The Hardest Thing

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that he wouldn’t hear us until it was too late. According to Jody he was interested in spanking. That should provide some distraction—but would it be enough?
    We held our breath and listened. Nothing penetrated that door. Channing could be screaming bloody murder and we’d be none the wiser.
    Softly, so softly, the cop slid the card into the look. The light flashed up red, and then green. A soft click, a gentle push and the door was open.
    The room was empty. Nobody on the bed, nobody in the armchair, over the table, swinging from the light fittings. No sign of occupation at all.
    Wait. A flash of white. Channing’s box-fresh briefs scrunched up and thrown under the dressing table.
    The bathroom. It was the only possibility.
    The door was closed. I tried the handle. Locked. No pass key. The time for surprise had passed. Now came the negotiation, and with it a significantly decreased chance of success. Channing was in jeopardy.
    “Julian Marshall.” The cop’s voice sounded loud in the well-upholstered room. “Open the door. This is the police.”
    Nothing. No sounds of a scuffle, no voices.
    Had Marshall been warned, and fled? And where was Channing?
    “Marshall!” He knocked on the door, four loud bangs.
    Nothing.
    “Okay, stand back. I’m going to shoot the lock.”
    He cocked his pistol and aimed at the lock.
    The burnished steel door handle moved slowly, smoothly down. The cop put up his weapon.

    The first thing we saw through the gap was Channing’s pale naked leg, then his hip, his waist, and as the door opened further, the glint of metal as Marshall pressed the barrel of a gun against the boy’s temple. One fat finger was curled around the trigger.
    “One move and I shoot the little bastard.” His voice was low and calm.
    “Put the gun down, Mr. Marshall,” said the cop.
    He didn’t deny the identification. “Stand aside and let me pass.”
    “I can’t do that, sir.”
    “You surely don’t think I’m joking, do you?”
    The cops looked at each other, and stepped back. Pushing the scared, naked boy in front of him, Marshall—fat, fully dressed, sports jacket and tie—walked out of the bathroom.
    “Here’s the deal, gentlemen. You will leave the way you came in. In precisely two minutes, I will walk through that door and I will leave the hotel. If I even suspect that any of you is still on the premises, I will kill him. Do you understand me?”
    “Sir, please listen to me…”
    “Don’t try the bargaining bullshit. I read the psychology books, too. Now just get the fuck out of my room before I put a bullet through this little whore’s brain.”
    “If you put the gun down…”
    “Ten,” said Marshall. “Nine. Eight…”
    The gun pushed the skin up on Channing’s temple. His face was white, his lips blue, his cock shrunk to a tiny wrinkle of flesh.
    The NYPD probably likes to play things by the
book these days. Certainly, the odds were against us; Marshall looked like he meant business, and there was no way they would consider sacrificing one of their own in order to secure the objective.
    However, they had made the operational misjudgment of allowing a civilian to accompany them—a civilian with military experience.
    I positioned myself at the back of the line that was filing politely out of Marshall’s room.
    “Keep walking, guys.” A mocking, sarcastic note in his voice—good, he thinks he’s beaten us. Let him think he’s won.
    One cop out, two cops out, three, four.
    I turned in the doorway and took my cap off.
    “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, Mr. Marshall. My name’s Stagg. Dan Stagg.”
    It took him a second to remember the name, and then his lips opened to say something—a bubble of spit formed at the side of his mouth—but I guess I’d run out of patience. I knew one key fact about Julian Marshall—he gets other people to do his dirty work for him, cold-hearted thugs like Ferrari. He doesn’t get his hands dirty; he’s not used to pulling the trigger and seeing the consequences. He’s playing a good hand—he knows how to get his own way—but he might hesitate before carrying out his threat. And that gave me time. Not much time, admittedly, but how long does it take?
    Marshall was twice as wide as the naked cop he was holding in front of him, but even so I couldn’t get a clean line on him. But people make a common mistake when they use a human shield. They forget that a really experienced opponent will think in terms of