Authors: Anne-Marie Hart
They make their way outside. Bags of money, guns, and a hand each on Fergal's shivering shoulders.
'Get the fuck back', Peters says, holding his gun out violently.
What neither of the not particularly bright bank robbers have noticed as they shuffle slowly towards the safety of the waiting car, are the two police officers that have hidden themselves behind the pillars at the entrance to the bank and are waiting for the robbers to turn their backs appropriately, so they can fire at them without risking harm to Fergal. And to their surprise, they don't have to wait long, because that opportunity comes as easily as Frank had explained it would.
Believing themselves to be safe behind the stout ginger haired hostage, they had not thought that anything would follow them out of the bank, which is almost exactly what does happen.
In an instant, that happens so quickly it makes absolutely no sense to Fergal, Carlos and Peters, with their hands practically on the car doors, a grin of freedom across their ignorant faces while Frank Giamatti watches on, hands on hips, cursing them under his breath and head shaking slightly, drop like a sack of potatoes, categorically dead. Their attempts to steal six million, seven hundred and seventy five thousand, four hundred and six dollars have come quite instantly, to a rather unsuccessful close, bullets placed by well trained officers in each of their cerebral cortices.
Fergal looks at the bodies around him, blood melting into the gutter and then bursts into tears. He is eventually helped to somewhere a bit further away from the bleeding corpses by one of the several now spare police officers, and can't quite believe he isn't being zipped up into a black body bag too.
'Find out who these amateur fucks are', Frank huffs, to no-one in particular, while staring down at what's left of Peters's head. 'And get me that fuck Edwards.'
Mark Edwards, although somewhat reluctantly, finally makes the call to his superior, and Frank is understandably outraged by what the young police officer has done. He orders Edwards back to the crime scene, walking if need be, and tells him the cost for the destroyed police cars will be coming out of his wages, and then out of his pension when he retires. If he makes it there of course, after Frank has beaten the living shit out of him for being so stupid. He returns to the crime scene, not on foot, but in the back of a pick up truck, that has been used for transporting pigs. When he gets there, Frank tells him to get back to the station to do something useful, on foot, if necessary.
Twenty seven minutes after requesting the police helicopter, it finally gets into the air, far too late to be of any real use at all. It hovers above interstate five where several people have gathered to watch the police cars burn, and moves out across the New Mexico desert, unable to find the lime green Oldsmobile, with the back window blown out and the balaclava clad robber (and his uptight hostage) inside.
A news team has gathered outside the crime scene and the footage is being broadcast live, watched by a huge amount of people across the nation, including everyone, staff and office workers alike, in Madeleine Parker's stationery store. As soon as the obese African-American woman's grainy mobile phone footage is broadcast, and the identity of the only hostage is revealed, the office erupts in a volley of hoorays and cheers. They can't believe their luck.
Frank pushes the cameras away, and orders them away from the bank and as far back from the police cordon as he is able to push them. This is his crime scene, and he's not going to share it with any hawk like reporters, especially not ones with too much gel in their hair.
'There's nothing', Garland tells him. 'They're bringing it down.'
Frank and Garland are the only two officers who remain at the bank. The rest have been sent off to chase down the lime green Oldsmobile that River is already in the process of dumping. The police helicopter has been in the air for eight minutes and is needed elsewhere. Frank and his officers are on their own. With a description of the car, a clear image of the hostage, and the little lead time they have, Frank is convinced he'll have the hostage back where she belongs, and the robber either dead or behind bars by dinner time. Especially now that Mark Edwards isn't involved. Frank has sent cars in every direction away from the city, there is no way he'll be able to outrun them in an Oldsmobile, even if he's stupid enough to try and do so. He was stupid enough to be working with the three dead bodies that are now on their way to the morgue for examination, although he wasn't quite as stupid to hang around to wait for the police to show up. He doesn't need the helicopter in the air now, it's too late for what it could have been useful for. The only thing that could complicate matters would be if the bank robber switched cars, but even then, he would still have the problem of the hostage. Frank wants as much information on Maddy as possible, and gets Garland to radio back to base to get a heart breaking appeal sent out, preferably recorded by her family.
Inside the bank, Frank finds two dead bodies, one in much better shape than the other. He turns Alex over with his foot, careful not to get it stained by his blood, and then rolls the balaclava up.
'Well I'll be damned', he says.
'You know him?' Garland says, crouching over the two men.
'Alex Gottleib. That stupid son of a bitch', Frank says.
Maddy's back is sore. Riding in the trunk of a car, although she's never done it previously, is about as uncomfortable as you can get - more so when your hands are handcuffed behind your back. It's a million miles away from the orthopaedic mattress that she woke up on this morning. She has, over the course of the last fifteen minutes resigned herself to what may come. She has screamed, cried, begged to be released and tried to escape, but nothing has come of it, apart from being forcibly shut in the boot of a car, with a gun in her back. Maddy is an intelligent girl. She knows the only way out of this situation is to comply, and then with any luck, the police will turn up unannounced, fill her captor with enough bullets that stop his body from functioning properly (without spilling his blood on her dress of course), and she can get back to finishing her spreadsheets.
It is with that in mind, that she doesn't try to run away, or fight, when River opens the trunk of the car again, gun pointed at her just in case.
'How are you doing in there Maddy?' he says. His balaclava has been rolled up, and he's wearing it on the top of his head as though it were a hat. It's the first time Maddy has seen his face, and she's a little surprised by how attractive he is. If anything it just makes it all that more annoying for her. Not only has she been kidnapped, she's been kidnapped by someone who has the temerity to be young, strong and very, very good looking. He's also smirking, which pisses Maddy off even more.
'Where are we going?' Maddy says, grumpily.
Alex helps her upright. They're in an underground car park. A low level light fizzes and blinks, illuminating puddles of water on the ground, giving them a greenish haze.
'Where do you want to go?' River says, excitedly.
'Back to my office', Maddy says. Her head is beginning to hurt. It's about time for her morning coffee, and she always gets more cranky than usual if she misses it.
'Well I don't reckon that's going to happen', River says. 'I'm sorry about that, but I just can't let you go yet. Not until I'm safe. You're just too important.'
'What about my safety?'
'I'll get onto that, but now just isn't the right time. Do you prefer Mercedes or Fords? Or is a station wagon more your style?'
'I don't care', Maddy says, tired of his chirpiness.
'You know, for this to work', River says, 'we're going to have to start getting along.'
'You want us to get along? After what you've done to me?'
'That isn't too much of a stretch Princess', River says. 'You'll see when we know each other a little better. Now, I reckon the Mercedes is more your style, but the trunk is going to be a lot smaller than the Ford.'
'Please don't make me ride in the trunk again', Maddy says. 'I promise I won't say anything. I'll do whatever you want me to do.'
'Well that's good to know Maddy, but for now, until I get you a whole new look, I've got to put you back in the trunk.'
Maddy has run out of energy. When River lifts her out of the trunk and puts her across his strong shoulders like a fireman, she kicks a little, but barely resists. She has a vague memory of being held in this way before, but it's so distant, she can do nothing but recall the sensation, which to her, feels like déjà vu. River has chosen neither a Ford, nor a station wagon, nor a Mercedes. He's opted for a Lexus, two floors below them, and with the trunk already open, he sits her inside. Before he shuts the lid for the second time that day, he wraps his arm around her back, in a motion that feels to Maddy like he's hugging her.
'What the hell are you doing?' Maddy says, immediately before she realises what he is doing.
'Any more tense, you'll snap Princess', River says to her, and undoes her handcuffs.
'Why do you keep calling me Princess?' Maddy says, rubbing her hands together to bring the blood back into them.
'Well that's what you are aintcha?' River says. 'You sure do act like it.'
Maddy isn't sure how to respond, but she feels the hollow in her gut like a punch. If there is anything she would say she is not, it's a princess. Princesses had princes, for a start.
'Come on now, time to go Madeleine Parker', River says, and helps her get comfortable in the trunk of the new car, before closing the lid.
On the way out of the underground parking lot, River pauses for a moment, to let a pedestrian pass. She smiles at him and he smiles back. He puts on the sunglasses he's found in the glove compartment, lights up another cigarette, and drives back through the city he's just come from, past the bank that only that morning he helped to rob, slowing, as everyone else would, to take a look, and finally out onto interstate eighteen, and as far away from the police as he can.
Frank Giamatti absent mindedly watches the Lexus roll past, before returning to his own vehicle, and assisting in the search for the now abandoned Oldsmobile.
The afternoon disappears much more quickly than Frank would like, and despite their attempts to do so, they find neither the lime green Oldsmobile, nor the robber and his hostage. Frank, more grizzly than usual, decides to return to base, have some pasta for lunch and approach the situation in a different way. He always thinks better with his stomach full, and besides which, he knows that if they haven't found the car yet, when they do so, they're only going to find it empty.
The Oldsmobile would turn up eventually - hopefully during the course of the day - even if it didn't tell them anything useful, but until then, police attention could be diverted to much more pressing issues, like running searches on all known business associates of Alex Gottleib, and the two henchman he happened to be working with. But that was for Frank's officers to take care of. Frank himself would be enjoying a large glass of wine and a penne arrabiati.
The story has continued to unfold on the news channels, taking precedence in the schedule. A reporter has turned up at Maddy's office, in order to take statements about the missing woman, (initially believed to be forty two, later corrected to twenty six) and is horrified to find that a) everyone seems to be having a party, champagne included, and b) no-one has anything at all positive to say about her. In fact, although not broadcast on the now twenty four hour news feed, the general consensus amongst her work force is that it is better if she doesn't return at all.
After a hearty lunch, Frank returns to the office for a debrief. A statement has been released by Garland in Frank's absence, that tells the listening press and public almost nothing more than they already know from what has been filmed. Garland informs them that they have identified the hostage as Madeleine Parker, something everyone already knows, and that they are in the process of trying to contact her family, and work out the identities of the robbers involved. They have leads on the ring leader, but as of this moment, his whereabouts are unknown. This is considered, by the press and the public alike, as typical police incompetence. Garland takes great pains to point out that police involvement, despite the minor hiccup on interstate five, which led to the suspect evading capture, ensured that no lives were lost, no money was taken, and the incident was dealt with swiftly. He assures his audience that he is confident the case will be swiftly brought to a close, and without further loss of civilian life.
Back in Frank Giamatti's office, the two men mull it over. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that Garland mulls, while Frank chews like a dog with a mouthful of bad meat.
'Who the fuck is it?' Frank says.
'We don't know yet sir', Garland tells him.
'I hope you've got something for me Garland', he says.
'We are working on contacting all known business associates of Alex Gottleib', Garland says, almost verbatim from the press conference, hoping to instil confidence in his senior.
'Don't let him make us look stupid', Frank growls. 'I want a name by the end of the day. Find out who the fuck he is, and more importantly where he's going.'