Along Came a Spider

from under his Windbreaker. This was it: the beginning of America’s wake-up call. A special performance for all the kiddies and mommies.
    They were all watching him now. Guns, they understood.
    “Wake the fuck up!” he shouted inside the McDonald’s dining room. “
Hot
coffee! Comin’ through, you all! Wake up, and smell it!”
    “That man has a gun!” said one of the rocket scientists eating a dripping Big Mac. Amazing that he could see through the greasy fog rising from his food.
    Gary faced the room with the revolver drawn. “No one leaves this room!” he bellowed.
    “You awake now?
Are you people awake
?” Gary Soneji/ Murphy called out. “I think so. I think you’re all with the program now.
    “I’m in charge! So everybody stop. Look. And listen.”
    Gary fired a round into the face of a burger-chomping patron. The man clutched his forehead and wheeled heavily off his chair onto the floor. Now
that
got everybody’s attention. Real gun, real bullets, real life.
    A black woman screamed, and she tried to run by Soneji. He leveled her with a gun butt to the head. It was a really cool move, he thought. Good Steven Seagal shit.
    “
I am Gary Soneji
! I am Himself. Is that a mind-blower or what? You’re in the presence of the world-famous kidnapper. This is like a free-for-nothing demonstration. So watch closely. You might learn something. Gary Soneji has been places, he’s seen things you’ll never see in your life. Trust me on that one.” He sipped the last of his McCoffee, and over the rim of his cup watched the fast-food fans quiver.
    “This” he finally said in a thoughtful manner, “is what they call a dangerous hostage situation. Ronald McDonald’s been kidnapped, folks. You’re now officially part of history.”

CHAPTER 42

    STATE TROOPERS Mick Fescoe and Bobby Hatfield were about to enter the McDonald’s when gunshots sounded from the dining room. Gunshots? At lunchtime in McDonald’s? What the hell was going on!
    Fescoe was tall, a hulk, forty-four years old. Hatfield was nearly twenty years younger. He’d been a state trooper for only about a year. The two troopers shared a similar sense of black humor, in spite of their age difference. They had already become tight friends.
    “Holy shit,” Hatfield whispered when the fireworks started inside McDonald’s. He went into a firing crouch he hadn’t learned that long ago, and had never used off the target range.
    “Listen to me, Bobby,” Fescoe said to him.
    “Don’t worry, I’m listening.”
    “You head toward that exit over there.” Fescoe pointed to an exit up near the cash registers. “I’ll go around the left side. You wait for me to make a move.
    “Do nothing until I go at him. Then, if you have a clear shot, go for it. Don’t think about it. Just pull the trigger, Bobby.”
    Bobby Hatfield nodded. “I got you.” Then the two split up.
    Officer Mick Fescoe couldn’t get his breath as he ran around the far side of the McDonald’s. He stayed close to the brick wall, brushing his back against it. He’d been telling himself for months to get his ass back in shape. He was puffing already. He felt a little dizzy. That he didn’t need. Dizziness, and playing
High Noon
with a creep, was a real bad combination.
    Mick Fescoe got up close to the door. He could hear the nut case shouting inside.
    There was something funny, though, as if the creep were operating by remote. His movements were very staccato. His voice was high-pitched, like a young boy’s.
    “
I’m Gary Soneji
. You all got that? I’m The Man himself. You folks have
found me
, so to speak. You’re all big heroes.”
    Was it possible? Fescoe wondered as he listened near the door. The kidnapper Soneji, here in Wilkinsburg? Whoever it was, he definitely had a gun. One person had been shot. A man was spread-eagled on the floor. He wasn’t moving.
    Fescoe heard another shot. Piercing screams of terror echoed from inside the packed McDonald’s restaurant.
    “You have to do something!” a man in a light green Dolphins parka yelled at the state trooper.
    You’re telling me
, Officer Mick Fescoe muttered to himself. People were always real brave with cops’ lives. You first, officer. You’re the one getting twenty-five hundred a month for this.
    Mick Fescoe tried to control his breathing. When he succeeded, he moved up to the glass doorway. He said a silent prayer and spun through the glass door.
    He saw the gunman immediately. A white guy, already