Chapter
19
Kevin
and Nick moved swiftly through the early hours of the morning to the selected
bank. Special people had been called in, for the amount of money they needed
could not be obtained from an ATM machine, and as it was only around
The
sun was not quite up yet, although it was beginning to show over the horizon.
It was going to be a nice day. I thought that never happened, Kevin thought. I
thought that when things like this happened it was supposed to be cold and
rainy and dark. He glanced over at Nick, who walked briskly beside him. His jaw
was set, and his face was full of tension. He looked exhausted. It’s no wonder,
Kevin realized. We’ve been up since
“This
is going to take some time, you understand,” one of the officers escorting them
said.
“We
don’t have time,” Nick growled. “We have 14 minutes to do this.”
“It
may take more.”
“It
can’t! Do you understand me? It can’t.”
“Just
warning you,” he answered grimly.
“It’ll
be ok, Nicky.” Kevin murmured. Nick did not answer.
Once
inside the bank, they met with one of the employees called in to handle the
situation. They worked out a few details, which took more time than they could
afford. It was a little bit of a walk to get back to the store, and they were
running out of time.
The
transaction was made, and Kevin hugged the bag with $60,000 close to his chest.
He took a glance at his watch, and gasped.
“We’re
almost out of time. Quick, Nick, use your phone. Call them and tell them we are
on the way!” He watched Nick fumble for his phone as they walked along, and
then spoke up again.
“On
second thought, give it to Lt. Daniels. You’d better not talk to them.
Negotiating is not your forte.”
Nick
opened his mouth for a nasty reply, but changed his mind and surrendered the
phone. This was no time to argue. Kevin rattled off the number, and they waited
anxiously for someone to pick up. Kevin closed his eyes and prayed as Daniels
negotiated with what he considered to be human filth. As he closed the phone,
his expression looked angry.
“He
gave us an extra two minutes.”
“That
means we have two goddamn minutes,” Nick said coldly.
At
that moment, they rounded the corner by the hotel and came face to face with a
large group exiting the hotel, suitcases in hand. Nick paled when he saw them.
Girls. Young. Obviously there for the concert last night. He tried to duck
behind one of the cops, but it was too late.
“Oh
my God!” a shriek came. “It’s Nick! It’s Nick Carter!”
Screeches
could be heard from all around, and the group closed in on them, cutting them
off. About four cops accompanied them, but it wasn’t enough to be able to push
their way around them. Kevin began to get frantic.
“You
have to let us through,” he said desperately. “We have to get through here,
this is an emergency!” It took another split second for one of the girls to
figure out the problem.
“Oh
my God. I’ll bet some of the Backstreet Boys are the ones being held hostage!
Didn’t y’all hear that on the news this morning? There are some guys holding
people hostage down the street! I’ll bet it’s A.J., Howie, and Brian!” More
screams and yells.”
“Are
they ok?”
“What’s
going on?”
“Is
that true?”
“Have
they caught him?”
“What’s
happening in there?”
“Holy…
none of them are dead are they?”
“Get
out of the way!” Nick bellowed. He barreled forward, pushing his way through.
Hands reached out and grabbed for him from every direction, and he wanted to
scream. This couldn’t be happening! The officer escorts lunged after him but
allowed him to continue shoving. Kevin’s
heart was thudding in his chest so quickly he thought it would leap out. He wanted
to smack Nick and hug him at the same time. He looked at his watch again, and
almost cried out.
“No!”
he screeched, as he was guided through the small mob of fans. “We’re too late!”
“Run!”
Nick hollered over his shoulder. The small parade followed them as they rushed
over to the scene. The escorts and other officers that came to help held the
small crowd back, but it did nothing to stop their screeching.
“Look!
Look! It’s the Backstreet Boys!”
Heads
shot up all over the place. Media heads.
Brian
sat tensely on the floor. Time was almost up. They had been planning to make
their move, but the ring of the phone stopped them. They were able to piece
together that someone was bringing the money, and now they were waiting. They
couldn’t do it much longer.
His
heart plummeted to his feet as thief number one scattered the numbered pieces
of paper to the floor. They were too late. They should have acted. Would Kevin
and the others really have let him down? The thought was crushing. With
agonizing slowness, the crook reached down to select one of the papers. He
unfolded it, and read what he saw.
“Number
four.”
A
chill raced down Brian’s spine, and he turned, horrified, over to where A.J.
sat. His face was blank, and for a moment, Brian wasn’t sure he was breathing.
He looked back to where thief number two had been, and saw him approaching A.J.
with his gun pointed.
A.J.
sprung to his feet like a cat, and bolted towards him. He was not going to go
down without a fight. He ducked and rolled as the shots he was expecting
whistled through the air where his head had just been. He slammed into his
attacker’s legs with all the force he could manage, and knocked him flat. He
would have succeeded in seizing the gun if his foot hadn’t gotten caught in a
crate that used to contain soda that was lying on the floor.
Brian’s
reaction was instantaneous. A.J. had not even made it to his feet when he
started to move. He thanked the heavens for all the dancing he’d done; thanks
to it he was limber and fast.
Not
fast enough.
Wanting
to crush the attack before it got out of hand, thief number one went straight
for him. Brian saw him coming out of the corner of his eye, and ducked to the
left to avoid him. The snap of fired bullet filled his ears, and he wrenched
sideways to get out if it’s path. A burning sensation ripped across his back.
Oh
no, he thought.
The
impact caused him to stumble forward, and in the next moment he found himself
flat on his back, his arms strewn out to his sides, staring up at the barrel of
a gun between his eyes.
A.J.
fought like a mad thing to rid his foot of the crate. It was a minor setback,
but enough to let his attacker regain his senses. He vaulted back to his feet
and grabbed A.J. by the shirt, hauling him up to his feet. He slammed him hard
against the nearest wall, where the magazines were kept. The crook put the gun
to A.J.’s temple, swearing like there was no
tomorrow.
“You
little shit,” he spat. “You are going pay for that one, do you hear me? We’re
gonna take this slow.”
A.J.
shuddered, but tried not to let it show. He suddenly noticed that the thief was
no longer looking at him. He was looking right next to him. A.J. darted his
eyes to the side, trying to see what he was looking at, and suppressed a groan.
The criminal reached up and pulled off A.J.’s hat,
and then cackled evilly.
“What
have we here?”
“Shit,”
A.J. seethed between his teeth. Their nightmare had just turned into pure hell.
His
eyes had fallen on the latest issue of Rolling Stone, which sported a photo of
the Backstreet Boys, as large as life.
***
