more shots, then clattered to the ground. By then, several servers had joined Paul, some on top of him, to keep the attacker down.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins as the gunman swore at him and he pressed the guy’s head into the floor. The wait for police or more security took an eternity, but finally, a swat team rumbled in.
After an interminable length of time, the pile-up got lighter and lighter until Paul was the only one holding the gunman down. He sat back as officers cuffed the guy quickly. Eventually, some people helped Paul stand and the team yanked up the perpetrator and led him outside. Other police entered the ballroom.
Things shifted back into focus and Paul heard crying from inside. Then he heard loud shouts and calls from one guest to another. He was desperate to see if Hayley was hurt, or even just scared. But he was jostled out of the way as attendees rushed the entrance trying to exit the ballroom. When more police officers stopped everybody at the exits, Paul managed to step inside and to the left.
One cop had waded through the crowd in the ballroom up to the bandstand and took the microphone. “I’m Police Detective Perry Simons. Everyone needs to sit down so we can see who requires medical attention.”
“Like hell.”
“I’m getting out of here.”
Other words of dissention.
But more officers flooded the room. It took a while, but they eventually silenced the protestors, kept people seated or assisted those on the floor up to chairs. The police wandered through the tables, searching for the injured. Every so often, Paul heard the crackle of a radio, and he assumed the cops were finding those hit by stray bullets. From what he could tell, the gunman only got off shots into the ceiling.
From where he stood, he looked for Hayley and Finn. He couldn’t spot them and felt helpless. The adrenaline was also wearing off and his stomach pitched.
Then somebody touched his shoulder. He turned and was unprepared for the barrage of people with cameras and microphones descending upon him.
* * *
“Paul, this is Hayley. Finn and I weren’t hurt at the gala. Please call me no matter what time you get this. I have to know you’re safe.”
She’d called twice before: once when she and Finn found their waiting limo and crawled through Madison Avenue traffic, and once an hour ago after she arrived home. Now, at midnight, he still hadn’t answered.
Finn came to the doorway of his suite. “Come see this, Hayley. There’s a news report on TV.” They’d already heard on the set in the living room that miraculously no one was killed, ten people had been injured in the crowd fighting its way out, five were shot from ricocheted bullets, but they weren’t releasing any names. Visions of Paul, trampled or bleeding, plagued her as she hurried into Finn’s sitting room.
A newscaster gave information. He described the attack, which was maddeningly repetitive. “They keep giving the same statistics we already know.”
“Hold on, there’s supposed to be more.”
“We have confirmation of the rumor that a civilian tackled the gunman at the doorway on the left side of the ballroom. However, his identity has not been revealed.”
“That’s more.” Hayley began to pace. “The chances that Paul was the hero are miniscule, right, Finn?”
“Given that two hundred people attended, add in staff for the establishment, and yes, I’d say it’s small.” Finn studied a diagram the station had put up. “The shooter came in the side entrance that the servers used. So more than likely, staff disarmed him. Not that I don’t want them to be safe, but again the chances of Paul being on that side are slim.”
“I wish I’d hear from him.”
They both settled in chairs in the sitting room, watching the broadcast, until Hayley stood up. “I can’t stand this anymore. I’m going to shower and change.” She’d reached the door when she heard, “The identity of the gunman is being released in a press conference. We go live to the Central Park Ballroom.”
Hayley pivoted. Watched the TV from the doorway. “I’m Police Chief Gregory Thomas. Here’s what happened. When the gunman first entered the ballroom, he shot at the ceiling, presumably to get everybody’s attention. Before he could rob anyone, he was tackled by civilian Paul Covington, a local lawyer at the firm Cook, Cramer and Cromwell. Covington was twenty feet away, and defused the situation by taking the gunman down from behind. Police arrived while they were still