A Maidens Grave

you.”
    “What do I say?” Budd said desperately. “If he says that, what do I say?”
    “It’s best not to say anything at all. If you feel compelled to respond you say simply that it wouldn’t be in the best interests of a solution to do that.”
    “Oh, brother.”
    Potter looked at his watch. “Let’s get this show on the road. Ready?” Potter asked.
    The young captain nodded.
    “Push button one.”
    “What?”
    “It’s on speed dial,” Tobe explained. “Push number one.”
    “And then I just talk to him?”
    “You understand the script?” Potter asked.
    Budd nodded again. Potter pointed to the phone. “Oh, brother.” He reached for the phone, dialed.
    “Uplink,” Tobe whispered.
    “Hey. How you doing, Art?” The voice came through the speakers above their heads. Handy seemed to be smirking.
    “This is Charlie Budd. Is this Lou Handy?”
    “The fuck’re you?”
    Budd’s eyes were on the sheet in front of him. “I’m with the U.S. attorney’s office.”
    “The hell you say.”
    “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
    “Where’s Art?”
    “He’s not here.”
    “What the fuck’s going on?”
    Budd swallowed. Come on, Charlie, Potter thought. No time for stage fright. He tapped the pad before Budd. “Going on?” the captain echoed. “What do you mean?”
    “I only want to talk to him. ”
    “To who?”
    “Art Potter. Who the fuck do you think?”
    Budd took a deep breath. “Well, why don’tcha talk to me? I’m not such a bad guy.”
    “U.S. attorney?”
    “That’s right. I want to talk to you about surrendering.”
    Slow down, Potter wrote.
    “Oh, a shyster with a sense of humor. Well, fuck you.”
    Budd’s face was relaxing. “Hey, don’tcha like lawyers?”
    “I love ’em.”
    Budd said, “You wanta hear a joke, Lou?”
    Potter and LeBow looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
    “Sure, Charlie.”
    “A woman goes to her gynecologist and asks can somebody get pregnant by having anal sex. And the doctor says sure you can, where do you think lawyers come from?”
    Handy roared with laughter. Budd’s face burned crimson.
    Potter had never in twenty years of negotiating shared a joke with a taker. Maybe he’d rewrite his instruction book.
    Budd continued. “Arthur’s seeing about getting you some helicopter or ’nother. Something about pontoons. It should be here soon.”
    “It fucking well better be here in one hour and twenty fucking minutes.”
    “Well, all I know is, Lou, he’s doing what he can. But look here, even if you get the chopper they’re gonna find you sooner or later.” Budd stared at the sheet in front of him. “Soon as somebody finds out who you are, the fact you shot a girl in the back, you know what’ll happen. They’ll collar you and somehow you’ll be riding in the back of a meat wagon and some accident’ll happen.”
    “You threatening me?”
    “Hell, no. I’m trying to save you. I’m just saying the way it is. The way you know it is.”
    “Ain’t nobody gonna find me. So fuck that surrender shit. It ain’t gonna happen. You assholes’ll have to come in and get me ’fore I’d do that. And you’d find me atop six dead hostages.”
    Potter pointed to the pictures of the twins. LeBow frowned. Why didn’t Handy know they were gone?
    Budd continued, “Listen, Lou, we can offer you a deal.”
    “A deal? What kind of deal?”
    “Some immunity. Not complete, but—”
    “You know what I done here?”
    “What you’ve done?” Echoing like a pro, Potter thought.
    “I killed me a few people today. We’re not talking immunity, we’re talking . . . what the fuck’s that thing priests give you?”
    Budd looked up at Potter, who whispered, “Dispensation.”
    “Dispensation.”
    “So I don’t think so, Charlie the butt-fucked lawyer. I think I need a helicopter or I’m going to turn my good friend Bonner here loose on a girl or two. You know Bonner? He stays hard twenty-four hours a day. Re-fucking-markable. Never seen anybody like him. You should’ve seen him in prison. Kid comes in for GTA and, bang, there’s Bonner next to him ’fore the fingerprints’re dry, saying, ‘Bend over, pretty boy. Spread ’em.’ ”
    Potter clamped his hand down on Budd’s arm, seeing the anguish in his face. He tapped the yellow sheet once more.
    “Where’s Art?” Handy said suddenly. “I like him better’n you.”
    “He’s out rustling up your helicopter, like I said.”
    “Fuck if he isn’t