The Death in the Willows Read Free Page A

You take the news out of here.” Willie found that he was beginning to enjoy the situation. It had all gone as planned. All the things he had thought of those nights on the bed at East Tenth Street had come to pass. So, he had to shoot the fat one—just as well. Someone had to be made an example of. “Listen, Bobby. You get off the bus and walk back the way we came. Pretty soon you’ll come to cops, right?”
    â€œI suppose.”
    â€œYou tell them what’s happened. You tell them that there’s a real mean son of a bitch here who’s already killed once, shot you, and has got a dozen buddies in the Freedom Army helping him. You tell them they got one hour to get a million bucks in hundred-dollar bills back on this bus—carried by you. Got that?”
    â€œA million in hundreds.”
    â€œAnd more. Tell them I want a jet on the runway at Newark Airport with parachutes. And no cops near the plane or my buddies will set off the bombs in the terminal. Got that?”
    â€œA jet with parachutes. Bombs in the terminal.”
    â€œAnd they got one hour. One hour or I start killing people. I kill someone for every five minutes they’re late. Got that?”
    â€œYou start killing people,” Robert Hannon repeated numbly.
    â€œGet going. Fast—or I get somebody else and leave you dead.”
    The young man, still clutching his wounded arm, stumbled painfully down the aisle. He glanced once at Willie Shep and then went out the door.
    Willie glanced at the nonexistent watch on his wrist and let out a low curse. He had pawned it, and now wouldn’t know when the hour was up, much less the five-minute increments. What the hell. He laughed. There were eighteen passengers including the driver left on the bus, and probably as many watches. Not that he wanted a woman’s watch, but there would be others. He glanced at the driver who was still hunched over the wheel with his arms spread. He wore a large chronometer-type watch with several dials and a sweep second hand. “Gimme the watch.”
    â€œWhat?” The driver looked up at Willie with a slow confused movement.
    â€œYou heard me. The watch.”
    â€œYou want my wallet too?” He slipped the band off his wrist and gingerly handed it over.
    â€œGet to the back of the bus.”
    As the driver made his way down the aisle, Willie turned to peer out the window. A hundred yards in front he could see two police cars, with blinking roof lights, pulled across the roadway. Other cars, ambulances, and tow trucks were behind the automobile barricade. He looked out the other side and saw the scene repeated. He sat down on the floor with his feet stretched forward and the gun held in both hands.
    His planning had been excellent, he thought with satisfaction. The narrow tunnel gave him protection on both sides. Any attempt to storm the bus would have to be either from the front or rear, and he’d take five passengers with him if they tried that. He looked at the watch. It was five. He’d start counting off the five-minute intervals exactly at six. He smiled. It had begun.
    The whispering voice near Lyon’s ear was nearly toneless. The man behind him had leaned forward until his lips were only inches from the narrow aperture between the seats. His droning whisper was far too low for the hijacker at the front of the bus to hear.
    â€œHe’s a nut,” the voice said. “There will be more killing.”
    â€œThe police will do something.” Lyon found himself whispering through clenched teeth.
    â€œSure they will. But some of us won’t be here to see it.”
    â€œThey’ve stopped this kind of thing before. They have special teams to handle it.”
    â€œThey’ve been lucky. This time they won’t be. You saw what happened when the kid tried to rush him. This guy’ll kill four, maybe six, more.”
    â€œThere’s nothing we can do.” There was a