14

Chapter 14

12:19 a.m.

They were loading guns. They were looking at schematic maps of the Stop N Shop and pointing. They were all acting extremely important. Impressively, Bufford had stuck to his demands. He wanted the helicopter to land on the building, already loaded with the dough and full of gas. He wanted Russell Little in his underwear, duct taped to the co-pilot's seat. I think that's where the wheels came off. That's where the authorities drew the line.
"No can do, Bufford, my man. Little's still, um, unaccounted for, if you'll pardon the pun," the hostage negotiator's velvety voice issued over the bullhorn for the first time.
"Why don't you let me come in and we'll talk this thing over, buddy?"
"Why don't you just get me my helicopter?!" was the response. "Ahmad," he shouted, "where are the jelly doughnuts...and the rubbing alcohol?"
"Aisle 4, by automotive equipment, Mr. Bufford. Are you pleased to pay for that? You have correct change, thank you," a voice came from deep in the thickening crowd. It belonged to a head bobbing in and out of the sea of onlookers. I located Ahmad and walked over to him.
"Ahmad. What in the world is going on?"
"Mr. Brody. Blessings from Allah to you. Your friend--he is the crazy. Comes in to my store for light bulb and goes into crazy when he sees lady.  He yells so loud then says he has gun and is going to keep lady in the store until he gets heli-coopter and bunches of some money. I don't know any more thing. He push me out of door then locks it. I think we no longer friends no more."
I put my hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Ahmad. I'm sure things will work out OK. Let me go talk to the police."
There are times to get involved in things, for the good of your immediate circle of friends, and there are times to quietly duck out of sight. Honestly, I didn't know which was more intelligent at this juncture. I walked over to mission command, a giant black beast of an SUV sporting impressive police stickers and numerous red, white and blue sirens and lights. Ascertaining who was 'in charge', I, in terri cloth bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, put on my best and most convincing "I can be of remarkable assistance here" face and nonchalant swagger.
"Sir, my name is Brody Hendricks. I happen to be a very close friend of the gentleman inside that store. We have history together, and I'd be willing to go in and attempt to reason with him. I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstanding. (People like me are required to say that in situations like this. It's in our contract, or something.)
"This wack-o is getting on everyone's last nerve, and he's making my ulcer come back. You take this walkie-talkie. Here's a tear gas grenade and an electrical taser device, and you do what you can."
With that, he grabbed the official hostage negotiator by his David Bowie T-shirt, pulled him within 2 inches of his face and threatened to fire him on the spot. He then contacted all the snipers and other people with guns, smoke grenades, and electrical taser devices, telling them to stand down. I appreciated that.