Standoff

"That could be. But what if it does concern you?

Wouldn't you rather know what you're up against?"

He mulled it over for several seconds, then gave Donna the go-ahead to answer.

"Hello?" She listened for a moment, then said, "Hi, Sheriff. No, he weren't drunk. Just like he told you, this kid here has got us held at gunpoint."

Suddenly the front of the building was bathed in brilliant light. Everyone inside had been so focused on Sabra's condition that none had heard the approach of the three squad cars, which had now flashed on their headlights. Tiel deduced that the sheriff was probably calling from one of the units, which were parked just beyond the gas pumps.

Ronnie ducked out of sight behind a Frito-Lay display, yelling, "Tell them to turn off those damn lights or I'm going to shoot somebody."

Donna relayed the message. She paused to listen, then said, "About eighteen, I'd guess. Calls hisself Ronnie."

"Shut up!" Ronnie brandished the pistol at her. She screeched and dropped the telephone receiver.

The car lights went out, two pair almost simultaneously, the third pair seconds later.

Sabra moaned.

Doc said, "Ronnie, listen to me."

"No. Be quiet and let me think."

The young man was flustered, but Doc persisted in a low, earnest voice. "Stay here and see this thing through if you like. But the manly thing to do would be to let Sabra leave. The authorities will take her to the hospital, where she needs to be."

"I won't go," the girl said. "Not without Ronnie."

Tiel appealed to her. "Think of your baby, Sabra."

"I am thinking of our baby," she sobbed. "If my daddy gets his hands on the baby, I'll never see it again. I won't give it up. I won't give Ronnie up, either."

Seeing that his patient was close to hysteria, Doc relented.

"Okay, okay. If you won't agree to leave, how about this? What if a doctor were to come here?"

"You're a doctor," Ronnie argued.

"Not the kind Sabra needs. I don't have any instruments.

I've got nothing to give her to relieve her pain.

This is going to be a difficult delivery, Ronnie. There could be all sorts of serious complications, which I'm unqualified to deal with. Are you willing to risk Sabra's life as well as the child's? Because by allowing the situation to continue as it is, that's what you're doing. You could lose one or both of them. Then, no matter how it pans out, it will all have been for nothing."

Tiel was impressed. She couldn't have phrased an appeal any better.

The young man gnawed on Doc's words for a minute, then motioned Tiel toward the counter and the dangling telephone receiver. For several moments after Donna had dropped it, a man's voice could be heard, demanding to know what was going on. Now, it was silent.

"You're good at shooting off your mouth," Ronnie said to Tiel. "You do the talking."

She came to her feet and made her way past Sabra and Doc, past the Frito-Lay display and across the open space to the counter. She wasted no time calling nine-one-one.

As soon as the operator answered, she said, "I need the sheriff to call me. Don't ask questions. He is aware of this emergency situation. Tell him to call the convenience store back." She hung up before the operator could proceed with the routine drill, which would be a waste of valuable time.

They waited in tense silence. No one said a word.

Gladys and Vern were huddled close together. When Tiel glanced in their direction, Vern subtly drew her attention to the tote bag in his lap. Somehow he had managed to retrieve it without Ronnie's being aware. A crafty Casanova.

That in itself would make a good story, Tiel thought. Except that she had a better one, in which she wasn't just a reporter, but a participant. Gully would be ecstatic. If this story didn't secure the Nine Live spot for her- Although she'd been expecting the telephone to ring, she jumped when it did. She answered it immediately.