Free Burners by J.A. Konrath, Henry Perez Page B

officers no doubt had military training, they likely had no idea how to react in a hostage situation. But Phin and I had plenty of experience in this area.
    A moot point. I was unarmed, Phin wasn’t here, and things had gotten very bad very fast.
    That’s when the fear came, like swallowing a large, cold stone.
    People could die.
    I could die.
    Malvo was frantically pushing something under his desk. Then I remembered that most courtrooms are equipped with a panic button. The look on the judge’s face, and the fact that no one had come rushing in to see what was going on, told me this one wasn’t working.
    The gunman signaled to the gallery. “Felipe, lock the doors.”
    The tall Hispanic man I’d sat behind earlier slowly stood. The expression on his face suggested that what was happening was as much a surprise to him as to the rest of us. He walked to the back of the courtroom and turned the heavy bolt on the large oak doors.
    “Now the latch at the top,” the gunman said, pointing to a brass slide lock that appeared to be brand new.
    “Now look, you,” Judge Malvo, raising his voice as he began working toward standing.
    “Sit down, judge. Don’t make me hurt anyone.”
    Malvo grimaced, muttered something under his breath and slowly eased himself back into his chair.
    “No cell phones,” the gunman said, then directed the bailiff, “Lock the door to the judge’s chambers.”
    The old man did as instructed without protest or hesitation.
    “Now the other door, on this side.”
    The bailiff exchanged looks with Malvo as he walked across the front of the bench and for a moment I hoped they had some sort of pre-determined code, and maybe the bailiff would make a run for it, though running was probably a bit too much to expect, and go get help. But all he did was lock the door and shuffle back to his post.
    “I don’t want to shoot nobody, but I must protect my son and get the truth. Everyone take your hands out of your pockets, and put your purses on the floor. If you don’t, I will shoot you.”
    Everyone listened. I don’t know what the gunman actually hoped to accomplish with this stunt, but desperate men do desperate things. Was he really hoping to break Tony out of custody? Once he left the courthouse, how far did he think he’d get? And how was he going to get out now that he’d secured all of the doors?
    Facing away from the bench, eyes continuously scanning the courtroom, the gunman took several deliberate steps back, until he was no more than a dozen feet from Judge Malvo.
    Malvo looked like he was ready to throw up.
    On the far right of the judge’s bench, the court reporter, a woman in her mid-forties, her bottle-colored black hair cropped short in an indistinct style, had stopped typing. She started up again, however, when the defendant stood and said, “Papa, don’t do this.”
    The defendant was standing behind the table, the assistant attorney clutching his arm.
    “Sit down, Tony,” his father ordered.
    “You’re going to get into trouble for this. I’ll be okay. The jury will figure out I’m not guilty.”
    “No, no mijo, they won’t. These people are trying to set you up. All they want is to send you to jail.”
    The gunman waved his weapon around the room, causing several onlookers to slump in their chairs. Then he pointed to the gas cans with his free hand. “My son did not do this!”
    I rifled through my options, they weren’t especially encouraging. No doubt someone in the room had discreetly dialed 911, or someone on the outside figured out what was happening, so the place would be surrounded soon. I could announce myself as a police officer, try to talk Mr. Beniquez down, but he didn’t seem enamored with cops at that moment. The best course of action was to wait for the cavalry to arrive.
    James and Emmanuel each looked fidgety, and I worried that one of them might do something stupid and endanger themselves, civilians, or me.
    “No, your son did not do this.”
    The