Chapter 87: Hostages
The gunshot came from the employee corridor.
A single report, sharp and contained, and then the particular silence that followed unexpected gunfire — the kind where everyone in a room processes what they just heard before they respond to it.
Meg grabbed Simon's arm.
"That was a shot," Veronica said.
The employee corridor door opened. Chuck and Sarah came through it, supporting Casey between them. Casey was moving under his own power but not comfortably, and there was blood visible below his right knee.
"It's fine," Chuck said loudly, to the room. "Accidental discharge. Everybody calm down. Nobody's in danger."
The room's tension dropped by about half.
Simon extracted himself from Meg's grip. "I'm going to help."
He crossed to them before either woman could object, took Casey's other arm, and helped guide him to a chair near the Christmas village.
Devon was already crouching in front of Casey, assessing. "Ellie. First aid kit."
"Chuck has it," Ellie said.
Chuck went for it at speed and returned. Devon and Ellie worked through the kit with the efficient calm of two people whose professional training had given them a different relationship to blood than most people in the room had.
"You're going to be okay," Ellie said to Casey. "A lot of people live very full lives with nine toes."
Casey looked at Chuck.
Chuck spread his hands with the expression of a man who knew he was responsible for something and had no defense to offer.
Casey's expression suggested that this conversation was not finished and would be revisited at a time of Casey's choosing.
Simon leaned close to Casey under the cover of Devon's continued work. "Something's off. This isn't resolving."
Casey looked at Ned, who was moving through the store with the contained restlessness of someone running out of their original plan. "Agreed."
"Are you carrying?"
"Small of back."
Simon reached over, made the transfer look like a steadying gesture, and came away with Casey's backup piece — a compact .38 that went into Simon's waistband at the same position it had come from.
"I've got it from here," Simon said.
"Devon."
Simon turned. Devon had stood up and was looking at the group with the focused intensity of a man who had arrived at a decision.
"I'm done waiting," Devon said quietly. "Before someone else gets hurt, we should take him down."
"No," Chuck said immediately. "Devon. Ned shot Casey by accident. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. This is a situation for the police, not for us."
"Chuck's right," Casey said, from the chair. His voice had the flatness of a man managing pain and not wanting to discuss it. "Let the police handle it."
"I'm a doctor," Devon said. "I deal with risk every day. Someone has to act."
"Devon." Ellie took his arm. "Being a hero means being alive to take care of the people who need you."
Devon looked at her. Something in his expression shifted — not agreement exactly, but a recognition that this specific argument, from this specific person, had weight he wasn't going to override.
The store phone rang.
"Chuck." Ned gestured at it.
Chuck went to answer it. He turned to Devon before he moved. "Nothing. No one does anything. Am I clear?"
He went to the phone.
Meg appeared at Simon's side and sat down next to him, which was less an invitation than a statement.
Veronica took the other side.
"Don't," Meg said.
"I wasn't going to," Simon said, which was partially true.
"You were evaluating angles," Veronica said. "I could see it."
Simon said nothing, which was also an answer.
A few minutes later, Chuck addressed the room. "Ned's agreed to let everyone make a quick call. Check in with family. You've got a few minutes."
Phones came out. The room's anxiety converted briefly into the lower-grade anxiety of people making difficult phone calls in a confined space.
Simon looked at his phone.
His parents were on the platform — no cell signal, intermittent satellite communication at scheduled windows. It wasn't a scheduled window.
He scrolled through his contacts.
"Call Mia," Meg said, quietly, not looking up from her own phone. "She'll have seen the news."
Simon dialed.
Mia picked up on the second ring. "Simon. Oh thank God. I saw the news — are you okay? Is it your store?"
"I'm fine," Simon said. "I'm inside. It's contained. Should be resolved soon."
"What happened?"
He gave her the short version. She listened with the focused attention of someone who had spent enough time around operational situations to know which details mattered.
"Come for dinner when it's done," she said. "Both of you. Don't argue."
"I'll tell Meg."
"Good. Be careful."
He put the phone away.
Across the store, Ned was on his own call — pacing, speaking in a low voice, his body language the specific exhaustion of someone who had been running for a long time and was starting to understand that the options were narrowing.
The main phone rang again.
Chuck answered. A short conversation. He walked to the security panel and entered the code that raised the blast shutters on the main entrance — just enough for one person.
An LAPD lieutenant came through the gap. He was in his fifties, no visible weapons, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had done hostage negotiations before and had made his peace with the uncertainty of them.
"Lieutenant Franklin Mouser, LAPD," he said. "Ned. I'm not here to trick you. I just want to talk."
He dropped the ballistic vest he'd been carrying. It hit the floor.
Ned looked at it. Looked at Mouser.
"I don't want to go to prison," Ned said.
"I hear you," Mouser said. "Let's work on that together." He took a few steps forward. "While we talk — let me take two people out. Show of good faith on both sides."
Ned was quiet. Then: "Two."
"The injured man," Mouser said, nodding toward Casey. "He needs medical attention."
"I don't need—" Casey started.
"You have a hole in your foot," Devon said.
"I'm aware of that."
"Infection timeline without treatment is—"
"Devon."
"Forty-eight to seventy-two hours before—"
"Devon."
"You need to go," Devon said, with finality.
Casey's expression communicated a great many things. He said none of them.
"And a second person," Mouser continued, looking at Ned. "Your call."
Ned thought for a moment. He turned to Chuck. "You've been straight with me this whole time," he said. "So I want to do something for you." He paused. "Your girlfriend goes too."
The room registered this.
Simon watched Chuck's face process it — the word girlfriend, the assumption, the specific complication that created given who was in the room and what their actual relationships were.
The two people Ned had just designated for release were, Simon realized, the same two people who would be most useful to the team trying to resolve this situation from outside.
Casey, who could direct the operation.
Sarah, who was Chuck's assigned handler and whose professional identity Ned had just accidentally identified as Chuck's girlfriend.
Simon almost smiled.
"Interesting," he said, under his breath.
Veronica looked at him. "What?"
"Nothing," Simon said. "Just appreciating the situation."
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