitz-damaged architecture, stared back with its own quiet, empty eyes. It was coming down to who would blink first, and while Gene was a master of the Western showdown, even he was only human.
Another half-hour and someone blinked.
The heavy, main door opened a crack, the slightest crack. There had been no pronouncement beforehand, no deals struck. Gene, along with a now armed Ray, Chris, and Annie, stood behind the van, their own guns carefully raised. A dark-clad arm with its own gun peaked out the narrow opening. While the body remained hidden, the door was opened slightly further, enough so that a different body could be forced through, but this hostage wasn’t being released.
The man, in a pale colored button-down and tight, black trousers, was pushed outside, just in front of the door, and used as a shield for the robber, who emerged behind him. Even from this distance, Gene could tell the hostage was drenched in sweat. His skin would have been pale enough to match his shirt, except half his shirt was covered in dark, red blood emanating from his shoulder. If it weren’t for the short hair, Gene wouldn’t have been able to recognize him from his current position.
The short hair and the voice.
“I have a message.”
“It’s the Boss!” Chris whispered, lowering his gun.
“Sam?” Annie asked, trying to see over his shoulder.
“Shut it you divs!” Gene ordered, waving them back.
A gun to his head, injured arm twisted tightly against his back, Sam held out a piece of paper. The gunman whispered something in his ear and Tyler began to read.
“You have one hour to comply with their demands...Obtain them a car. Allow them to leave with the money and one hostage.”
Tyler’s voice was shaking. Even from this far back Gene could see how dazed he was. The mixture of heat and blood loss hadn’t been helping Sam’s brain, probably only loosened the already wobbly screws.
“If you do not...they will start to execute hostages. One every half hour until their demands are met, start...”
Sam stopped reading which was clearly against the rules. The gunman whispered something while pushing the gun harder against Tyler’s scalp with one hand and twisting his bad arm tighter with the other.
“Starting...starting with the copper.”
Gene watched Sam look up, his eyes searching and immediately finding them peaking out from behind the van. He tried to maintain eye contact but seconds after he had finished reading the note, Tyler was pulled roughly inside and the massive door was shut again.
*
The rubbish bin would not live to see another day. In the alley behind the restaurant, the poor metal bin was acting as the outlet for Gene’s pent up frustration. He kicked it, and kicked it, and kicked it until it was no longer a perfect circle, but more of misshapen oblong. Then he picked it up and threw it against the brick wall, just for good measure.
Cracking his knuckles, Gene straightened his tie and marched back into the restaurant.
“Uhm, fifty minutes Guv,” Chris informed him as Gene came through the back door. Skelton held his notebook nervously in his hands, shifting from foot to foot like he needed to take the slash of his life. Ray leaned against the wall smoking his umpteenth cigarette. Annie stood opposite Chris, her arms crossed, the look on her face telling them she was no less than furious that they hadn’t told her Sam had been injured.
“We need to get in that building.” It was not an idea. It was not a suggestion. It was an order.
“How Guv?” Ray exhaled deeply, the smoke swirling around his head.
“If I knew, we would’ve done it already, wouldn’t we?”
“Right Guv,” Ray obediently replied.
Gene started to pace, his hand running through his hair one, two, three times. “Stupid sod never knew when to keep his mouth shut, did he?”
“Maybe...” Chris started apprehensively, “Maybe we could give ‘em what they wanted. But only let ‘em think they got away with it. We could tail the car we give ‘em or summit. Wait for ‘em to drop off the hostage then pick ‘em up?” He shrugged.
“And what if we don’t catch them? What if they give us the slip?” Gene argued back.
“Right. Sorry Guv. ‘S stupid plan,” Chris backed down.
“Why did they have Sam deliver the message?” Annie suddenly asked, the anger within her quickly transforming itself into something productive.
“Hm?” Gene spun round to face her.
“Well, before, they always spoke through the window. Always used the man with the Southern accent. Right? So, why use Sam this time?”
“To get their point across, obviously. Message has got more impact comin’ from our bleedin’ copper than it does comin’ outta that ponce’s mouth through the window, doesn’t it?” Gene countered.
“Yes Guv...But, why take the risk of opening the door? Even though DI Tyler was injured, the way the other man was standing, if Sam would’ve ducked we would’ve had a clear shot,” Annie stood her ground.
“But Tyler didn’t duck did he? Stood there like the blag had a grab on that stick up his arse.”
“He did have a gun to his head, sir,” Chris pointed out.
“It was still a risk for them though, wasn’t it? I’m not saying I don’t agree with you Guv--”
“Good.”
“But--”
“Christ.”
“What if there was more to it than that. Maybe the reason they didn’t communicate through the window was because they couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t how?” Gene questioned, still unconvinced.
“You said earlier, while we were waiting, that maybe they were only using the one man to communicate because we wouldn’t be able to identify his voice. If the others are local, identifiable, and the other man was injured somehow, they’d need to use one of the hostages to give us the message.” Annie was struggling to explain her gut feeling. Gene approved perfectly of gut feelings, as long as they were his own.
“Supposing that is true, Cartwright, where does that leave us?”
“We dressed ‘er up as a nurse before,” Chris chimed in. “We could say we want to send in medical help.”
“And that worked out so lovely last time, didn’t it?” Gene argued. “No. We have to get that roof door open. If they’re so eager to leave they must be done with the vaults. Supposing one of ‘em is injured they’ll need the other two in the lobby to keep an eye on all the hostages.”
“So it’s back to the roof then?” Ray confirmed.
“It’s time for Gene Hunt to bust down some doors.” The Guv stalked out of the crisis center.
*
It took another thirty minutes, heavy amounts of cursing, and the biggest, bastard crowbar Gene had ever seen in his life but they had done it. Chris and armed back up waited on the roof as the roof access door was pried open just far enough for Gene and Ray to be able to slip through.
Annie remained on the ground, radio in hand, keeping a sharp eye on the main entrance and windows. Watching out for any movement, she was ready to radio the Guv in an instant if something went wrong.
Gene had studied the building plans, the manager explaining the best route down, but it was perfectly simple, wasn’t it? They were on the top floor, they needed to get to the bottom floor. All they had to do was take the stairs. Simple. They walked slowly and silently down the first flight of stairs. Gene pulled out his radio.
“Alpha one to Eight-seven-zero.”
“This is eight-seven-zero. We read yeh loud an’ clear Guv,” Chris’ voice crackled over the radio.
“Ray and I are headed down now. Do not do anything until you hear from us and do not contact us ‘less those bastards come flyin’ out the front door usin’ their y-fronts as hats. Got it?”
“Loud and clear Guv. Eight-seven-zero out.”
Gene shoved the radio back in his pocket and motioned for Ray to continue down the stairs. Ray checked his watch as he preceded Gene down the next flight of stairs. “Fifteen minutes Guv.”
“Right.” Gene refused to say anymore. They all knew what it would mean if they failed. Which they wouldn’t. Gene Hunt never failed. At anything. Ever. Period. End of story.
It seemed to take an eternity, walking down six flights of stairs, aware that every step, every breath, every sound could alert the gunmen to their presence, trapping them in the stairwell. As Gene’s foot finally touched the bottom floor he wished it was louder inside. Why weren’t any birds crying? People screaming? Tyler rambling on and on about some hypothetical, psychological bullshit that would have the stupid blags crying in the corner for their mummies, begging to be taken away and punished?
It was too quiet.
Gene covered Ray as the Sergeant opened the exit from the stairwell, entering the back offices of the bank. Just as the plans indicated, right there were the vaults, and they were completely untouched. Gene and Ray shared a quick, confused look but simultaneously decided to worry about it later. There were ten minutes left.
Silent as they’d ever been, Gene and Ray weaved through the offices, emerging behind the teller windows. At the first glance of a pacing, masked figure, they dropped down and listened. And listened. And listened. It didn’t seem to do much good. It wasn’t that the men weren’t speaking, it was they were speaking too fast, in a language that neither Gene nor Ray had ever heard.
Gene motioned to Ray and, keeping low to the floor, they crept along behind the teller booths until they could peak around the corner without being noticed. They couldn’t see much without revealing themselves but they were able to notice how the hostages were lined up against one wall, huddled together, gasping for air in the stifling heat. Some were crying, some were praying, some were clinging to each other for comfort, but they all seemed to be okay. There was no sign of Tyler.
The bottles of Perrier were scattered across the floor, all empty. All the men had removed their suit jackets, if they had them, and rolled up their sleeves. The women had taken off any extra layers they could, while still remaining decent, and were fanning themselves with bits of paper.
They could only see one of the men who was speaking, pacing back and forth across the lobby, constantly checking his watch. Gene peered around the corner further, catching a glimpse of a motionless pair of feet. Someone was kneeling by the body. The other gunman? Where was Tyler?
Gene tried to move out further but Ray tapped him on the shoulder and pulled him back, indicating his watch. They backed out the way they came, abandoning the teller booths and sneaking back out to the stairwell.
“Five minutes Guv,” Ray whispered.
“Keep an eye out there. They decide to move early...”
“I know what to do,” Ray nodded and skulked back inside the offices.
Gene hurried up half a flight of stairs and ripped the radio from his pocket. “Alpha One to Eight-Seven-Zero. You there Skelton?”
“Ready steady Guv.”
“Get your arses down here now. Meet me in the first floor stairwell.”
“Wilco Guv.”
Gene paced at the bottom of the stairs. God it was hot. He loosened his tie and brushed back his hair. He could hear Chris and the others coming down from above. Ray wasn’t shouting for help. He must have things under control. Perhaps Cartwright had been right. Maybe one shooter was down. Blasted plonk. Why did she have to be right about things? What was taking them so long? They should’ve been downstairs by now. It was so damn hot.
“Took you long enough,” Gene whispered to Chris as he and the four other men congregated at the bottom.
“Sorry Guv. Trying to be quiet, like.”
“Be any softer me missus could use you as throw rug.” Gene pulled out his radio and contacted Annie, letting her know they were making their move, then led the way inside the bank proper.
Ray was crouched behind the booths where he and Gene had hid before, and was obviously pleased about the Guv’s return. Gene pushed Ray back and took a fresh look for himself. Still no sign of Tyler but two of the gunmen, the foreign ones, were standing, now quietly discussing something. Whatever it was, they had checked their watches and come to an agreement.
“Copper here,” one ordered in heavily accented English, pointing to the ground at his feet.
It was time to move. Gene gave the signal, held his breath, and leapt into the lobby.
“Don’t move! You’re--”
The two standing gunmen quickly recovered from the shock and fired back at Gene’s head. Ray came round Gene’s side, firing twice and hitting the taller man in the leg. As he collapsed to the floor, the second foreign gunmen dropped his weapon as he saw seven angry, armed police officers aiming their weapons at him from over the teller windows.
“No shoot! No shoot!” He cried out laying down on the floor and placing his hands on top of his head.
Ray rushed forward and cuffed the injured gunmen, leaving Chris to deal with the one who surrendered.
“Guess even ‘armed bastards’ translates into gibberish,” Gene mocked as he stepped properly into the lobby.
“Guv?” A weak voice called out from the corner of the room, near the building’s entrance.
“Tyler!” Gene rushed over, not seeing Sam til he maneuvered around the bank’s center kiosk. He holstered his weapon and knelt down by his bleeding DI. Gene pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and held it tight against Tyler’s shoulder wound. His deputy winced as pressure was applied, jerking slightly at the touch. “Tyler. Sam. Look at me. Where’s the third shooter?”
“There. Over there,” he slightly slurred his words as he pointed across the room to an unconscious man propped up against the wall opposite the hostages.
“Ray!” Gene called out. “That’s our third robber!” He pointed him out to Ray and the Sergeant immediately secured the already helpless man. Gene watched until he felt something slump against his shoulder.
“Oi! Sammy!” Tyler had slouched forward, his head collapsing against Gene’s shoulder. The Guv immediately laid him down, gently slapping him in the face. “Wake up you bastard.” Sam groaned but didn’t open his eyes. “I don’t pay yeh to fall asleep on the job.”
“ ...‘s my day off...”
“Yeah. Well, we need to get you a hobby.” Gene looked around the bank to make sure everything was being handled properly, while still applying pressure to Sam’s wound. “My wife could teach you how to knit. That’d be right up your alley.”
Sam laughed and mumbled something Gene didn’t quite catch, though it sounded vaguely like “2006,” before passing out.
“Chris! Where are those ambulance drivers?”
____
Part 3