Surrounded

can't hole up here," Meyers said.
        "I know that." The specter of failure, linked arm in arm with the image of his father, rose in the back of his mind.
        Meyers pointed to the gate. "Then what does this really buy us in the end?"
        "Time," Tucker said.
        "Time for more prowl cars to get here," Meyers said, making a sour face.
        "We might come up with something," Tucker insisted as he watched the four cops outside move in toward the glass doors.
        "Like what?"
        "We might find another way out."
        "How?"
        "I don't know yet."
        "If we can't leave by this door," Meyers said, "we can't leave by any of them. They'll have the other three covered, too."
        "I know," Tucker said. "But all the entrances are shut tight from the inside. The loading bays in the warehouse are down and locked. That is everything, right? They can't get in at us."
        "You keep on about that," Meyers said. "You make it sound like some fantastic advantage. But we can't just sit here and wait them out, for Christ's sake."
        Two of the policemen tried the outer doors, held their hands over their eyebrows to shield out the glow from the parking-lot lights around them, and peered inside.
        Still holding the woman where he hoped they could see her, Tucker poked the barrel of his Skorpion through one of the four-inch-square openings in the gate grid, pointed it right at the two cops.
        Frank Meyers did the same thing.
        "Move back!" Tucker shouted. "Stay far back!"
        But they did not need to be told. The moment they saw the guns, they jerked out of the way like puppets pulled back on strings, and they ran to the squad cars where they could take shelter. They were excited, shouting back and forth at one another. Tucker could not quite make out what they were saying.
        "They won't hold off for long," Meyers said. "You can bet on that. What we should do, we should-"
        "Shut up," Tucker said.
        The two words were delivered so sharply, with such anger, that Meyers was surprised into silence. He blinked stupidly, licked his thick lips, and wondered how to respond.
        Tucker said, "We wouldn't be in this fix if you hadn't gone after Keski. Don't start bitching at me now. Accept the responsibility like a professional, it's your fault and yours alone. You have to face that, and shut the hell up."
        Meyers cleared his throat, shook his head to express a mixture of dismay, anger, and respect. "You talk pretty damned freely."
        Tucker glared at him. "That's right."
        After a short staring match which Tucker won, Meyers said, "But you got to admit we're in a bad way."
        "I never said differently."
        "I don't see what you expect to do."
        "Look," Edgar Bates said, "we have three hostages here. We can use them for a shield." His voice was thin, quivering.
        "That's an idea," Meyers said.
        Evelyn Ledderson went rigid, tried halfheartedly to pull away from Tucker. "You said you wouldn't hurt me. Now you want to hide behind me."
        "She's right," Tucker said. "It's a bad idea. I've never heard of anyone making good an escape behind hostages. The cops might shoot at us, anyway. These days, they don't always seem to care much about the fate of innocent bystanders. And even if they let us get to the station wagon and leave, they'll just tag along until we let these people go. Then they'll blow the crap out of us."
        "But what other chance do we have?" Bates asked.
        "I've got a couple of ideas," Tucker said. "But before we start to talk about that, I want to get to a telephone and call the police. They've got to understand that we do have hostages."
        "They saw the girl," Bates said.
        "But maybe they think she's one of us."
        Meyers wiped his face with the back of a seersucker sleeve. "They know we have the guards."
        "And maybe they think we killed the guards," Tucker said. He looked at Bates. "Take Evelyn into the warehouse and tie her up with Chet and Artie."
        Bates picked up his gun, which he had put on the floor by the gate, and he pointed at the woman. "Come along, please."
        She looked at Tucker. Her face was puckered with doubt.
        "It's okay," he assured her. "This man won't make a mistake. He won't hurt you."
        Reluctantly, warily, she preceded Edgar Bates into the warehouse. The jugger turned