the bag were gone.

Hackberry straightened his back, his weapon still pointed in front of him, the hammer on full cock, the sight on the tip of the barrel trembling slightly with the tension of his grip on the frame. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Pam? The window behind her booth was blown out, one vinyl seat of the booth and the wedges of glass protrud ing from the window frame painted with red splatter. Hackberry wiped his mouth with his free hand and widened his eyes and tried to think clearly. What was the formal name for the situation? Barricaded suspect? The clinical language didn?t come close to describing the reality.

?Give it up, partner. Nobody has to die here,? he said.

Except for a cough, the muted crying of a woman, and a sound like somebody prizing open a stuck window, the room remained silent.

?He went in the girls? bathroom,? a burr-headed boy in short pants said from under a table.

A latticework alcove had been built around the entrance to the women?s restroom, obscuring the doorway. Hackberry walked at an angle toward the door, silverware and broken glass crunching under his boots, his eyes locked on the door through the spaces in the latticework.

Had Pam been hit? The second shotgun blast had traveled right across the booth where she had been counting out the tip on the tabletop.

?He?s got a little girl in there. Don?t go in there,? a voice said from behind an overturned chair.

It was the minister in the lavender Roman collar. He was bleeding from his cheek and neck; the heel of one hand sparkled with ground glass. His wife was on her knees beside him, gripping his arm, her body rounded into a ball.

?You saw him?? Hackberry asked.

?He grabbed the girl by the neck and pulled her with him,? the minister said.

?Can you get to the front door?? Hackberry asked.

?Yes, sir,? the minister replied. ?I can.?

?When I start into the women?s room, you stand up and take as many people with you as you can. Can you do that for me, sir??

?You?re going in there??

?We?ll bring the girl out of there safely. When you get out front, find my deputy. Her name is Pam Tibbs. Tell her exactly what you told me.?

?Who?s the man with the shotgun??

?His name is Eriksson. My deputy will recognize the name. Better get going, Reverend.?

?You said ?we.??

?Sir??

?You said ?we?ll? get the girl out. Who?s ?we???

A moment later, Hackberry closed the distance between himself and the doorway while the minister and his wife began herding a group of twelve to fifteen people toward the front of the restaurant. Hackberry pressed his back against the wall, his revolver pointed upward. He could see the red sunset flowing through the destroyed front window and hear sirens in the distance. ?Hear that sound, Eriksson?? he said.

There was a beat. ?How?d you make me??

?I didn?t. If you hadn?t shot at me, I would have walked past you.?

?You?re lying.?

?Why would I lie??

Eriksson had no answer. Hackberry remembered that originally, a second man had been sitting in Eriksson?s booth, someone who had probably blown Dodge and left Eriksson to take the fall for both of them.

?Your partner screwed you, bub,? Hackberry said. ?Why take his weight? Send the little girl out, and it?ll be taken into consideration. You did security work in Iraq. That?ll be a factor, too. Get a good defense lawyer, and with the right kind of post-traumatic-stress-disorder mambo, you might even skate. It beats eating a two-hundred-and-thirty-grain round from a forty-five.?

?You?re gonna drive me out of this county. You?re gonna get me into Mexico. Or I waste the girl.?

?Maybe I can arrange that.?

?No, you don?t arrange anything. You do it.?

?How do you want to work that? Want me to bring a vehicle around back and load you and the girl up??

?No, you put your piece on the floor, slide it to me with your foot, then you walk in with your fingers laced on the back of your neck.?

?That doesn?t sound workable, Eriksson.?

?Maybe you?d like to see her brains floating in the toilet bowl.?

Hackberry heard the voice of a little girl crying. Or rather, the voice of a child whose fear had gone beyond crying into a series of hiccups and constrictions of air in the nostrils and throat, like someone having a seizure. ?Be stand-up. Let her go, partner,? Hackberry said.

?You want her? No problem. Kick the piece inside and come in after it. Otherwise, all bets are off. Think I?m jerking your