Roman Wolfe 2: Classroom Terror Part Four

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“It is possible that mankind is on the threshold of a golden age; but, if so, it will be necessary first to slay the dragon that guards the door, and this dragon is religion.”

Bertrand Russell

The ripping and splintering noises that had been created by Fang yanking the dead-bolt completely through the wooden frame of the roof-top door, echoed up and down the hard-tile hallway and into the open door of the classroom. It caught everyone by surprise, including Charlie and Freddy who both had snapped their necks toward the door like everyone else in the room. They were thinking that the SWAT team was coming.

          Charlie grabbed his AK-47 from its shoulder sling and ran, flicking the safety catch to the “off” position and placing his finger on the trigger as he approached the door.

          Roman noticed Charlie’s index finger on the trigger. Roman thought the word fool. One never runs with one’s finger on the trigger. Accidents happen, runners trip, stumble or fall, then friends or innocent by-standers die. But Roman supposed that Charlie didn’t give-a-shit about that. Protecting numero uno was the only thing that was ultimately important to him.

          Freddy didn’t approach the door. He stayed by the children who sat by the windows. His back leaned against the wall, not a window. He looked like one of the scared children.

          Roman heard Freddy say, “Psalm 3:3, My Lord and savior; you are a shield around me. O Lord, you bestow glory on me and lift up my head.”

          When Charlie stared at Freddy angrily, Freddy continued, but did so silently, though Roman could see his lips moving.

          After hearing Freddy’s psalm, Roman thought of Kurt Vonnegut’s quote: “Say what you will about the sweet miracle of unquestioning faith; I consider a capacity for it to be terrifying and absolutely vile.”

          For some inexplicable reason, Roman felt sorry for Freddy, whom he supposed went through agonizing familial abuse, societal torment and, worst, rejection by his big brother. Roman thought, Freddy probably had no idea what he was getting himself into when he decided to help Fang. Freddy was easily manipulated and was probably told that the escape plan would be a quick, easy get-away, nothing to it and then he’d be done. Freddy probably saw a chance to restore his friendship with Fang, so he must have jumped at the chance to redeem himself in Fang’s eyes. So it wouldn’t have taken much convincing to talk Freddy into providing the get-away car. It was obvious to Roman that Freddy needed acceptance desperately, as well as the appearance of being useful, needed and valued, so he’d most likely do just about anything that Fang asked of him, even though he’d found religion and seemed sincere about it.

          The kids who saw Charlie rush toward the door started crying; others were too scared to cry. Fear had paralyzed some of them; mental trauma solidified in their brains like dried super glue. Roman did his best to comfort and quiet them. What worked best was Roman’s assuring smile, plus his confident tone when stating, “Shhh, I’ll get you all out of here safe and sound, but you need to be quiet and trust me. The crying and whimpering makes that big guy angry. We don’t want to make him angry at you. Let him be angry at me, OK?” Most heads moved up and down nervously, then the students gradually became quiet.

          When Roman turned around, the sight of the AK-47 in Charlie’s hand caused Roman’s mind to switch to unpleasant battlefield images of fire-fights, tracer-bullets, sieges, snipers, oriental faces and slashed throats. The images danced through his mind like ice-picks tap dancing on his brain. His mind conjured up the familiar AK-47 sound, allowing the black, horrible creatures and shadows in his mind loose from the mental chains that had held them captive for so long. Roman struggled against his own panic, his own mental collapse. He blinked his eyes rapidly to clear them, as if those images were outside his body. His hands went to his ears, trying to shut out the sound of the AK-47, which was only accomplished because it was replaced by the diabolical tone of Fang’s laughter. The laughter reminded Roman of the Adirondack Mountains ordeal and Jake’s taunting and tormenting laughter. Roman’s thoughts focused on his actions of self-preservation, the killing of three men to save himself and his daughter, Grace. He felt pleased to have saved Grace, but haunted by what all his killing said about his flawed character.

          When Charlie peered out the door and saw what Fang was up to, Charlie wanted to join the fun. However, Fang waved him back to the room. But that didn’t stop Charlie from shouting “Bang! Bang! Bang!” while waving the rifle around the room.

          Roman cleared his head, stood up from his desk and walked to the windows to calm the children. Some were shouting, “Stop!” while others were pleading for Mr. Wolfe. Nearly all of them had their fingers stuck into their ears to assuage the anticipated noise when a rifle is fired in a confined area.

          “Put the damn safety on and take your finger off the trigger, you idiot. You accidentally shoot one of the kids and I’ll kill you,” Roman shouted.

          “Sure you will. You think yur skinny ass will stop a bullet?” responded Charlie.

          Freddy said, “Please stop this. It’s wrong, Charlie. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’”

          Roman thought, Peacemakers? Come to think of it, where are all the peacemakers in the biblical stories? There’s very few words about peacemakers, very few Paladins mentioned, but bad deeds and characters abound.

          “That’s total bullshit, so shut the fuck up, retard!” Charlie screamed at Freddy.

          Freddy responded with, “Matthew 22:14, For many are called, but few are chosen.”

          Roman was a fountain of quotes that disparaged religions. They stuck in his mind like ants in honey. “Lighthouses are more helpful than churches,” said Ben Franklin.

          Charlie didn’t respond verbally, but looked at Freddy with contempt.

          Roman noticed Alyson’s tears and her trembling body, though she was quiet.

          She was staring at him much like a puppy would look at its master when it desperately needed protection and security. Roman walked to Alyson, who was sitting by the window as one of Fang’s human shields.

          “Get back to your desk!” screamed Charlie.

          “Or what, sissy britches?” Roman spat out the words with disdain flowing thickly off his tongue, forcing spittle to fly into the air.

          “Or? Or I’ll give yuh a new asshole.” Charlie aimed the rifle at Roman.

          “I’ve already acquired three more assholes when you guys walked in here,” Roman lashed out, sarcastically.

          Roman noticed that Freddy didn’t offer any support to Charlie. He looked as scared as the kids. Freddy seemed to be studying the floor and mumbling, probably more Psalms. Roman couldn’t see Freddy’s eyes, but realized that stress, anxiety and nervousness were ripping him apart.

          Roman thought, Freddy’s superstitions couldn’t help him no matter how many he quoted, no matter how frequently he verbalized them, no matter how deeply he believed them. Roman still felt sorry for him. Roman pondered, When the strength of reality meets the false hopes of superstition, it’s like a strong wind meeting an insubstantial fog. The fog simply cannot stand against the wind.

          A loud crunching sound came from the hallway. It sounded like Fang had now ripped the door completely off its hinges.

          Roman and Charlie glanced at the hallway, again, but couldn’t see Fang, so they returned their vision to each other.

          Roman could usually tell what a person would do just by looking at his facial gestures and body language. Charlie looked like he might just be crazy enough to shoot. his finger was still against the trigger and Roman could see that it was not held loosely. Roman thought it best to let Charlie win this contest of wills, so he looked away. He turned, stepped toward Alyson, gently brushing the damp hair off her tear-tracked cheeks then hugged her reassuringly.

          Roman heard talking from the doorway. He heard Fang tell Charlie, “Not now. Kids are cryin’. ” Roman heard a smacking noise as Fang slapped Charlie on the back of the head. Roman glanced over his shoulder and saw that Fang had taken Charlie’s AK-47 away from him. Charlie’s face was aglow with pent up rage.

          Roman continued walking around the room comforting the kids, hugging them, patting them on the shoulder or back, giving them words of encouragement and a gentle smile, while refusing to mention the smell of urine so as not to embarrass any child.

          Then a loud noise forced everyone to look toward the windows.

          Some one was using a bullhorn outside, but Roman couldn’t understand what was being said; there was too much noise in the classroom.

          As Roman made his way around the room, the classroom phone rang. Fang walked into the room, stared at it for awhile, as if not sure whether to answer it or not. But he needed to talk to negotiate, so now was a good chance to talk. He picked up the phone and gruffly said, “What?”

          “Mr. Fang, this is Captain Lewis, State Police captain in charge. We haven’t done anything to provoke you. May I ask what the noise, from the hallway, is about?”

          Fang recognized a feminine voice and said, “Woman, ha? Got listenin’ devices and men in the hallway, have yuh? Only way yuh could know ‘bout the door noise. Well listen, bitch. We’re gettin’ hungry up here an’ we thought we’d have ourselves a hostage bar-be-cue. Some young, tender meat, yuh know, unless we be gettin’ some food from yuh. So, whatcha think, Captain Lew?” Fang was trying to make Captain Lewis angry, maybe lose control. The psychological warfare between the two continued, “Any real cops down there I can talk ta? An’ I don’t mean no pussy in uniform.”

          Lieutenant Hawkey was listening on another line while standing near Captain Lewis. Occasionally their shoulders touched as they shifted their weight. Joe was wondering how Bev would handle the extreme, sexist insults and the food request.

          “You mean a male police officer? There are plenty of them, Mr. Fang. Unfortunately, they aren’t in charge of this operation. I am. You’ll have to deal with me. No compromise on that. This whole situation is difficult for all of us Mr. Fang, so─ ”

          “Jesus! Jus’ call me Fang, liddle lady,” he interrupted. “Mister don’t fit my image. Yuh know twat I mean? Guess you claimin’ squatter’s rights out there. What’s yur name, again?”

          “Call me Captain Lewis.”

          “OK, Capee-tan Lew. Don’t y’all worry, now, Honey Buns. None a them babies was hurt. Jus’ a door rippin’ an’ crunchin’, Babe.” Fang laughed tauntingly.

          “If that’s true, then I want to hear it from Mr. Wolfe. Put him on to verify what you said about the door and that no students were hurt.”

          Faking a sardonic southern drawl, Fang said, “Shore thing, Mistress Sweet Cheeks.”

          Fang handed the phone to Roman, saying, “Don’t tell ‘er which door it was or yuh be gettin’ a fist in the kidneys. Sweet liddle Capee-tan Lew wants ta know if any a them babies is hurt.” Fang shoved the phone into Roman’s chest, making a hollow thump, then commanded, “Tell ‘er.”

          But when Roman held the phone to his ear, what he heard was not a female voice, but a somewhat familiar male voice. He was confused to hear, “Wolf? Don’t talk yet. Don’t show surprise, if you can help it. It’s Joe, from Nam. I’m a state trooper now. Don’t acknowledge me by name. If all the students are uninjured, say, ‘No one is hurt, Lieutenant Lewis.’ She’s the Captain in charge here. But if you say Lieutenant then I’ll know you aren’t being forced to say things.”

          “Yes, that’s correct, Lieutenant Lewis. No one is hurt. They’re scared, though.”

          “We think that there’s only three men holding you hostage. Make something up with a number in it to indicate how many there are.”

          “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Lewis. We do have three students that look sick and─ ”

          Fang snatched the phone away from Roman and said, “That’s enough! Talk to me, Honey. Thought yuh said you’s a Captain?”

          During the pause, Roman glowed inwardly, thinking, “There’s the ray of sunshine peeking through the blackness that I needed. It’s Joe. I’ll be damned. It’s Hawk Eye.”

          When Lieutenant Hawkey heard Fang’s voice, he quickly handed the phone to Captain Lewis who said, “Mr. Wolf simply made a mistake. I’m here to help resolve this situation without anyone getting hurt, you or the kids. So, let’s help each other. What can we do to get the hostages freed? The longer you keep those kids, the more likely that one will get hurt or seriously sick or even killed. Then the situation and, of course the consequences, will escalate into the tragic, no-further-negotiation zone. Let’s both cut through the bombastic fat, Fang, and get right to the bone. How can we help each other?”

          “Well, Lew, speakin’ a getting ta the bone; I got me a boner. Yuh can sure help me get rid of it. Yuh sound so sexy on the phone. Hows ‘bout you an’ I negotiating for some pussy? Hope yuh’s on the thin side ‘cause, yuh know the old sayin’, ‘the closer ta the bone, the sweeter the meat.’ Watcha think, Lew?”

          “Fang, this is a serious situation and it requires that those in charge be serious. You and I are in charge so let’s negotiate seriously.”

          “First, I ain’t afraid to die, liddle lady. Are you?” Fang snapped.

          “Yes, I am, Fang. But I don’t want anyone to die. Let’s work something out.”

          Freddy said, “Proverbs 29:11; A fool uttereth all his mind, but a wise man keepeth it in till afterwards. I have complete faith in thee, my Lord.”

          “Faith means not wanting to know what is true.” Friedrich Nietzsche, Roman thought.

          Roman could not hear who Fang was talking to, but it had to be Captain Lewis. He knew that Joe must have quickly given the phone to a woman, that she must be in charge and that she must be in the elementary or high school office because that’s where the only switchboards were for a landline connection. A woman trooper in charge? She must be damn good, he thought, and that thought comforted him, but not nearly as much as knowing that Hawk Eye was out there. “Damn. Where’d he come from?” Roman wondered as he smiled.

          Roman assumed that the SWAT team had surrounded the building long ago. It was early afternoon, now, and that made him think of food, so when Fang paused on the phone. as if to collect his thoughts, and then turned toward Roman, Roman made the motion of pushing food into his mouth with his fingers. Fang nodded his head to indicate that he understood.

          “We need food for all of us, Lew. Lots of it, ‘specially for me. I’m still a growin’ boy. Matter a fact, Missy, jus’ hearing yur voice is makin’ a part of me grow right now,”  Fang said as he laughed.

          Captain Lewis pulled the phone away from her ear, not wanting Fang’s loud laughter to puncture an eardrum. When the laughter stopped she said, “We can send food up there in about an hour or two, but there’s too many mouths to feed, Fang. Let ten of the kids go as a show of good faith. That way you’ve got fewer kids to watch, fewer that can get hurt, fewer to feed and we’ll all know that you’re serious about negotiations and not just some crazy lunatic. It’ll show us that you’re a reasonable person who’s willing to cooperate with us. That’s not too much to ask for, Fang. That leaves you with Mr. Wolfe and over half the class. We won’t do anything foolish if you don’t do anything foolish. Sound reasonable to you?”

          The classroom was as quiet as a mouse that’s hiding from a cat. Everyone’s attention was on Fang even though he was the only one who could hear Captain Lewis.

          Fang talked and Roman listened while he strolled around the room whispering assurances, calming emotions and keeping the children quiet. He’d been moving about without permission, but it was worth it if it helped the children and it did.

          Fang did want to get rid of some of the goddamn brats. He really hated kids. He figured that the only good kid was one who would submit to being sexually abused. Fuckin’ liddle brats, he thought, an’ worse then New Year’s Eve noise makers.

          Fang’s lips brushed the mouth-piece on the phone as he said, “OK, Capee-tan. Can we slice through the psychology bullshit? Yuh got things twisted in yur liddle head, liddle lady. See, I want─ great emphasis on want─ yuh ta know that I’m a uncooperative, unreasonably, crazy lunatic. An’ if yuh don’t do ‘xactly as I say, Honey Buns, yur thoughts will come true, an’ I’ll send some kids out ta yuh, all right. Only they won’t be alive, Sweetheart. Now yuh send the fucken’ food up in a hour an’ maybe, jus’ maybe, the food will bring this here lunatic back ta his senses, an’ maybe I will or maybe I won’t, send out five girls an’ five boys. Maybe. But yuh listen real good, bitch,” Fang paused and the tone of his voice changed dramatically, as if some demon had taken over his body. He continued with a deep, bass and growling loudly, “Yuh cross me, Sweet Cheeks . . . yuh pull anythin’ funny an’ yuh’ll need ten, small body-bags. Yuh unnerstand that clear ‘nough or do I need ta pistol-whip one a these babies an’ send ‘im out all bloody or dead?”

          After Fang’s outburst, Freddy forcefully squeezed his groin muscles so he wouldn’t pee his pants. Then he stated: “Daniel 5:27, Otto, thou art weighed in the balances and art found wanting.”

          Roman’s thoughts were far from biblical ethics. He was thinking: Some men need killing, despite the doctrines of religions and the laws of civilizations. And, he thought, there’s nothing wrong with admitting this because there are uncivilized, savage beasts roaming amongst us, beasts who need to be killed, like a rabid dog, to protect the dozens of innocents that they will eventually harm or kill.

          Then Roman was distracted by Freddy’s biblical statement. Roman looked frustrated with all of Freddy’s hypercritical, hyperbolic myths. It was Voltaire who came to Roman’s mind, “On religion, many are destined to reason wrongly; others not to reason at all, and still others to persecute those who reason correctly.”

          Captain Lewis felt cold. It was the threatening chill in Fang’s voice with its brutal sincerity. “I know exactly what you’re saying, Fang. No tricks, but you must understand that the same rules apply to you. Understand?”

          Fang, somewhat caught off guard by Captain Lewis’s boldness said, “And what the fuck does that mean, Missy?”

          Meanwhile, Charlie got Roman’s attention, pointed at him, then swung his arm so it pointed at the teacher’s chair. Roman understood that he was being ordered to go to his chair and be seated. He did.

          “It means,” Captain Lewis said in a calm, but stern voice, “that if you fuck with the rules, mister, if you cross me in any way, if any kids or the teacher get hurt or if any more of my people get shot, that will indicate that there can be no further negotiations. Negotiations are based on trust and compromise, Fang. Agreed?”

          Captain Lewis knew that ‘compromise’ was necessary, but ‘trust’? That was smooth-talking bullshit. You just don’t trust criminals, especially criminals with guns and hostages.

          Fang laughed into the phone. “Well, shore thing, Darlin’. I agree,” Fang replied.

          Lt. Hawkey wanted to tell Captain Lewis something so she told Fang to stay on the phone, then pressed the phone against her stomach so Fang couldn’t hear Lieutenant Hawkey. Joe whispered in Captain Lewis’s ear. “Tell him you’ll send him a walkie-talkie, a police Pro Walkie-Talkie, so we can communicate with him from anywhere on the school grounds.” Bev smiled at the good idea, then she put the phone back to her lips.

          “One more thing, Fang. We’ll send up a walkie-talkie with the food so you can communicate with us at any time, and not need the phone. Is that okay?”

          Fang hesitated, wondering if it was some sort of trick. Captain Lewis anticipated his thoughts. “No, Fang. There’s no trick. Just a plain, police walkie-talkie for convenience. No tricks. No gimmicks. You can trust me.”

          “OK,” Fang answered, “an’ how ‘bout yuh bringin’ up the food fer us?”

          “No can do, Fang. Wouldn’t do any good for this situation for me to get taken hostage, too, would it?”

          “Well, where’s all the trust yuh were talkin’ ‘bout, Captain Lew?”

          “Nothing wrong with trust, Fang, but blatant stupidity is a different story. Neither of us can afford to be stupid in this delicate and volatile situation, can we?”

          “Oh. Course not,” Fang responded, “but I won’t allow a man ta bring the food up here. Yuh send a woman. A nice, gentle, unarmed woman, with ‘er arms full a food an’ everythin’ in plain sight. That way are trust an’ compromise will go smoothly an’ no one gets hurt, OK?”

          “Exactly. I’ll be in touch in an hour or so.”

          “In an hour. No or so.”

          “You know damn well that ordering several pizzas will take more than an hour. Along with trust comes reason. Don’t make demands that are impossible. The food will arrive as soon as possible. I’ll tell the pizza place to rush the order.”

          “OK. OK. I can be reasonable. Hell, I can jus’ get one a the girls an’ eat at the “Y,” if yuh know what I mean, Sweetheart.”

          “You’re disgusting and bluffing. You touch any of those children and Mr. Wolfe will force your hand. You’ll shoot him, then we’ll storm through the doors and windows. You’ll leave us no choice. So keep your taunting and disgusting perversions to yourself and Charlie.” Bev heard Fang laughing hysterically.

          After that exchange of insults, taunts and bluffs, the classroom became silent, except for Freddy who was saying, “Don’t be overcome by evil. Overcome evil with good. Romans 12:21.”

          Roman’s mind spoke to him, saying the words of Bertrand Russell: “Many people would sooner die than think; in fact, they do so.”

                 *

          Fang walked to the windows, found Alyson Boyd, grabbed her by the upper arm then roughly pulled her off the counter. As she screamed, he dragged her to Charlie before Roman could act.

          “Charlie,” Fang said determinedly, “yuh hold yur knife ta her throat an’ if the wise-ass Wolfy gets outta his chair, yuh cut ‘er throat. Unnerstand?”

          Startled, Charlie said, “For real?”

          “Goddamn right, fer real. I ain’t goin’ back ta prison. No way. No how. We be free or we die. But let me warn yuh, Charlie, if yuh hurt her and the Teach was not outta his chair? I’ll kill yuh.”

          Both Charlie and Alyson froze in fear. Tears boiled out of Alyson’s closed eyelids. The other children followed suit. Roman saw Charlie remove his knife from its belt sheath. Charlie grabbed Alyson by the hair and pulled hard to make her squirm and scream in more pain, as if to dare Roman to get up from his desk. Roman remained seated and thought, Oh, fuck. Charlie was smiling. Alyson cried louder as Charlie needlessly pulled her hair harder.

          “Yuh shut ‘er up,” Fang said, pointing at Roman.

          Roman yelled, “Don’t be so damn stupid. You got the cops over a barrel now, so you let Charlie pull her hair and make her scream? What if the cops panic and come charging in here because she’s screaming? Charlie needlessly causes her pain and instead of telling Charlie to stop, you tell me to keep her quiet. You want her quiet? Talk to the resident idiot. Talk to Charlie!”

          Fang, angered at Roman’s eruption, knew that he was right. “Don’t grab ‘er hair so tight, Charlie. I wan’ it quiet in here. Pull the knife away from ‘er neck, but keep it in yur hand. The big, bad wolf man happens ta be right.”

          Roman breathed a sigh of relief.

          Charlie loosened his grip on Alyson’s hair and lowered the knife to his thigh. The screaming stopped, but Charlie still had a tight grip on Alyson’s long hair, though he wasn’t pulling as he had been doing before.

          Fang told Freddy to close the door and keep the six boys in front of it until he got back from the roof. Freddy moved slowly as if he were hypnotized. Fang slapped his cheek, then shook his brother’s shoulders and slapped him again, telling him, “Wake-up an’ be useful, yuh religious nut case.” Freddy stared at Fang in shock. To Freddy, Fang had just committed the ultimate betrayal.

          Fang paid no more attention to Freddy, he simply took the AK-47 and headed for the roof. He was only gone twenty minutes when the door unlocked and startled everyone as he re-entered the classroom noisily, bumping the door into the boys. Roman almost stood up, but relaxed quickly as Charlie’s hand tensed around the handle of his knife.    Roman was the first to notice the worried expression on Fang’s face.

          “Let ‘er go, now,” Fang said to Charlie.

          Charlie let go of Alyson’s hair. She coughed and rubbed her head and sore arm as she ran to Roman. Roman could see the tears running down her cheeks and the hurt in her eyes. Alyson trembled as Roman held her. Alyson reminded him so much of his own daughter. That’s why, he supposed, he felt so partial to her. That’s why he felt her pain so intensely. His rage increased two-fold, but he restrained it.

          He thought of Grace and her unique sense of humor. He remembered once, at the dinner table, she put pitted black olives on each fingers and made funny motions with her hands. He and Sam cracked-up laughing at this antic. Then one day Grace looked closely at Sam’s breasts, after Sam had taken a shower. Grace thought Sam’s nipples looked like mouse noses and when Sam told Roman about it, they both laughed again. Later, Roman had whispered into Sam’s ear, “I really do love kissing mouse noses.”

          Fang ordered Alyson to return to the windows and sit. Roman let go of her.

          Roman smiled at the happy memories of Grace, then got up from his chair, picked it up and attacked Fang with it. He smashed the chair into Fang’s head and when the chair fell, he kicked it into Fang’s knees. Fang had bent over when hit on the head, so Roman punched him in the side of the neck, to no effect. Roman knew that he couldn’t use karate on him or it would give away just the thing that was needed to escape with the kids, when the situation was right. Again, Roman kicked the chair hard into Fang’s legs, tripping Fang, causing his to stumble, then fall onto his back.

          Noises caused Roman to swivel around just in time to see Charlie’s knife coming at him─ the noise came from the kids who had been yelling a warning to him. Roman blocked Charlie’s stabbing, right arm, with his left arm, then grabbed the arm at almost the same time. As Roman was pulling Charlie toward him with his left arm, he reached out with his right hand, grabbing Charlie by the throat and pulling Charlie toward him. Then, as Charlie was pulled into Roman, Roman kneed him in the balls. When Charlie bent forward in agony, Roman elbowed him in the back of the neck. Charlie fell like a house-of-cards in a hurricane, dropping the knife to the floor. But Roman now had his back toward Fang.

          Fang was on his feet and punched Roman in the kidneys. Roman bent forward in pain, facing away from Fang, then immediately sensed Fang’s boot coming up between his legs. Roman made double fists, crossed his forearms to make an “X,” then placed the “X” under his balls and pushed downward, trapping, cushioning and protecting his testicles. Since Roman was facing away from Fang, Roman back-kicked Fang in the knee cap, stopping him in mid-stride. Spinning around quickly, Roman said, “I told you if you hurt any of the kids I’d make a fuss. I meant it and this was just an example. No kids get hurt!” Roman screamed at Fang, who was trying to catch his breath. “And don’t threaten to beat me up or shoot me because one loud yell or one shot from this room and you’ll be in an impossible FUBAR situation, with the possibility of negotiations gone and the SWAT team crashing through doors and windows. And you can’t gag me, either. There are listening devices and if they don’t hear my voice, they’ll know something’s wrong. And something you don’t know, hotshot, is that there’s a secret way that I can communicate with them and if I do it, they’ll all come storming in here.” Roman was bluffing, but he was a damn good bluffer.

          The boys at the door were fidgety, shuffling their feet, showing nervous faces, glossy with sweat. Some were moaning and rocking side to side. Others were rocking back an forth on imaginary rocking chairs. Then some burst out crying.

          “Shudup!” Fang yelled, then said, “What the hell’s a fool bar?”

          “Not fool bar.” Roman spelled it, “F-U-B-A-R. It’s a term used during the Vietnam war. Roman turned his back to the children and whispered to Fang, “It means Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.”

          Fang stared at Roman as a lion stares at its prey, intense, focused and hungry. Fang shifted his eyes to the children, who were standing by the door, then screamed at them, “Goddamnit! You babies go sit by the brats at the windows and shut the fuck up!” The children were terrorized. They moved away from the door quickly, wanting to get as far away from Fang as they could.

          “May I ask that you please refrain from using the F-word,” Roman requested.

          Roman watched Fang as he put his left hand on his temple and rubbed─ his right hand held the rifle.

          Roman knew that rubbing the temple could mean that someone is getting a headache or, perhaps, because of stress or anxiety or a migraine. So, it could mean that Fang was starting to crack under the pressure.

          Fang approached Roman and whispered, “Fuck you, Asshole.”

          Fang got himself, Charlie and Freddy together in a tight triangle and started whispering to them about what he had learned while on the roof. Roman couldn’t clearly hear what Fang was telling Charlie and Freddy.

          Fang told Charlie and Freddy that one of the cops in the car that they shot at, in the parking lot, was dead and the other one was in the hospital in serious condition. He told them that he’d overheard one cop yelling this information to another cop who was across the parking lot. Fang told them that they were, from that point on, considered to be cop-killers, so they had to be real careful because once someone was classified a “cop-killer,” his life was in mortal danger from any vengeful cop. It makes surrendering much more dangerous, though Fang had no intention of surrendering. Fang told them that they’d have to negotiate for a helicopter if they hoped to have any chance of getting away.

          Fang put his right arm around Freddy’s neck in an unusually and suspiciously friendly and brotherly gesture and said, “Freddy, I’m sorry fer yelling at yuh. I’m unner a lot a pressure an’ said things I didn’t mean.” Actually, his brother repulsed him, but Fang needed Freddy for a special job, so getting back into Freddy’s good graces was necessary.

          Freddy looked sympathetically, but suspiciously at Otto, trying to understand him, trying to change him, wishing and hoping for no more violence. He pleaded with Fang, “My brother, ‘depart from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.’ Psalm 34:14. Your sins can be forgiven, Otto.” Freddy’s eyes begged Otto, but when he saw no affect on Fang, he said, “Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord.”

          Roman mumbled to himself, “Only if that myth gets there before me.”

          Fang told Freddy, “Please, Freddy, no more a that God stuff. Keep it ta yurself. Listen, I want yuh ta be are look-out on the roof. It’s a important job. I’m trusting yuh ta do somethin’ really important. It will be a great help ta us, OK?”

          Freddy, of course, didn’t know that, just as a canary did for the long-ago coal miners, Fang was now asking him to do. “Don’t let the cops in the parking lot see yuh, if yuh can help it. Jus’ keep an eye on the roof. Make sure no cops come up there. And if they do, yuh get down here fast to─”

          “Christ almighty. What was that?” Charlie interrupted, then stared at the floor with horror and fear in his eyes.

          Freddy was silent, but kept turning in circles trying to see whatever Charlie had seen. Freddy turned in frantic circles, like a frolicsome dog chasing its own tail.

          All three of them looked down at the floor, then at each other. They all agreed that they had seen something white, a blur that brushed up against their legs, as it circled them, leaving a tingling sensation and the tiny remnants of a fading echo from a frightening growl.

          Roman giggled, then said, “Why are you guys looking at the floor like it was an unflushed toilet?”

          “Asshole,” Charlie said.

          “Did you see it, too?” Fang asked Roman.

          “See what? You guys seeing things?” Roman said seriously, so he wouldn’t antagonize them needlessly. Then, not being able to prevent his impulse, he looked at Fang and Charlie with a grim, basilisk stare. Then Roman had to look away, desperately trying not to laugh. When he felt he could not resist laughter, he coughed to cover it up. The coughing created a tickle in his throat, forcing him to really cough, but his coughing came from deep in his throat, like that of a growling canine.

          “Goddamnit! It was somethin’ white, shaggy, kind of like blurred white fur. Somethin’ rubbed against me leg,” Fang said to Roman. Then to Charlie and Freddy, he said, “Yuh feel a tingle in yur leg?”

          Both Charlie and Freddy nodded their heads up and down as their disbelieving eyes bugged out. They were spooked, as if the classroom had suddenly become part of a haunted house.

          The children stared, too, but saw nothing and looked thoroughly confused.

          Roman said, “You talking about white fur that’s moving? You mean like a snowshoe rabbit or maybe a polar bear?” Roman grinned slightly.

          “No, wise-ass. Like a dog,” Fang spat.

          “This repartee is interesting,” Roman said. Then added, “I seriously doubt that there’s a white dog in my classroom. Maybe it was a white elephant. Of course that’s about as likely as a lighthouse in the desert. Don’tcha think?” Roman grinned.

          “Time will come when yur smart mouth will git yuh killed, Teach,” Fang said angrily, with an intimidating stare and grinding teeth.

          “It was nothin’ guys,” Fang spoke to Charlie and Freddy. “Ferget about it.”

          “Freddy, my liddle brother, yuh understand what yur important job is on the roof?” Fang asked, feigning a friendly smile.

          Freddy knew now that his brother was lying to him; he was too overly friendly, but there was nothing he could do about it. Otto was hopeless, Freddy decided. Freddy smiled insincerely at his brother, saying, “Sure. I know what ta do.” Then he walked out of the classroom door and climbed the stairs to the roof to act as a sentry. He felt hopeless and begged God for help, saying, “Psalm 5:2. Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for to you I pray.”

          Freddy’s was deeply depressed; the black hole of hopelessness had sucked him inside an abyss. But neither did he realize that his brother had given him the most dangerous job. In Fang’s eyes, Freddy was the one who was the most expendable.

                  *

          Roman got permission to walk around the room to console the children. Keeping them quiet and hopeful was important to Roman.

          Roman approached Alyson. Roman bent over so she could whisper in his ear, “I saw it, too, Mr. Wolfe.”

          “You saw what, Alyson?”

          “A big, white dog. I saw it. Didn’t you see it?”

          Roman positioned himself close to Alyson’s ear, then whispered, “Yes, Alyson. I saw it. But don’t talk about it to anyone, but me. It might start more trouble than we are in already, OK? And it might scare the other children who didn’t see it. The dog won’t hurt children. You are all safe.”

          “It’s our secret?”

          “You bet, Sweety. It’ll be our secret until this is over, then it’s not a secret any more, if you want to tell.”

          “I can tell someone, later? It was beautiful, Mr. Wolfe. The prettiest white dog I ever saw.”

          “I know, Alyson. It’s very handsome. Sure, you can tell whomever you want after we are all safe, OK? But remember, some people, probably most people, won’t believe you. Don’t get mad at them. It’s just that they didn’t see it, so they won’t believe you. Only certain, very special people can see it and you’re a very special person.”

/../.-/--/.-/.--/.-./../-/./.-./

17

“Only two things are infinite. The universe and human stupidity.”

Albert Einstein

Captain Lewis and Lieutenant Hawkey both paused, looked at each other with shoulder shrugs of uncertainty, then both started walking toward Mrs. Wolfe.

          “You think it’s a good idea to ask her to do it?” Hawkey asked. He walked with his hands in his pockets and head bowed, as if studying the shine on his boots. He could feel the crunch of pebbles beneath the flexible metal soles of his boots.

          Bev focused on Sam, trying to analyze her as a doctor might do with an X-ray. Bev wanted to see inside this woman’s head, see what she was really made of. Was she as tough inside as she appeared to be on the outside?

          Bev walked quickly, trying to keep pace with Joe’s long strides. Bev glanced to her left, looking up at Hawkey, waiting for a reply.

          “Yeah,” Bev replied, “I think she has what it takes, but we don’t have much choice. I can’t do it. Fang’s not the cretin we thought he might be. The SOB’s vicious, but smart. He’ll take me hostage. Even if I tried to fool him and wore civilian clothes, he’d recognize my voice. He’d take me and then have even more leverage. Can’t get another female cop out here quick enough. Don’t think I can go by the book on this one. If anything goes wrong, my goose is cooked.”

          “Awe, shucks, Bev. You needn’t worry about that. I can always give you a goose,” Hawkey said, in a teasing tone of voice and a little boy’s mischievous smile.

          Captain Lewis intentionally didn’t look at Hawkey. She continued walking and looked straight ahead, saying, “Down, boy. Now’s not the time or place. Save your strength. You may need it later. That Fang character’s a bad one, and he’s mighty big and desperate. Big and desperate, plus guns, is an equation for tragedy. You read the information on all three of ‘em, right?”

          “Yeah, I read it. One’s a wimp, one’s a chimp, and one’s no shrimp. Fang won’t be easy to take. His record’s written in blood. He may not want to be taken alive. If so, then he’s a triple, lethal threat. He’s King Kong, a mountain of muscle with a vicious reputation, in or out of prison. Not all brawn either. The guy’s got brains. Nothing superior, but compared to the other two dolts, Fang’s a genius. Don’t know if Wolfe can take him even if he gets the chance. Wolfe might have gone soft since Nam.” Joe felt disappointment in himself for denigrating Roman. “You’d probably need to put a bullet in his brain to stop Fang, anyway.”

          Bev whispered, “I’d like to be the one to do that. Another good reason for me not to go up there, I guess.” Captain Lewis frowned as she peered into Lieutenant Hawkey’s eyes. “You read the part about Fang giving the enema?”

          Hawkey lips drooped at the corners. “Yeah. I read it. The girl wouldn’t do what he wanted so Fang knocked her out, then gave her a boiling water enema. Shit! . . . Poor kid was only ten years old. I don’t understand that. How could anyone, if they’re human, do something like that? It even sounds as if it would be a perversion to a pervert. The world’s become such a brutal place, especially for kids. Fang’s a megalomaniac with delusions of competence. Probably loves nature, too, despite the awful things it’s done to ‘im.”

          “Well, aren’t you full of wisdom today. But, yes, there’s no understanding the brutal, ultra-sadistic ones,” said Captain Lewis. “Even if you tried to understand, you probably couldn’t. They just wouldn’t make sense to anyone who’s sane.”

          Hawkey mused, “This guy’s not just tough and smart, he’s an uncivilized, brutal, remorseless beast. Can we really risk sending Sam up there?”

          “All you can do is ask. She can always say no. Then we think of something else,” Bev stated.

          Their conversation ended abruptly as they took their last few steps to reach Sam.

          Samantha saw them approaching her and saw the intense concern on both their faces. She stood her ground and when they stopped in front of her, she searched their eyes. Neither seemed to want to speak first, so Sam spoke. “If you’ve got something to tell me, just say it.” Sam looked sternly at the both of them, trying to sandwich her fear between thick slices of inner bravery and outer stoicism.

          Hawkey grinned, then thought, What a woman. Hawkey said, “Sam, I haven’t told you, because I wanted to be certain. I fought side by side with your husband in Nam. He was one hell-of-a fighting soldier, too.”

          “ So you’re that Mohawk friend that he liked? Well, then you know he hated it, Joe.”

          “Yeah. I know. Most of us did. But that’s also why he was so good. He wanted to help end it. He got caught up in it, though. He figured that the more Americans he helped keep alive and the more enemy soldiers that he killed, the better the chances for him and his buddies to make it back to the World. I never met anybody better at hand-to-hand combat, Sam. He tell you much? I mean, about Nam?”

          Captain Lewis decided to listen and see where the natural flow of the conversation went. Sam Wolfe interested her and became the center of her attention while Joe talked.

          “No,” Sam said laconically to Joe. “He’s usually pretty closed-mouthed about Vietnam. And when he does say something, it’s vague or a generalization, no specifics or details. We went to the ‘Wall’ in Washington, D.C. awhile back. I saw him cry for the very first time, but he still didn’t say much. You might know that side of him better than I. What can you tell me about him in Vietnam?”

          “We were remarkably close for a short time. I know that he saved hundreds of lives by killing as many Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army soldiers as he could. He was bold, daring, courageous, maybe even obsessive . . . and definitely crazy. But above all, he was the best at what he did. Everybody, including me, was concentrating on death; our own. We all killed when we had to and we were all brimming with terror. Nam was a year of death-saturated thoughts and actions, but Wolf . . . ah . . . I mean Roman─.”

          “That’s OK, Joe. I’m used to his multiple sobriquets now.”

          Hawkey, diverted his eyes toward Bev, thinking, “sobriquet?”

          Bev smiled and thought, “English teacher?”

          Sam kept talking. “I know now that he was good with a knife, as well as karate.” Joe didn’t want to mention the garrote. Sam smiled at Joe and their expressions both softened. She felt comfortable with Joe. She was going to like him because he reminded her of Roman and Roman had talked so admirably about Joe.

          “You know, Roman still sleeps with his Marine Ka-Bar in a drawer next to his side of the bed.” Her grin was strained when she said, “That used to scare me.”

          Joe grinned back at her as Bev stayed focused on Sam’s conversation and facial expressions, to see if she could gather any insights into Sam’s character and thoughts.

          “Anyway,” Joe said, “It seemed like Wolfe’s thoughts, at least on the surface, weren’t death-saturated like the rest of us. His thoughts were of you and staying alive to get back home to you. You know what he’d say when he returned from his solitary, nighttime stalking? He’d say he just saved more American lives. Roman’s ambidextrous. You know that, of course. The guy’s equally good with both feet, too. He’s unbelievable to watch in action, unless you’re the enemy. And his ‘situational awareness’ is instinctive. He has an uncanny awareness of where he is, what dangers are present, who is around him, foe or friend, and even how close they are. The guys in the Special Forces are trained for months and years to develop what Roman already had.

          “He was good; I mean really good. The ROKs . . . ah, the R...O…Ks,” Joe spelled it. “The ROKs, that’s the Republic of South Korea. Their special forces soldiers were considered to be the toughest troops in Nam, after the Navy Seals, and much tougher than the average American soldier. The ROK regular army soldiers weren’t worth much, but those special forces guys, almost all of them were involved in martial arts since they were little kids. They were so fierce that captured documents indicated that the VC and NVA were ordered to avoid contact with the ROK Special Forces teams.

          “Don’t know if you know this, but sometime in late 1967 or early 1968, Roman got transferred to one of the ROK outfits for a few months prior to his discharge. Roman’s reputation had grown so much that the ROK special forces wanted to train with him. So Roman taught and trained the ROKs in silent, nighttime stalking and silent killing techniques. He learned some of their specialized techniques, also, especially the various uses and techniques of strangulation that the ROK special forces commander had learned when he was stationed in India. India, in the 18th and 19th centuries had a murderous cult named Thuggee─ the English word ‘thug’ is derived from the name of the cult. The Thuggees were a group of killers who specialized in the art of strangulation, then offered the victim to their god Kali.

          “Roman earned the respect of the ROK Special Forces and that’s no easy task. Given these circumstances, Sam, I’d say that those guys that tried to kill your husband and daughter in the Adirondacks never really had a chance. And, if I read the report correctly, the big guy, what’s his name . . . Jake? He got taken out with a garrote that Roman made from a couple pieces of a branch and some goddamn braided lengths of dental floss. He sure didn’t forget his training. When I first met him he was very reticent. The really good ones─ the strong, self-confident types─ they keep to themselves, don’t say much, but they observe a lot.

          “We spent many hours together before he opened up a little and let me get to know him on more than a superficial level. The boredom and anxiety of waiting can sometimes be almost as bad as the battle so we had time to talk. When we talked, the boredom evaporated. I didn’t know him long, but I got to know him better than most. He seemed fascinated with me being a Mohawk. Perhaps that’s why he opened up to me.

          “He reluctantly thought about doing another tour of duty in Nam, you know.” Joe glanced into Sam’s eyes and saw shock and question marks.

          “No, I didn’t know that. Roman never mentioned it,” Sam said with a note of surprise and disappointment. Sam leaned toward Joe and Bev as if her message was private, then whispered, “He can be quite stubborn once he gets an idea in his head. So, why didn’t he stay?”

          Captain Lewis moved in closer to Sam to make a tight circle, each person being mesmerized by their own anticipation, like scientists fascinated by a new discovery and not wanting anything to break their team concentration, blocking everything else out, focusing their attention only on each other.

          Joe continued, “Some guys have a death wish, you know, and they stay for two or three tours or they stay because there’s nothing waiting for them back home or they’re running away from something back home. Some simply enjoy the adrenaline rush they get from killing. They have the power of life and death so they stay. But Roman? No, he wasn’t like that, no death wish, no taste for killing, not power hungry, you know. As a matter of fact, now I don’t know how true this is, but I heard that the only single criticism of Roman’s abilities from the ROKs was that he didn’t relish killing the enemy as much as they did. He had no taste for it like the ROKs had. They savored killing communists.

          “I heard that some of the ROKs were a match for Roman, in daylight, with their martial arts combat skills, but at night, when they had simulated nighttime combat to demonstrate stealth skills, Roman had no peers. The ROKs were amazed with his ability. The ROKs didn’t like fighting at night. There was some taboo or superstition that made them balk at nighttime combat. Wolf─”

          Joe was getting away from the original question so Sam interrupted him. “He’s not afraid of the dark at all. I know that. He often goes out at night without a shred of fear. I’ve noticed that about him. He likes to walk in the dark. It looks as if he actually embraces it,” she added.

          Joe persisted. “Some of the guys did drugs in Nam. I tried some, but didn’t want to fu . . . ah, I didn’t want to mess myself up with them, so I stopped. But Roman never touched ‘em. Didn’t need to. He simply waited for the darkness of night and had a natural high from stalking the enemy.”

          Sam, somewhat frustrated by Joe’s non-answer to her question of why Roman didn’t stay a second tour, decided to let it go . . . for now.

          Bev thought it was time for getting back to the present. She looked at Sam and said, “It’s been some years since Nam. I don’t know how your husband will react to this situation. This guy, Fang, is worse than his record indicates. He’s a real, cold-hearted, sadistic bastard. His coldness towards the rights, concerns, and wishes of others is a common thread throughout all his criminal records. His heart is as cold as a grave in January and his personality has a severe case of frost-bite. With Fang, joy comes from causing pain in others; pleasure comes from violence or perversion; laughter comes from cruelty and human abuse or death becomes his ultimate pleasure. We have to deal with this guy. But we need to know how you feel your husband will deal with him. Is Roman still a fighter? How do you think he’s reacting to those three guys?”

          Joe and Bev stared at Sam, expectantly.

          “Bev,” Sam said, staring into the Captain’s eyes. “Roman will probably kill anybody that attempts to hurt any of those children. He may even be thinking that he can defuse this explosive situation by removing Fang permanently. Roman sometimes says, ‘You cut off the head and the body dies.’ Roman’s probably thinking that removing Fang will automatically remove the other two guys. Without Fang, those two guys cease to function. However, I doubt that he’ll do anything in front of his students unless any children are abused or if he has an upsetting flashback to Vietnam.”

          Lt. Hawkey smiled.

          “You mean, for Christ’s sake, that you think he might try to solve the problem himself by killing Fang?” Bev asked a little too loudly, as if startled by Sam’s response.

          “If you can’t put Fang in a canvas blazer with wrap-around arms, soon, there’ll be serious trouble. But he won’t just kill indiscriminately, Captain. He will think and plan and consider alternatives. He’s not a mindless robot programmed to kill, you know. He will probably be extra careful, maybe hesitant, because of the kids. But I’m telling you that he probably will come to the conclusion that he’ll have to remove Fang, and the longer it takes to get them all out of there, the more likely he’ll come to the conclusion that he has to solve the problem himself. If he can end it by breaking an arm or leg or knocking someone out, he’ll do that, but if he’s backed into a corner─ ”Sam didn’t finish the sentence, but continued to stare into Bev’s eyes.

          Lt. Hawkey’s faint smile couldn’t be readily detected. It rested mostly in his eyes. He was right about how Sam would answer Bev’s questions. It was still Solo-Lobo up there in that classroom. Joe cocked his head upward, looking at the classroom windows. “See you soon, Lone Wolf,” he mumbled.

          “She’s right,” Lieutenant Hawkey interjected. “Over the years he’s probably become like a dormant volcano. The ‘Ghost Wolf’ part of him is now all internalized. But when danger approaches and the threat becomes physical, like a volcano eruption.”

          Lt. Hawkey looked at Sam. “Are you aware of any violent behaviors that Roman has demonstrated since Nam?”

          “No, except for the Adirondack situation,” answered Sam.

          “Good,” responded Joe.

          “Jesus Christ,” Bev whispered. “I don’t want him to do anything until we’ve had a chance to try to resolve this peacefully, via negotiations, Sam. Will you help us get a message to Roman to hold off on any action that he may have planned?”

          “He’s no goddamned diplomat, Bev. He doesn’t say nasty things in a nice way. What is it that you think I can do to help? How am I supposed to get a message to him?” Sam asked Bev.

          “The school is surrounded by Joe’s SWAT team and my regular troopers.” She swept her arm the length of the school for effect. “Nobody’s going anyplace,” she said. “But we agreed to send food to the classroom. Shortly, we’ll have a few boxes of pizza and soda to send up there. Will you consider delivering the message to Roman when the pizza comes? Fang won’t allow any men up there. He wants a woman to deliver the food. I can’t do it myself. He may take me hostage and I don’t have any women troopers in my division. Joe can’t use his female SWAT member due to department regulations. It’ll take too long to get one out here from Rochester. If you could deliver the food, Fang’ll probably make Roman take it, as a precautionary measure and then you can pass along the message. And, for Christ’s sake, tell him to be patient. We can solve this thing, but we need time and we don’t need a show of force from anyone. Not right now, anyway. What do you think? Can you help us?”

          “Yes,” Sam replied.

          Bev and Joe were both surprised by Sam’s quick response.

          Sam stared at them, then said, “Sure, I’ll help, but I want you to know that Roman isn’t some trouble-making, violence-oriented, closet maniac, Bev. He’ll do the best he can under the circumstances that he faces, just as you would. But he’s not you and he may have different interpretations that may lead to different decisions than you might make. To put it bluntly, Bev, Roman and I have talked about this many times. He’s sick and tired of the bad guys going free on technicalities or plea bargaining or reduced sentences and early parole. He’s tired of seeing the victims getting screwed while the criminals sit back and use the laws to avoid being punished for their crimes or going to cushy prisons. You capture these bastards and they either get off or get reduced sentences due to some technicality or some phony plea of temporary insanity or plea bargaining or they blame murder and rape on their bad environmental upbringing. People are getting tired of that, Bev, and that makes them quicker to take action on their own, especially with those who have military combat experience. People are starting to trust their own instincts rather that rely on our castrated laws and our perverted justice system that favor the criminals and humiliates and/or emotionally destroys the victims.”

          Captain Lewis knew she’d made a mistake by attacking Roman’s character. She didn’t mean for it to come out like that. But she was frustrated and took a bad shot at a good guy instead of taking a good shot at a bad guy. Bev looked at Sam, an apology written in her eyes.

          Sam said, If negotiations and compromise fail, or will place added danger in the situation, I believe Roman will take action. Bev, if you can see past the glare of suspicion in his eyes, if you can hear beyond the strychnine edge to his voice, if you can understand his need for privacy and solitude, if you can understand the fact that trouble seems to follow him, if you can accept his skill at meeting evil directly, head-on, and defeating it, if you can understand his love of kids and of his family, then you’ll understand him better than most people.

          “He’s really one of the good guys, despite his flaws. You simply don’t know that yet because you don’t know him. Roman isn’t your normal straight arrow. He prefers the path least taken and that path is usually serpentine. He may be fierce in battle, but he’s gentle in friendship and comforting in love, a good husband and father, though there usually seems to be some sort of internal battle going on in him and, most likely, it’s Vietnam related.”

          Captain Lewis looked apologetically at Sam, then at Lieutenant Hawkey, who was bobbing his head up and down in agreement with what Sam had said. Lieutenant Hawkey knew firsthand about Roman’s good side. Roman had put his own life at risk for Joe.

          Sam continued, “Roman and I were talking once and he said that when he was real young, he used to admire smart people; when he was a teenager he admired strong, tough, aggressive people, but now that he’s approaching middle age, after having himself been called both clever and aggressive, he finds himself admiring kind, gentle people with average competitive attitudes, those who value friendships and love their families.

          “But he’s no pacifist, Bev,” Sam stated, with a giggle. “Sure, he’s much more gentle than when he was in Vietnam, but when physical force is needed, he’s got all the tools necessary for the job. He avoids physical force as much as possible, not because he has a weakness, but because he’s aware of the damage that he can do and is reluctant to do so. A pacifist? No way. Before this is over, he’ll probably pass-a-fist into some noses.”

          Joe looked at his boots and smiled at Sam’s pun.

          Captain Lewis focused on Sam and whispered, “I’m sorry, Sam.” They hugged each other like long lost sisters, finding comfort in each other’s embrace, which surprised the both of them. When they separated, they smiled. Something nice was developing between them─ understanding, compassion, friendship.

          Sam thought of Bev. Nice woman behind a tough veneer.

          Captain Lewis thought of Sam. “Sure had her figured wrong. Her husband too.”

          Joe thought about pizza and, as if he had magically commanded it, the pizza delivery car arrived.

/-.././.-/.-./.-../../.-../-.--/.-/-./-../…/.-../---/-././

18

“Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.”

William Shakespeare

          Roman gave of himself to his daughter, even many times when he was nearly exhausted from a day of teaching and/or doing yard work. Grace knew it, delighted in it and appreciated it. A child’s eyes see much deeper than you can ever imagine and they remember more than you’ll ever guess.

          While waiting for her parents, Grace walked into the back yard of her home and approached the swings. She looked down as if acknowledging the softness of the lush, green blades of grass, the sponginess of the moist soil. She raised her chin to the sky and saw a small bird diving speedily at a gliding hawk, pestering the much less maneuverable bird until its concentration on a nest with eggs, or on any unsuspecting prey was lost, then hurriedly moved on.

          Grace still stared at the orange-yellow orb of the descending sun, its fading warmth still comforting, giving her a sense of security. That feeling reminded her of her parents. She thought of the comforting warmth of their embrace, how secure she felt with them, how much she loved and appreciated them. She was troubled by her dad’s lateness. He was a man of routine and habit.

          She sat stationary on the swing. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her thighs, her head staring at the ground and the grass poking up around the edges and outlining her athletic shoes; her long hair fell like a light brown curtain, shielding her face from the low-angled rays of the sun. Tears dripped from the inside corners of her eyes and then from her nose. The tears dripped onto the patch of grass between her shoes, making the verdant blades of grass glisten with the ebbing rays of the setting sun.

          She was experiencing the terrible feeling that her dad was in trouble . . . again. She could feel his pain, though she couldn’t share the intensity of it as she did during the Adirondack Mountains ordeal. She felt his pain in a way that she found difficult to explain. When he got hurt, working around the house, she felt it physically in the form of a vague, uncomfortable pressure in her chest as if her lungs had overly inflated. When something was bothering him, she felt it mentally as a vibration that resonated with tones of sadness, like the sad effect of many country songs. Somehow she knew, had always known, that she was in tune with her Papa. It was usually a very loving, special and strong connection, like warm, golden links in a priceless chain of emotion. She liked having her dad’s attention and when he gave it to her, which was often, she lapped it up like a kitten at a bowl of cream. It was as if his attention nourished her.

          She pushed her feet away from her, just enough to fully extend her legs so that she gently swung in a minimal arc. She leaned back, holding tightly to the swing chains, peered at the sky and glided back and forth as she concentrated on her dad.

          Some far off war had changed him, she knew that because her mom had told her. Once she heard her papa talking to her mom about the war he was in. Her Papa was  whispering his thoughts to her mom, trying not to let her hear. But her hearing was good, like her mom’s, and she heard fragments of the conversation. She remembered the tone of her Papa’s voice, a whisper, deep with haunting sadness.

          Her eyes were sharp, too, and she sometimes noticed her Papa reading a book, or a magazine article, or seeing a movie about that far off war. Then she would see the tears streaming down his cheeks as he sat on his reclining chair, his feet jutting straight out as he reclined.

          He would use the book, magazine or the TV guide as a shield to hide his tears, not because he was ashamed to cry, but because he wanted to protect Grace from his own sadness and depression. But Grace felt the sadness, anyway, and saw him wiping the tears away, saw the dark, tear-spots on his shirt.

          Papa loved her. She never doubted that. She’d been through that horrible Adirondack kidnapping with him. He’d saved her life, though he had to kill the three kidnappers in the process. She felt his sadness about the killings for months, but that was a minor sadness because she secretly, and with much guilt, was thankful that her dad had killed them. She didn’t like thinking of what those men might have done to both of them, had they been captured. Maybe her dad was correct, she thought, there were some people who, like cancer, needed to be killed, though her guilt prevented her from voicing that opinion to anyone, but her father. She used to feel major guilt about her dad having to kill. Killing was supposed to be the worst thing a person could do. But her guilt became minor when she talked to her dad and mom about it being permissible in times of self-defense, when you were sure that your life or someone else’s life was in danger.

          The sun still spread a soothing, comfortable warmth on her, like warm butter spreading across warm toast. Papa was like that too, she thought. He was kind and warm─ though he had his bad moods. He lighted her life with happiness and made her feel so comfortable, so secure, so needed, valued and loved.

          But Grace knew─ she suspected that her mother did too─ that her Papa had a dark side. Not dark as in “unknown,” but dark as in “scary.” She saw some of his combat skills in the Adirondacks. She knew what he was capable of doing, if threatened or attacked. She had seen his deceptive strength and quickness. She sometimes watched him practice his karate techniques. And she knew what he could do with that scary knife. To Grace, the Marine Ka-Bar combat knife looked like a spear with a seven inch, razor-sharp, black blade and five inches of grooved, grip-tight, leather handle. When she saw it the last time, she had wondered why the first two inches of the top of the blade, from the point of the knife, was also razor sharp. She figured that if she didn’t want to hear an scary truth, then she shouldn’t ask. She knew that he kept it in the top drawer of his night stand and that knowledge was scary to her, especially when her mom said that she was never to touch it, as if some unknown evil resided within it.

          Seen through the innocence of a child’s eyes, that knife was a symbol of her Papa’s dark side. But that realization wasn’t the only conundrum that she had faced when she had concluded that the knife was an instrument of evil. Now she was faced with the question, “Is the user of that knife also an instrument of evil? If he no longer uses the knife, is he reformed? Did he shed the evil, like a snake skin?” Grace wondered, “Maybe it’s not evil if it’s used to protect lives.” That’s what her mom had told her. Grace felt relieved at that thought because now she could conclude that her dad was not a bad person, nor was the knife evil any more than a pencil is evil. Plus, her Papa had told her, as her mom did later on, that whether or not something is evil or good is determined by how and why it is used in a particular way. She believed that that explanation was correct. She trusted and believed her mom and papa, though there still exited a lingering discomfort.

          What no one else realized─ with the possible exception of Joe and Blizzard─ was that the Ka-Bar wasn’t simply a knife in Roman’s hand. To Roman, it was an extension of his arm, his wrist, his fingers. Like in a sci-fi movie, Roman’s skin, like roots, invisibly grew around the handle. Roman’s muscles, tendons and cartilage felt as if they grew directly and securely into the blade handle and that, to Roman, made the blade feel like a natural extension of his arm, exactly like a branch is a natural extension of a tree trunk.

          Grace wiped the last tear off the end of her nose, then used the back of her hand to dry her eyes. Now that her eyes were dry, the blades of grass were not blurry. She could distinctly see each green blade. Blades of grass reminded her of Papa because she knew his penchant for referring to a knife as a blade.

          What kind of trouble awaited him now? she wondered. All he wanted was peace and quiet, and to be left alone. But something always came along to break his search for that peace and quiet. She could feel his pain, again. She knew that her papa liked being around kids. Kids were innocent, honest, accepting of him. She knew that her Papa didn’t have to strain so hard to conceal his past, as he did with adults. He could relax when he was with kids. He found it much easier to be gentle, patient and less frustrated when he was with kids. He liked being gentle. For him, gentleness was the salve on the cavernous wound of his past.

          Children accepted him and genuinely liked him, unlike many prying adults who wanted to overturn the rocks in his past and then condemn him when something hideous or repulsive crawled out. Kids left those rocks in place. They sensed that those rocks shouldn’t be overturned. They knew instinctively that they should skip over them as if they were part of a game.

          Grace remembered going to school one day with her papa. One of the older boys told her that she was lucky to have him for a dad because, unlike most parents and most teachers, he didn’t constantly tell kids what to be, how to think and what to do or not to do. Instead, he would tell kids what they could be if they did this or that or what would happen if they did this or that. The boy went on to tell Grace that her dad, unlike most teachers, joked around with kids, did interesting things and let them have playtime after lunch. He made kids feel good about themselves. The boy also said that Mr. Wolfe made his students feel important.

          Grace knew many things, surprising things, that came to her young mind, then shown through her bright eyes as epiphanies. One night Grace saw her mom and papa watching the movie To Kill A Mockingbird─ one of her papa’s favorite movies. Gregory Peck plays the lawyer father, Addicus Finch. His son, Jem, and his daughter, Scout, want to know why it is a sin to kill a mockingbird. “It’s a sin,” Addicus tells them, “because Mockingbirds do no wrong, they just make beautiful sounds and lovely music that everyone can freely enjoy.”

          Roman often thought of himself as a more simple, mental version of Addicus Finch, but with many more physical, offensive and defensive, self-defense skills. And when Roman thought of Scout, it was Grace that he pictured. Addicus read to Scout at night, talked honestly and lovingly to her, explained things with infinite patience and treated her like a delicate angel.

          Roman, like Addicus Finch, radiated calmness, peacefulness and logic. Like Addicus, Roman had hidden mental resources of strength making him look like a pacifist, but Roman would wage a personal war to protect Grace. Have pity for the person who hurts this object of his love because behind the calm, peaceful eyes glows a hidden and intense ember that would burst forth like a flame-thrower to destroy any evil that would dared attempt to injure her.

          Even more profound are the words of Addicus’s neighbor, Maude, who tells both Jem and Scout that, “Some men, like your father, are put on this earth to do the dirty work for others; those unpleasant but necessary jobs that some people can’t do for themselves.” Addicus and Roman, given those circumstances, could be kin, though Addicus used ideas, concepts and the law as his weapons, while Roman used physical attributes, martial arts and a blade. But, perhaps the biggest difference was that Roman did not feel absolutely bound by the law which he sometimes skirted.

          Addicus and Roman were both self-assured, courageous and caring. It wasn’t a temporary, blustery confidence. It was innate, something adults sometimes missed or misinterpreted, yet children spotted it as if it were an elephant in a bathtub.

          A child’s eyes can see so much more than they’re given credit for. There’s insight behind the innocence, there’s love behind the occasional tantrums and recalcitrant behaviors and there’s understanding and appreciation when explanations are given with patience and sincerity.

/../.-../---/…-/./-/…././-…/---/-/…./

19

“Question with boldness even the existence of a God, because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blind-folded fear.”

Thomas Jefferson

Nagging doubts are so much more cruel than destructive lies or hurtful truths. It’s the doubts that gnaw at a conscientious person, eating their insides like acid, making them indecisive, confused and mentally off balance. Captain Lewis felt those doubts, like fishhooks dangling all around her, waiting to snag her. She wasn’t sure what she was dealing with and wasn’t sure that Lieutenant Hawkey, as much as she admired him, was correct about not sending in the SWAT team as long as Roman was still in the picture.

          “Our best bet is with the Wolf,” Lieutenant Hawkey advised her. It startled her at first because so many times before he and she had agreed that, given a situation where negotiation and compromise dragged on, like the situation that they were currently in, the SWAT team was their best bet for a quick resolution. But she also knew that using the SWAT team always had its severe risks, sometimes casualties, so her nagging doubts continued to gnaw at her. And the kids? It was the kids that made her doubt herself.

          She and Hawkey had seen Freddy on the roof with a rifle, though Freddy was trying to conceal himself. Bev had given orders not to fire unless fired upon. She prayed that Freddy wouldn’t use the rifle. Through binoculars, it looked as if he’d been crying. His lips were always moving as if he was talking to himself.

          “He’s an odd one,” said Captain Lewis. “He doesn’t look like he fits in this situation. Looks scared to death. Whaddaya think?”

          “Exactly,” Lieutenant Hawkey replied. “Looks definitely scared. No bravado. He’s the weak link and I’ll bet the Wolf has already been talking to him.”

          Bev looked sideways at Hawkey. “Yeah? You think Roman can turn him on the others?”

          “Not turn him on the others. He’s too scared for that, but Wolfe may convince him to do something helpful for us.”

          Freddy peeked at the parking lot again.

          With a hand-held, portable loudspeaker, Captain Lewis again warned Freddy not to attempt to use the weapon because the school was surrounded and he SWAT team personnel had their weapons trained on him, though, at present they were ordered not to fire unless fired upon. Then Captain Lewis calmly advised him to place the weapon on the roof in order to reduce the tension in the minds and trigger-fingers of the troopers.

          Freddy, being timid, was frightened easily and set the rifle on the roof where it was out of sight. However, his head could now and then be seen bobbing up and down behind the low brick wall that outlined the perimeter of the roof.

          Lt. Hawkey had three snipers positioned on the ground and strategically around the three sides of the school roof─ the fourth side was inaccessible due to a high brick wall that was part of a new addition to the school. The snipers were discreetly hidden: one in a tree directly opposite Mr. Wolfe’s classroom windows, one behind parked vehicles, another behind a garbage dumpster and one in school. If anything could be seen of them, it was just the barrels of their high powered rifles or, perhaps, a brief reflective flash off the lens of their Leupold Premium scopes.

          When Bev and Joe hadn’t seen Freddy’s head bobbing behind the wall for a while, they were speculating whether or not he was still up there, or if he was staying in one place instead of roaming the rooftop as he had been doing.

          Lt. Hawkey heard the footsteps coming up behind him long before Captain Lewis heard them. As a matter of fact Captain Lewis was still focusing on the roof as Lieutenant Hawkey, with residual instincts from Nam, swung around to see who was coming up behind them.

          It was the same trooper that had delivered Mrs. Wolfe a couple of hours ago. Lieutenant Hawkey saw the snide grin on the trooper’s face, as if this situation were some sort of game to him, as if he’d planned to sneak up on Lieutenant Hawkey just to see how close he could get without detection, to test himself against a man of Lieutenant Hawkey’s caliber and reputation. But, most of all, Hawkey saw a smart-ass who should have been washed-out of the academy program. One of these days, thought Joe, that smart-ass will get someone killed. He’d talk to Bev, about the guy, after this situation was resolved.

          Lt. Hawkey’s motion had alerted Captain Lewis. She turned and saw the grinning rookie trooper. She didn’t like his naïve arrogance and made a mental note to talk to him about it. She had also noticed Lieutenant Hawkey’s irritation with the young trooper.

          Coming up behind the young trooper was a short, portly man whose appearance was very dignified. His serious countenance, his short, well-trimmed, black beard and moustache with splashes of salt that the years had sprinkled on him, plus his black glasses made him appear very intelligent. He wore polished, black shoes, light blue pants and suit coat, with a salmon colored shirt and a dark blue tie with alternating diagonal stripes of blue and salmon colors. He looked like a college professor. His stern expression changed to a friendly grin. He said nothing, waiting for the young trooper to introduce him.

          Rookie trooper Casey Jones caught Captain Lewis’s attention with his irritating smile, then said, “Sorry to disturb you, again, Captain, but this is Doctor Lash. He’s the prison psychiatrist that you wanted to speak to.”

          Captain Lewis aimed a cold stare at Jones, then turned to Doctor Lash, saying, “Glad to meet you Dr. Lash. It was good of you to come so quickly.”

          Captain Lewis shook hands with Dr. Lash. Then she motioned to Hawkey and said. “Dr. Lash, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Hawkey.” Hawkey and the doctor shook hands.

          Captain Lewis noticed Trooper Jones still standing next to Dr. Lash instead of returning to his post. She placed an asterisk, for emphasis, next to her mental note about not only talking to Jones, but to reprimand him, too. She said, “Trooper Jones. Your job is done. You may return to your post.”

          Trooper Jones didn’t like the way he was dismissed. He was no one’s servant, he thought. He had high hopes of making a name for himself soon, so that he could scoot up the ladder of success and receive those promotions that it normally took many years to earn. He replied, “Yes ma’am,” with a tone of insolence, then departed.

          Captain Lewis and Lieutenant Hawkey both noted Jones’s insolent attitude, but ignored it . . . for now.

          Captain Lewis’s abrupt dismissal of him was embarrassing. It made Jones feel like a child, just as he had felt all through middle school and high school when kids teased him about his name. They’d always called him “Choo-Choo” because Casey Jones was some asshole who worked on a railroad, long ago, or something like that. He disliked his given name, but hated the Choo-Choo nickname. He never openly mentioned it, but some day he hoped to have the opportunity to even the score with some his tormentors.

          Knowing they were in a time bind, Captain Lewis bluntly stated, “So, what can you tell us about these escaped prisoners, Miller and the other one who likes to be called Fang?”

          “What I can tell you right off, Captain Lewis, is that these two are serious trouble, especially Otto . . . uh, you know, Fang, who is triple trouble, even in prison. However, I know nothing about Fang’s brother Freddy, except that, since he’s Fang’s brother, he’s probably really traumatized, psychologically. And don’t be deceived by Miller. He’s a particularly vicious person, though he lacks the physique of Fang. They should both probably have been placed in Attica, but the crimes they were caught at and convicted of were much less severe than some other crimes they’ve probably committed, but haven’t been brought to trial for. Lack of evidence, I suppose. The scuttle-butt around the prison is that they have both murdered people. Eventually, they’ll end up in Attica where they belong and where the other hard core cases are.”

          “So you’re saying that Otto and Miller are brighter than the impression they give?” asked Captain Lewis.

          “No. Not so much Miller. He’s been lucky so far. He’s pretty straight forward. He’s simple, but sadistic and hide it very well, plus, he hasn’t needed to get sneaky mean because Otto is his prison protector, as long as Miller consistently gives Otto sexual favors. But don’t let him fool you. He’s dangerous.

          “Otto’s another story entirely. I gave them both IQ tests. Miller scored in the low-average range, while Otto scored in the above-average range. The guy’s fairly bright and he’s mean, vicious actually and can be cunning. Don’t let his speech pattern fool you. It’s probably genuine, but don’t let it make you believe that he’s obtuse. He’ll be a huge problem, no pun intended. He’s like an Arnold Schwarzenegger gone terribly bad.

          “Fang possesses incredible strength and is an unusual specimen of a man who’s overly aggressive and possesses raw savagery. But what really makes them both so dangerous, in this situation, is that Otto is a pedophile and Miller is a child molester.”

          Captain Lewis glanced at Lieutenant Hawkey. Both sighed at the atrocious news.

          Hawkey took this cue and said, “The better we understand these guys the more informed we are about their attitudes, personalities and foibles, the better we’ll be able to understand them and deal with them. So tell us whatever you can about them, Doctor. Anything that’ll help increase our chances of dealing with them successfully.”

          “Well, first of all, do you know the difference between a pedophile and a child molester?” Dr. Lash asked.

          “Pretend that we don’t and explain everything,” responded Captain Lewis.

          “OK. Pedophilia, which is a psychological disorder, is a distinct sexual preference for pre-pubescent children. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, commonly referred to as DSM 111-R, which is published by the American Psychological Association, supplies this definition of pedophilia: Quote: It’s recurrent and intense sexual urges and sexual arousing fantasies of at least six months duration, involving sexual activity with a pre-pubescent child. Unquote. It’s specifically referred to in DSM, volume three, 1987. Generally, however, this usually means that the target of the fantasy will typically be less than twelve years old. But notice here, Captain Lewis and Lieutenant Hawkey, that this definition does not require the person to actually engage in a sexual act. Pedophilia, being a psychological disorder, does not require, and usually does not involve, a criminal act because it is not acted upon by the pederast. Most pedophiles keep their desires a secret. A pedophile may never go public or share his fantasies with anyone. He may have control of it and has never actually physically engaged in it. At times pedophiles will marry a woman with children to gain access to her children. Pedophiles can be very determined and single-minded in their efforts to stay close to children. Maintaining access to children at all costs is one of the defining trademarks of pedophilia. Fang, of course is a blatant pedophiliac. He openly brags about the aromatic wonders of hairless pussy . . . ahh . . . excuse my French, and the supreme turn-on that he gets from it. He says a lot of other gross and disgusting stuff, too, but there’s no need to go into it. So now─”

          “And child molesters?” Lieutenant Lewis interrupted, short on patience.

          “I was just about to get to that. So, how are child molesters different than pedophiles? It’s the fact that child molesters can have many different motivations for molesting children and their motives, surprisingly, do not have to be sexual in origin. For example, a child molester may not feel normal, loving arousal when engaged in an act of sex with a adolescent. He may simply by sadistic actions, enjoying inflecting pain or humiliation on the child or the child’s parents and this sense of power, domination, arouses him. Perhaps the sexual abuse is used to gain leverage, for revenge, or simply to show-off for friends in order to be accepted into a gang, for example. It could be the simple fact that some pedophiles find that orgasm is the only release for the pent up tension, stress, anxieties, or, perhaps it’s an uncontrollable obsession.”

          “So, you’re telling us that Fang . . . ah, Otto, is the sadistic pedophile, while Miller is the sadistic child molester? Is that it? There’s got to be more to it,” Lieutenant Hawkey stated.

          “Oh, you bet there’s more,” Dr. Lash said while looking from one person to the other, as if he was about to spring a surprise on them.

          “OK, so what else can you tell us?” Captain Lewis added.

          “I’ll start with Fang,” stated Dr. Lash, in a matter of fact tone of voice. “He likes to abuse little kids, especially young girls between eight and ten years old, usually, and occasionally young boys that same age. Like I said, he doesn’t deny his predisposition for pre-pubescent girls and is rather proud of it, as a matter of fact. No real young kids in prison to satisfy him, no girls, so young Miller takes care of his sexual needs. Miller attempts to look and act much younger that he really is in order to please Otto. Miller even shaves off his pubic hair, underarm hair and leg hair to please Otto.

          “Otto told me once, in a counseling session, that kids should be seen naked and not heard, that they should be groped and not listened to, that kids were for an adult’s sexual pleasure. He has an enormous need for power and control. He’s a megalomaniac who never gets challenged by his peers and seldom gets caught by the law. So it’s that much easier for him to take advantage of helpless children. If a parent tries to press charges, Otto sends a buddy to do the dirty deed, again, to that child. And another will follow after that, until the parents withdraw the charges. If they still don’t withdraw the charges, then the wife and/or husband get raped. I feel like taking a shower every time he leaves my office. It makes me─”

          “Jesus, doctor! Are you saying that Otto may not even want sex with adults?” interrupted Captain Lewis.

          “Hell no! Not at all. It’s just his way of finding sexual satisfaction with the least chance of confrontation. Of course he’s not concerned with confrontation, itself. It the confrontation that spoils his mood. He’s got certain ideas of what he want to do, and how to do them. He doesn’t want confrontation to distract him, thus he chooses kids because they are so much easier, plus he enjoys them more than an adult. He gets much more pleasure out of a little girl than from an adult woman or man, so why bother with men or women when kids are powerless? And, before you ask, yes he’s a tempered homosexual. He’ll fuck men, but rarely for pleasure. Mostly for punishment and humiliation, or to keep someone in line, keep them obedient. He’s a dedicated and very vocal misogynist. So dominating children saves him energy and time. You see, for him, it’s a lucky two-some. It’s not only the most pleasurable for him to force sex with children, it’s also much easier. He told me that power and control are all about one thing. He smiled at me mischievously, then told me that─ without the bad grammar─ ‘Power and control are all about ass. You’re either the ass fucker and the ass kicker, or you’re the ass licker and the ass fucker’s sweetheart.’ He burst into uproarious laughter and added that he was the ass kicker and the ass fucker, which gave him all the power and control he needs. It was frightening just listening to his laughter. It was as if the savagery in his body had been released into the air and the air became contaminated and foul, like a long dead corpse in a confined room. It was like trying to breathe sewage. It made me glad that two guards with stun-batons were regularly stationed outside my door, looking through the door window in case of trouble.”

          Captain Lewis asked, “Would you go back to the pedophilia and shine more light in that area, Doctor?”

          “Sure,” he responded, “pedophiles, are the group of sex offenders most likely to use force to perpetrate their deviate behavior which may take the form of verbal threats or physical restraint, and in most cases leads to the severe physical and emotional injury of the child.

          “Also, pedophiles need young girls or boys because they have a strange need for absolute control and to see and feel an immature, supple, unwrinkled, hairless genital area. Fang is constantly informing me that he likes his fruit under-ripe. Pedophiles want immediate obedience and those things come much more readily from children, but, surprisingly, that’s not the major issue with them. If possible, they hope to touch virgin, unblemished skin, have innocent, pale legs to spread and many of them demand compliance or they use violence. Some bribe or blackmail for it, still others are logical and manipulative, that is, they can talk the kid into doing what they want. As idiotic as it seems, they want to trick or force the child to be respectful and willing, but that approach has a reduced success rate due to the fact that the kids are suspicious and; therefore, scared. Then force is used instead. Like I said before, pedophiles crave youth, no pubic hair and no breasts, which shows an antipathy for adult women. Something in their past, something traumatic turned them against natural, normal love with mature women.

          “Furthermore, many pedophiles feel grossly inadequate in their dealings with peers of the opposite sex and feel an intense fear of rejection and humiliation. These inadequate and emotionally immature individuals focus their attention on children as the safest means of meeting their sexual needs and avoiding failure and self-concept devaluation. Pedophiles are usually men who are unable to establish normal interpersonal relationships with people of their own age, or to find a satisfying role in their community, due to psychopathic behaviors, so they turn their hostility, aggressive and sexual gratification needs towards children who are much less threatening to a pedophile’s ultra-fragile ego and their own physical strength. Think about it. Even a weakly adult can overpower a pre-pubescent child. Naturally they don’t want to take a chance that their victim is stronger than they are, so children make an ideal target for them. But there are all sorts of variations on this theme. Each pedophile is a little different, and some are often a lot different than the classic cases that I’ve just presented to you.

          “As a matter of fact, Otto is not a classic case. He always seems to be changing form, like an amoeba. He’s cunning, confusing, inconsistent and supremely arrogant. He taunts me constantly during our psychology sessions, saying that half of him wants to confuse me by being inconsistent and the other half of him wants to be partially honest and dishonest because he gets so much pleasure out of its frustrating effects on me. You can’t figure him out because of his inconsistencies, lies and mind games. You never know when you’ve heard the truth from him. Of course, that’s exactly the way he wants it. He toys with people because that’s another way that he can demonstrate his power and control over them.

          “So, it’s extremely rare to be able to help someone like him or Miller. To help someone, they have to want help, they have to want to change. Otto doesn’t want help, doesn’t want to change. I certainly couldn’t force him to cooperate. People normally come to me because they want to be helped, but, unfortunately, he was forced to come to me, so our sessions were like a poker game where he held all the aces. To him I was just the Joker. The threat of guards or isolation or delayed parole or even rejected parole didn’t phase him at all. You couldn’t really threaten him with anything to make him cooperate. He’s hard to the core. I always hate to admit this, but he’s unsalvageable.

          “In further sessions, Otto continued with his egotistical monologues and I couldn’t get a word in edge-wise. I couldn’t stop him. He kept talking rapidly, using words like a boxer uses his fists. Finally, as I was about to call the guards, he settled down. His face and demeanor grew calm, so I relaxed, too. I didn’t realize until after he left the session that he had controlled nearly the whole session and during the parts he didn’t control, he had me so distracted and frustrated that I couldn’t get back to trying to help him. It’s hard to get me frustrated, but, like I said, he’s a hard man. He was staunchly incorrigible. We had more sessions with the same results, so I dropped him from my patient list.

          “During our final session I told him that he wouldn’t be coming any more. I got up from my desk to indicate that the session was over and Otto smiled as he rose from his chair. He towered over me and said we could have had more fun if I had been a good therapist. I asked him what a good therapist would do. He cupped his hand over his crotch and said it would be easy to figure out if I looked at the word ‘therapist’ carefully.”

          “The rapist,” Captain Lewis and Lieutenant Hawkey blurted in unison.

          “Exactly. Does that help?” asked the doctor.

          “Was he a Satanist, Doctor?” inquired Captain Lewis.

          “No. He said he was an atheist, so Satan couldn’t exist either. No God also meant no Satan to him. I never asked him to explain it. Probably I should’ve, but I was simply tired of him at the time and wanted him out of my office. He’s irritating in the extreme.”

          Captain Lewis and Lieutenant shook their heads. Both were thinking the same thing: How do we deal with a guy like this? Fang was violent, inconsistent, immoral, sadistic, arrogant and the fucker was also intelligent in the sense that he thought about things logically and there, Bev thought, is the clue to why he hasn’t been caught at the most serious crimes he’s committed.

          “What about Miller?” asked Captain Lewis, almost not wanting to know.

          “Another form of psychopathology,” said Dr. Lash, instantly, “but different from classic cases in some ways. He demonstrates a clear-cut case of father rejection. More truthfully, he has an intense hatred and rage for his father. He’s still a teenager and very much a dangerous delinquent. You see,” continued Dr. Lash as he cleaned underneath one fingernail with another fingernail, “delinquent boys almost always feel that they have been rejected by their fathers. Normally a child wants to behave in ways that meet with parental approval, especially boys with their fathers. Of course, this is the basis for a child’s beginnings at socialization. But if the boy is actually rejected or he just feels rejected or is treated inconsistently, which causes confusion and mental disillusionment, then he has little need to behave in approved ways since there are no clearly defined guidelines for controlling and modeling his behaviors. So, what does he do? He makes his own guidelines or follows the guidelines of a friend, a gang or of someone else who gives him attention.

          “In other words he does what he wants, or he does what his peers say to do. Unfortunately the peers he associated with were also neglected, violent, aggressive, immoral types, so they served as his models for developing adult behaviors.

          “And the problem with father rejection,” said Dr. Lash, “is exacerbated by the fact that in this type of pathogenic family set-up, the father is usually physically and emotionally abusive with his disciplinary methods, thus increasing the hostility already felt by the boy toward his father, which, of course, increases, and then solidifies his rejection of his father. The tragic result is a boy, and later a young man, who is extremely hostile, defiant, inadequately socialized, lacks normal internal behavioral controls and tends to be overly aggressive, without compassion and, at times, terribly violent.

          “Miller’s homosexual tendencies may also be attributed to the fact that he can seek revenge on a non-threatening male symbol of his father. So if he has anal intercourse with a young boy, he may deliberately make it a painful experience for the boy, thus, symbolically hurting his father and satisfying his need to seek revenge on him. However, Miller, like Fang, has a duality about him. Miller is not truly consistent in this respect because he can enjoy anal and oral sex. He doesn’t always use it as a symbolic father punishment. He can enjoy it personally. He enjoys pleasing those people whom he respects or likes and takes pride in being able to expertly bring them to climax. In so doing he has power and control over them which doubles his pleasure. Unlike Otto, however, Miller also desires acceptance through these sexual acts.

          “But, you know, both have many demon-driven memories of certain people in their pasts on whom they need to seek revenge, symbolically or up close and personal, especially Otto who likes to mentally torment, then physically punish his enemies, mano-a-mano. They can both be extremely abusive, both physically and sexually to both sexes, to varying age groups, but especially pre-teen children.

          “However, for pure physical rage toward anyone that crosses him, Otto’s the most punitive and dangerous subject I’ve ever come across. His psychopathic personality is like a maze full of traps and inconsistencies, horrible experiences, terrorizing memories, deviate behaviors and terrible emotional and physical pain. The way his warped mind works is that, since he can feel all that pain, then it’s only fair that he should share it with other people. It’s pseudo-pleasure derived from pain for the psychopath, but agony for his victims.”

          Doctor Lash paused, took a deep breath and smiled, though the smile never reached his eyes. Then he said, “I think that’s about all I can tell you. Oh, almost forgot.” Doctor Lash handed a packet of papers to Captain Lewis. “This is information about that teacher.”

          Dr. Lash handed a large, but thin manila envelope to Captain Lewis.

          “Where’d you get this,” she asked, curiously, “especially so damn fast?”

          “It sure as hell wasn’t easy, Captain, but between my status as a psychiatrist and having a personal friend who works there, plus a conference call that your commanding officer agreed to make, we had the combined influence to have Mr. Wolfe’s school and military records faxed to your commander. I was coming here, anyway, so I was asked to pick up the records from your commander and bring them to you.”

          “OK, but one more question, Doctor. Do you think they would use extreme violence to get themselves out of this situation? In other words, if you had to rate the chances of them using violence to get out of this situation, even though we have them surrounded, how would you rate it? Let’s say on a scale of one-to-to, with one, meaning no violence and ten meaning extreme violence,” added Captain Lewis.

          Doctor Lash’s face turned grim as he replied, “Ten for Otto, Captain, and perhaps seven for Miller. I can’t speculate on the other fellow. I don’t envy you, Captain.”

          “Thanks, Doctor,” Captain Lewis replied.

          Doctor Lash said, “You know that fellow that brought me to you? That young trooper? Something’s not right with him. You should check him out. Anyway, good-bye and good luck to both of you.” He shook hands with Captain Lewis and Lieutenant Hawkey, then turned and departed briskly.

          Captain Lewis and Lieutenant Hawkey watched their harbinger of bad news as he walked away, hoping that he was wrong about Fang and Miller, as well as Trooper Jones. Captain Lewis and Lieutenant Hawkey were disturbed because their worst fears had just been corroborated by a professional.

                  *

          Bev and Joe checked with their men, asked them some questions, asked them to give reports, checked for messages, then returned to each other, with Bev immediately opening the folder. They both started reading.

HIGH SCHOOL RECORD SUMMARY

C O NF I D E N T I A L

A. STUDENT: Roman Wolfe

B. SCHOOL: Maine-Endwell Sr. High School, Endwell, New York.

1. Date of graduation: June, 1964

2. Graduated in the top third of a class of 302 students.

3. Grades much higher than the peer group he associated with. Guidance Counselor reports that student did not apply himself to demonstrate his full potential. (Guidance Counselor’s note: Students with very good grades were often ostracized; therefore, being an underachiever is advantageous to some students).

4. Tenth grade: Grades in geometry average, yet on N.Y.S. Regents exam he outscored everyone in all of the school’s geometry classes. The following year, in algebra, he finished third in all algebra classes.

C. Student initially appears to be an underachiever (performs at a level lower than expected) during most of the school year, then becomes an over-achiever (performs at a level higher than expected) on his end-of-year exams. Probable causes: Wanting to fit in with his close friends or a poor self-concept or being unmotivated, or a combination of some of these factors, despite an IQ of 146.

D. Academic strengths, in descending order: History, English ,Literature and Science.

E. Academic Weaknesses: Math (difficulty with calculus and trigonometry (Did not apply himself, or did not understand material? Probably both). English grammar: poor at recognizing the more complex parts of speech, thus difficulty with diagramming sentences, etc.

F. Subject desires a college education, but outlook not good for a young man, who appears to have fluctuating motivation, whose behavior has been problematic, whose mother only reached 4th grade, whose father only reached 6th grade, and whose family financial resources are very limited.

1. Solution to above college acceptance problem? Student intends to join the U. S. Navy for the expressed purpose of sacrificing four years of his life to gain four years of paid college tuition using the G.I. Bill. (NOTE: Subject verbalizes great determination, motivation and maturity, plus the ability to sacrifice in the present to gain future rewards.)

G. Idiosyncrasies :Avoids seriousness with humor (class clown). Has fascination with wolves. Says he dreams about a white wolf.

H. Logical thinker, but will often fight much bigger opponents even if the likelihood of winning is negligible and, thus, illogical.

1. Despite being logical, he is often careless, reckless and daring. Told Counselor that he doesn’t care if he wins or loses, as long as he damages his opponent enough to make him think twice before confronting him again (guidance counseling was ineffective with correcting this mind-set of determined counter-aggression. Student may end up being expelled if violence continues). NOTE: Student was already spared expulsion, mostly due to the fact that the current high school principal was his biology and chemistry teacher, who saw something in the student that he liked. NOTE: Principal’s comment: “Student doesn’t start trouble, but gets blamed for defending himself and others. He will not retreat from this position and I sympathize with him in spite of school policy. He’s a better person than all of you think he is. The future, I’m sure, will verify this.” (Mr. Phillips, the principal, was speaking to the school superintendent and the Board of Education.)

I. Student likes sports. Played H.S. soccer (goalie), football (split-end), baseball (center field, switch hitter), and track (mile relay team, high jump). Excelled at track and soccer; average in other sports.

J. Jobs: Student worked after school, as a janitor and a “go-fer” at a Japanese karate dojo (school), where he used his salary to pay for his karate training. He also worked, on weekends, in a restaurant as a bus boy and dishwasher.

K. Accomplishments: Awarded a New York State Regents diploma and earned a first degree, black belt at the end of his senior year.(NOTE: He didn’t get into a fight(on school property) during his entire senior year.)

          Captain Lewis flipped through the pages to read Roman’s military record.

U. S. MARINE CORP. RECORD SUMMARY

S E C R E T

1. Originally enlisted in the U.S. Navy in August of 1964. Subject entered boot camp at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center, Lake Michigan.

(a). Rebelled against “asinine” (his word) jobs such as hanging-up washed clothes with shoestring, size cords, that had to be tied with a special knot, instead of using clothes pins.

(b). As retribution and as a joke, “rumors” were that he got up late one night and squirted piles of shaving cream on both sides of the sleeping dormitory leader’s pillow so that when his head moved, it had to go into the shaving cream. Apparently, cream was also spread on the part of the sheet that covered the dorm leader’s crotch area so that in the morning a stain appeared that made the dried shaving cream look like dried semen, as if the dorm leader had been masturbating or had a wet-dream. No one would come forward as a witness so no official charges could be made; therefore, no official disciplinary action could be taken.

(c). Dorm leader unofficially assigned subject extra marching and extra jobs: kitchen duty, dormitory clean-up duty and physical exercise. Results: It did not stop subject from playing practical jokes, thus, the other recruits in the dorm liked and protected him by not supporting the dorm leader’s  future accusations. (NOTE: the above information is supposition, not fact based, since no one would be an eye-witness, nor would anyone give information. The above example is used to show this recruit’s persistence, determination and leadership skills, in spite of the minor, negative nature of some of his acts.

(d). When questioned by a Navy  officer, this recruit was reported to have said, “Sir, humor is a morale booster for me and my classmates. Whoever is playing the practical jokes, therefore, is actually helping us by lifting our morale and patriotism, which is increasing our motivation to perform better here at boot camp. ”NOTE: When privately questioned by his superior, this officer stated that he agreed with this unusual recruit and had to quickly walk away from him so the recruit could not see him laughing.

2. Excelled in all physical activities and exercises.

(a). Vision: 20/20

(b). Height: 6’2”

(c). Weight: 185 lbs.

(d). Basic hand-to-hand combat skills: Excellent.

(e). One mile run: 4 min., 47 sec. (best in his class).

(f). Target range: skills are beyond marksman and sharp-shooter designations with rifle (Note: possible sniper ability) and with Colt .45, model 1911 handgun, this recruit earned an expert classification. (Note: Subject was a member of a rifle and pistol league prior to his Naval enlistment). ATTENTION: Recruit possesses unusually good skills in self-defense and with the rifle and pistol. Marines should be alerted for possible transfer.

3. On completion of Navy boot camp, and recognizing his unusual skills, this recruit  was approached and interviewed by Navy Master Chief Robert “Bud” McDermott and Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant Gustov “Gus” Kovalik with reference to his voluntarily transferring from the Navy to the Marine Corp.

(a). Subject was very interested in transferring to the Marines, but had one condition. He wanted four years of the G.I. Bill for two years of his Marine Corp enlistment. Unusual request was approved.

(b). Subject jumped at the offer, saying, “I should have done that in the first place, but I wanted to travel to see the world.” Then recruit immediately agreed to transfer to the Marine Corp, saying that he now sees that it would be a better fit for him. Master Gunnery Sergeant Kovalik had recruit pack his belongings. Reportedly, on his way out of the dorm, this recruit, in front of everyone, sprayed a whole can of shaving cream under the top sheet of the dorm leader’s bed (NOTE: Rumor has it that, later that day, Sergeant Kovalik, with friends, could not stop themselves from laughing at the story).

(c). Subject was immediately transferred to Beaufort, South Carolina for Parris Island, the Marine boot camp training facility.

4. Parris Island:

(a). Recruit excelled in all areas of training, except for discipline. Had minor discipline aberrations (mostly pranks and practical jokes, laughing at officers whom he thought had oversized egos and minimal abilities).

(b). This recruit, as a prank, did not inform his instructors of his karate knowledge until he bested his training Master Sergeant at unarmed hand-to-hand combat. He apologized to the Master Sergeant, and the apology was accepted. Later, the other two instructors helped the Master Sergeant to teach this recruit a lesson by pummeling him with fists, but not badly hurting him. The class (except for Wolfe) had been ordered to plug their ears and to turn their backs to the practice area, so they could not be witnesses. Recruit did not press charges, but reportedly said, “Damn! Guess I deserved that,” then laughed as he wiped his bloody nose and held onto his bruised ribs. Recruit’s reasoning? He said he thought that taking the Sarge to the ground would be humorous. Results? A punitive, five mile run with an eighty pound backpack. No pranks occurred for a week.

(c). Awarded expert level badge with rifle and pistol, but weapon of choice is a Ka-Bar, Marine combat knife (has unusual fascination with edged weapons).

(d). Excels at stealth nighttime combat. (NOTE: The top ten Marines at boot camp were tested in all areas of E and E (escape and evade). To pass the test they had to remain undetected, in a forest, for 24 hours. They were given a six hour head start). Recruit, Wolfe was the only one to pass the test. How? He ingeniously made a camouflage Ghillie Suit out of weeds, brush, twigs, leaves, mud and dirt. Knowledgeable Marine trackers walked within ten feet of him, three times, and did not spot him. (NOTE: The test is usually based upon “hours,” i.e. who lasts the longest without being detected. It’s extremely rare for a recruit to remain undetected for 24 hours. Recruit learned about Ghillie Suit because of his interest in survivalist techniques.

5. Idiosyncrasies:

(a). Rejected suggestion to join special forces. Reason unknown.

(b). Rejected Officer Training School. Reason unknown.

(c). Minor recalcitrant behaviors and unpredictable.

(d). Sometimes a hair-trigger temper, though usually tightly controlled.

(e). Has obsession with protecting recruits from bullies (bullies tend to make him shed his tightly controlled temper) appears to be a residual behavior from High School. Obsessively talks  about wolves, for no apparent reason. He wants to know what and how they think.

6. Weaknesses:

(a). Overly compassionate for a war-time soldier. Makes for undesired vulnerability.

(b). Too willing to take unnecessary risks; careless, reckless, sometimes.

(c). Overconfident. Puts himself and friends at risk.

(d). Thinks rationally about orders. Reviews them, criticizes them instead of following them immediately. Not your typical sequacious, pliable soldier. (NOTE: Most officers will not feel comfortable with him.

7. Strengths:

(a). Extremely patriotic. Usually acts as a good role model for others; a morale booster for other recruits.

(b). Extreme loyalty to members of his squad, platoon, etc. Willing to help them with their military training deficiencies.

(c). Non-linear thinker. Thinks “outside the box” to come up with practical, logical, but unusual and creative ideas and solutions to problems. (NOTE: Troops will form a firm attachment to him, but the typical officer will not). (RECOMMENDATION: Recruit should be placed with a young, but competent officer who is not militarily over-bearing and is willing to sincerely listen to conflicting opinions. That officer should not possess a rigid, “gung-ho” temperament.

(d). Reliable and responsible, but sometimes recalcitrant.

8. Psychiatric Evaluation:

(a). No Axis 1 or Axis 2 disorders.

(b). Admits to bouts of depression (controlled by meds). Without meds some minor anti-social behavior is demonstrated.

(c). Susceptible to father/mother role model influences, due to lack of father/mother role models in youth.

(d). At end of Vietnam tour of duty, subject was hostile to the suggestion of re-enlisting in the Marine Corp., even though rewards such as going to officer training school, promotions and pay raises (when he became an officer) were offered. Reason given? Family obligations and college ambitions.

(e). Bouts of insecurity (though well concealed), presumably due to traumatic childhood memories and/or other unknown events.

(f). Strong, sometimes rigid adherence to personal values, ethics, etc.

(g). Facial and verbal expressions indicate intense control over emotions and actions. Very reserved, almost stoic, at times, but no abnormal lack of appropriate emotions and has a clear knowledge of right and wrong.

(h). School records indicate some adolescent and teenage behavior problems, especially frequent fighting with peers and getting into trouble with teachers due to practical jokes and class clown behaviors.

9. Personal:

(a). Occasionally sleep-disturbed (nightmares) due to Vietnam experiences. Some negative emotions. Rarely did it interfere with duties or performance.

(b). No history of drug usage or alcohol abuse.

(c). Childhood family atmosphere unstable. Father and mother divorced. Subject and older sister sent to Catholic orphanage, at young ages, in Binghamton, New York. Then they were separated and each went to live with a separate aunt.

(d). Mother remarried and relocated to Florida. Subject rarely heard from her or saw her from age 10 to age 20. Subject feels that mother is a stranger. Subject embarrassed by mother’s illiteracy.

(e). Subject’s father never remarried. Father is an alcoholic, but took subject and his sister from their aunts to live with him in apartment above a bar. Subject does not have a normal relationship with father, or mother.

(f). About age 8 or 9, subject’s sister marries. Sister and brother-in-law become subject’s surrogate mother and father so he would not have to live with his alcoholic father, or be made a ward of the state (foster homes).

(g). Insecurities grew large when sister (as a behavior control method)threatened to send subject back to Catholic orphanage (where the nuns punished him by hitting him with a teacher’s pointer-stick if he did not follow their strict rules and inflexible, illogical religious dogmas. Subject reports that some nuns  would often wait until he was done taking a bath, and naked, to apply their pointer-stick punishment).

10. Religion: Subject says he is a “knowledgeable atheist” (as compared to a “reactionary atheist” who becomes an atheist simply out of some sort of rebellion or trauma and is not knowledgeable concerning the logical and philosophical reasons for being an atheist.

11. Family Relationships:

(a) Relationship with three (3) nephews and one (1) niece, his sister’s children, is excellent. Talks proudly about them and often brags about their personalities and accomplishments. Subject feels as if he is their older brother.

12. Vietnam Veteran. Discharge Status: (DD-214) Honorable.

(a). Vietnam Duties and special assignments: TOP SECRET (For further information, contact with the Department of Defense National Security Office, Washington, D.C., is required).

/---/..-./-.--/---/..-/…-/./.-./-.--/--/..-/-.-./…./

20

“You can’t shake hands with a clenched fist.”

Indira Gandhi

Whereas Fang was guilty of many crimes but felt no guilt, Roman wasn’t legally guilty of any, but felt much guilt. Roman felt guilty about things he had done in Nam, mostly. But now he was feeling guilt that rose from his own recognition that he and Fang shared something: their ability to master violence and to dole out pain, injury and death. Roman abhorred the comparison and instantly wished he hadn’t thought of it. But it remained with him, nagging at him, nibbling at him like a cautious fish at bait. As always, he dealt with it in a half successful manner, trying to maintain his own morality despite the savagery that was an intimate part of him. Every day he fought diligently to control this veiled savagery, while at the same time seeing, hearing and reading about similar savagery that was spreading throughout his own country, his own state and town.

          But guilt has a way of obliterating the obvious and while there were some similarities between Roman and Fang, the differences between them were as great as the Grand Canyon is wide. But Roman’s guilt blinded him to these differences. Perhaps that’s how moral people punish themselves: they minimize the myriad number of good things they’ve done and exaggerate the number of bad things they’ve done. Thankfully, Roman knew that there was hope. And with each passing year his guilt lessened and the attrition was welcomed. Roman kept his more savage, uncivilized abilities locked away, securely, in the remote Pandora’s Box that was buried deeply in his mind.

          Fang, in contrast to Roman, increased his savagery; he needed it and looked for ways to release it. He would never admit it, but it was due to a misguided sense of his own masculinity and because it made him feel part of, or in control of, his violence oriented peer group. Fang willingly ruled his life with a might is right philosophy.

          But Roman’s guilt has, in many ways, made him a better person, more conscientious and concerned about how other people are treated, more sympathetic to their pains and problems. Unfortunately, some of his attitudes and actions forced him to remain directionless, adrift in a rough immoral sea, struggling not to capsize.

          By contrast, Fang had long ago sunk to the depths of that, frigid, turbulent and depraved sea. He sank in this foul sea as if it were in his nature to instantly seek out the darkness in his environment, to establish his evil dominance in that darkness, to rule men’s lives in a place where crime is a badge of courage, where the violent use of strength makes you a celebrity and where murder catapults you to a hero’s status.

                 *

          As the sun dove toward the horizon, the weary students whimpered from hunger pains. Some were holding or rubbing their stomachs, but, fearing Fang and Miller, none of them dared to complain. Some couldn’t help emitting a few moans and groans of discomfort. Mr. Wolfe did his best to distract them.

          Roman heard a ringing noise and looked at his watch, as if his watch had an alarm; it didn’t. He noticed that the time was just past six a clock. Then, when the ringing noise repeated itself, he realized that the sound was coming from the wall phone.

          Fang approached the phone, then roughly grabbed it off its cradle.

          “Yeah!” Fang barked as he put the phone to his sneering mouth.

          “Fang,” Captain Lewis said, recognizing his canine growl, “the pizzas and soda for your dinners are here. There’s plenty for everybody. May we send them up?”

          Before Fang could reply, he heard Freddy’s prearranged knock on the locked door, three hard and two soft knocks. Fang covered the mouthpiece of the phone, by pressing it against his stomach, so Captain Lewis couldn’t hear, then asked who was at the door─ in case Freddy was somehow captured and had given-up their prearranged signal. The reply was, “It’s me. Freddy.”

          Fang said, into the phone. “Hold on a minute.” He, again, pressed the mouthpiece on his stomach, then pushed the children away from the front of the door and opened it carefully, peering at Freddy, then checking the hallway.

          Freddy entered the room, saying, “I need to talk ta you. It’s important.”

          The urgency in his brother’s voice nearly made Fang laugh. The seriousness made Freddy sound as if he knew what he was doing and Fang knew that that wasn’t possible. Fang’s brow wrinkled; a frown of contempt for Freddy. Fang shot a middle finger at Freddy before saying, “Dammit Freddy. Not now. Are food’s comin’.”

          Freddy started to interrupt him, but Fang held up his left hand like a policeman halting traffic and Freddy knew it was no use saying anything else. OK. Have it your way, Freddy thought.

          Freddy sulked, then said, “Depart from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it. Psalms 34:14.”

          Fang said, “Bullshit,” to Freddy, then thought, Stupid shithead’s been sniffin’ glue.

          Freddy walked to the corner, the one farthest away from everyone and bowed his head. His eyes filled with tears in spite of his efforts to hold back. He stared at his brother, then mumbled: “The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart; his words were smoother than oil, yet were as drawn swords. Psalm . . . Shit. I can’t remember the chapter and verse numbers. Doesn’t matter any more. We’ll die here.”

          Fang turned his attention back to the phone. “Yeah, Sweetheart,” Fang said, mockingly, to Captain Lewis, “I’m back. So yuh have some food fur us, huh? Well, how yuh plan on gettin’ it up ‘ere so none a these nice, young brats gets hurt?”

          Captain Lewis ignored the “Sweetheart” taunt and stated, “We’ve got a civilian lady, not a cop, who will bring it to your door. She’s not, I repeat, not a cop. And she’s unarmed. Besides the pizza and drinks, she’ll be carrying a walkie-talkie which she’ll give to you so you can communicate with us without the phone. Don’t mistake it for a weapon, please. No harm should come to her, Fang. Is that clear?”

          “Oh, well, a course I unnerstand, Sweetheart. Whatever yuh say,” uttered Fang in a belittling and defiant tone of voice.

          Lt. Hawkey cringed at the sound of the second “Sweetheart.”

          Fang knew and enjoyed the anger level that he thought must be building within the Captain. He supposed that she was one of those modern broads that hated sexism. He could imagine her fighting for self-control and being only partly successful.

          “Do you need anything else?” said Captain Lewis, keeping her voice calm.

          “Just a helicopter, Honey,” answered Fang. “I want a damn helicopter. Yuh know, a chopper, a whirlybird. Get one out ‘ere quick, Captain, so’s I don’t have ta show yuh how it looks ta see a kid flying outta a window.”

          Fang’s voice was not mockingly playful any more. It was deadly serious and impatient. A terrible silence spread out from both phones.

          “I can’t do that, Fang. It’s strictly against state police policy. Besides that, our Rochester based State Police helicopter took a VIP to Albany this morning and won’t be back for a couple of days,” Captain Lewis lied, hoping it was convincing.

          Fang pressed his lips into the phone, his teeth scraping the plastic mouthpiece, then yelled, “Don’t fuck with me, bitch! Yuh get a helicopter, any helicopter, an, yuh do it quick or I start throwin’ kids outta the window, one at a time. You think I’m stupid? Fuckin’ Rochester airport is only twenty-five mile away. Airports have helicopters, private an’ commercial. So no more bullshit. Now, I hope I made myself perfectly clear, little lady. Don’t waste any more time. Jus’ get it done.”

          Lt. Hawkey was listening to the conversation. He remained silent, knowing he should only talk if the Captain signaled him to do so. She was an excellent leader and he liked working with her─ though his wife had once expressed reservations about him working with such an attractive, single woman.

          “I’ll get you a helicopter, Fang,” said Captain Lewis. The no frills directness of that statement startled Fang, as well as Lieutenant Hawkey.

          After a momentary pause, Fang replied, “Honey, that’s good. Do it quick.”

          “Not so fast, Fang. We make a deal and I’ll get the helicopter for you. I don’t just hand it over ‘cause you ordered me to. You let half those kids go when the pizza is delivered and I’ll have a helicopter here in an hour or two after their release. No kids, no helicopter, Fang. You help me and I help you. That’s the way it always works and that’s a damn good deal, mister. What do you say?”

          Fang looked at the children. Some of them were always whining, crying, sniffling and moaning. It irritated him. He knew that soon there would be more teary eyes, whining voices, pathetic moaning and sniffling noses. He hated that, hated tears, hated kids, hated cry-babies no matter what their age. They were all weaklings and he found it thoroughly disgusting. But the bitch Captain didn’t know that, he thought. He could get rid of half these snot-nosed brats and get the helicopter all in one stroke, though it would be a terrible waste to have them and not to fondle some of them.

          “Deal,” Fang shouted into the phone. “Yuh have that servant bitch a yurs deliver the pizza. Then I let a dozen a these brats go, an’ yuh get me a helicopter. An’ if it don’t work out that way, some a these brats are gonna wish they had wings.”

          “Sure, Fang. I understand. Would you like the pizza now or do you prefer to keep up this cute repartee and impress me some more?”

          “Re-par-tay?”─ Fang exaggerated the syllables. “Wow! A butch bitch with an awesome vo-cab-u-lary. Yuh sure do impress me.” Then, sardonically, Fang stated, “Oh, yah, massa. I do obeys yuh every word. Please massa, don’ whip me. I does always worship at yoo feet.” Between bouts of laughter, Fang shouted, “Sen’ the crap up an’ remember, the brats’ll be eatin’ it first, so there better not be anything in it that shouldn’t be in it. Better no be no trick with that walkie-talkie either.”

          “The pizza’s clean, so’s the walkie-talkie,” replied Captain Lewis─ they were.

          “So send the Dago shit up ‘ere,” said Fang, replacing the phone in its cradle.

          Freddy approached Fang and spoke so softly that no one else could hear him. Fang listened intently, then smiled at Freddy and patted him on the back with obvious delight. Freddy couldn’t remember how many years it had been since he’d seen Fang smile at him or had given him a brotherly pat on the back.

          Fang told Freddy to wait in the classroom for a few more minutes so he could get some pizza before he returned to the roof. The kids who were standing by the door were ordered to join the other children who were sitting by the row of windows.

          Fang then selected seven of the fourteen boys and five of the ten girls─ the worst whiners─ and told them to wait by the door with Freddy. Alyson Boyd was not one of the girls selected to leave, nor was Steven Blake. Fang motioned to Miller to follow him into the hallway where they’d  meet the pizza lady.

                 *

          Roman seized this opportunity to leave his chair and hurriedly walk to Freddy. As Roman approached, Freddy raised the barrel of the AK-47 so it pointed at Roman’s belly. The rifle was shaking in Freddy’s nervous hands

          “Don’t come any closer . . . I don’t want to shoot anyone,” Freddy blurted.

          Roman stopped a few feet away from Freddy, not wanting to make him more nervous than he already was. “Just want to talk to you, Freddy,” Roman said calmly.

          Freddy was unconvinced and anxiously said, “Yuh best go to your chair and sit down or I’ll have to shoot. I don’t want to have to hurt no one, but Otto will kill me if you take this rifle,” he said hesitantly, while backing away a step and wishing he hadn’t been left alone. He felt for the safety switch on the rifle, but then realized, even if he found it, he couldn’t tell if it was on or off.

          Roman saw Freddy swipe at the beads of perspiration that were rapidly forming on his brow, some of those beads acting like prisms, flashing rainbow colors. A nervous man with a gun was a serious danger to everyone, so Roman halted, casually taking a step backward, but keeping eye contact with Freddy. Freddy’s body relaxed.

          “Freddy, I won’t hurt you. I won’t try anything, I promise. I just want to talk, please. It could save your life, our lives. Just give me a couple minutes.”

          Freddy thought of his young life and how little he’d enjoyed it. But he certainly didn’t wish to die. He felt himself wanting to grab onto Roman’s words like a drowning man grabs for a life-preserver. He wanted to live, but he knew that this was a bad situation that was getting worse and he was scared. He gradually lowered the rifle so it aimed at the floor, then looked at Roman with eyes that begged for help.

          “You’re going to get hurt, maybe die,” Roman whispered. “You don’t want to be here. I can see that. Your brother is using you. He doesn’t like you as a good brother should. I can see the contempt he has for you. Miller’s just as bad. He doesn’t give a crap about you either. You have to escape. Get out of here and turn yourself in. Somebody’s going to get hurt or killed and, if it’s any of these kids, you’ll pay the penalty just like the one who pulls the trigger or the one who throws someone out a window. Fang’s crazy and desperate. Your only hope is to get away from him the first chance you get. Don’t go back on the roof. Go downstairs and surrender.”

          Freddy froze. Being scared, nervous, anxious was too stressful for him. His mind and body were starting to shut down, but he was still listening to Roman.

          “If Fang or Charlie shoots me or harms a child in any way, then you’ll be just as guilty as they are, but not if you get out now. Otto’s losing control fast. Can’t you see that? He’s getting frustrated, angry, desperate. When he panics, he’ll do something stupid and Charlie will follow right along with him. Then you’ll be an accessory to an even more serious crime. If you’re an accessory to a felony, you get treated the same as the person who actually performs the crime. You understand what I’m saying? Your brother’s not going to get you out of this. You can see that, right? This place is surrounded and the cops aren’t simply going to hand over a helicopter without a good plan to capture or kill all of you. Listen to reason, Freddy. You profess to be a born-again Christian. so shun your old ways and turn to God. Do what you’ve been telling Fang to do. Ask yourself, Is this something God would approve of? Get out of this while you can.”

          Freddy looked helpless. “The cop’ll shoot me anyway. I never asked for this. I try to lead a better life now. Preacher Adams is helping me. He’s gonna get me a job an’ help me find a place ta live. I don’t want no part of this. It wasn’t supposed ta happen like this. I’m afraid of my own brother and Miller. I don’t wanna go back on the roof. I’m scared up there . . . and not just of the cops. There’s somethin’ up there. Somethin’ spooky white, yuh know? Like a ghost or somethin’. I felt it brush against my leg, then I felt like I gotta bee sting, but when I looked, it wasn’t no bee sting. Somethin’ bit me. Look.”

          Freddy pulled up his left pant leg to show his calf. “Looks like a dog bite, though it ain’t deep. Hardly broke the skin.”

          “Sure looks like dog bite marks, Freddy. Maybe it’s a warning or an omen. Something’s trying to tell you to get away.”

          “If it’s a dog, then it must be a damn ghost dog. I’m tellin’ yuh that it’s haunted up there,” Freddy said, then tried to nervously laugh away his confusion and fear. Freddy asked, “You a man of God, mister?”

          “No, Freddy, I’m not. If there was a God, Freddy, he’d have to be the greatest underachiever in the entire history of the universe. He’d have to be extremely shameful and embarrassed about the tremendously poor job he did with the creation of Mankind. But let’s assume there is a God and that you’re serious about all those Biblical Psalms and your belief in God as your savior. If you’re truly a man of God, do you think your God would want you to be doing this? Being a part of murdering a cop? Holding children as hostages? You think your God might require positive action from you and not simply all those easily memorized and recited religious words? You’re at the crossroads of good and evil, Freddy. You have a chance to prove yourself to your God, to show that you know right from wrong and that you’ve really changed for the better. If your God is watching you Freddy, then he’s probably thinking, ‘Put up or shut up.’”

          Freddy bowed, then said, “Oh Lord my God, I take refuge in you; save and deliver me from all who pursue me. That’s psalm 7:1. Preacher Adams has been teachin’ me the Bible. I like the Psalms the best. I go every Saturday night ta learn stuff and I always go ta church on Sunday. I read the Bible at the church shelter every day. Otto hates for me to even talk about it. The devil has taken his soul.”

          “I’m the worst person you want to talk with about religion, but if you truly believe what your preacher is telling you and you believe it makes you a better man, then follow that path, but being with and helping your brother and Charlie will lead you down a path to hell. You think about that, Freddy.”

          Roman felt sorry for Freddy. All the years of trying to measure up to his big brother, trying to earn big brother’s friendship and respect, and failing miserably. He didn’t want to hurt Freddy any more than he was already hurting, but he had no choice─ not with the safety of the kids at stake.

          Roman continued, “Freddy, listen carefully. Your brother sent you on the roof because you’re the least important person. He would rather lose you than Miller. That’s why Miller stays safely in this room with him. Fang knows that you’re easy pickings on that roof. Miller’s more valuable to your brother than you are. Charlie’s more useful to Fang and Fang would rather sacrifice you, his own brother, rather than Miller. It’s the truth, Freddy. You’ve got to see it and get the hell out of here. Don’t stand by your brother any more or you’ll take the big fall right along with him. Death by lethal injection or the electric chair is just around the corner for you if you don’t get out of this quickly. Save yourself and get out of this mess the first chance you get.”

          Roman could see the tears forming in Freddy’s eyes as he looked downward and silently backed away from Roman while lowering the rifle barrel so it touched the floor. Then Freddy returned to the door where the twelve children were standing. Freddy stared at Roman for a few seconds and Roman could see the confusion and misery in those lonely eyes, eyes that reflected a life of emotional torment, of hopelessness and a lack of love, until he found religion. People have the right to believe what they wish, even if they believe in fantasies and myths, Roman mused.

          Freddy wiped his tears with his shirt sleeve, then, looking at Roman with a pathetic gaze, said. “Your wife is bringin’ the food. I told Fang who she is. I seen her. Some stupid trooper was talkin’ about it so loud I couldn’t help but hear ‘im. I’m sorry now that I done that, but it’s too late now, I guess.”

          Roman’s heart rocketed into his throat and gagged him. His immediate anger set fire to his lungs. He sucked air into his lungs and still felt short of breath. He’d been holding onto a metal desk drawer handle. The handle bent, snapped, then was pulled off the drawer as if it were made of aluminum. Roman stood up as he heard the knocking signal on the door. Freddy backed away from Roman and opened the door.

          In walked Miller, then Sam with the boxes of pizza and several six-packs containing a variety of soda. Then Fang’s bulk filled the doorway, his AK-47 in one hand, the walkie-talkie in the other. The .357 magnum and a sheathed knife were hooked to his belt. He stared at Roman, a sadistic smile of overt contempt etched on his face.

          Roman’s heart thumped like a hammer on an anvil.

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