Runner-up 4

Evelyn stood in the doorway, the barrel of the shotgun slowly and fluidly moving from Ernesto and Genie to Bonner and Tony. Tony was reminded of a conductor’s wand as he watched his wife expertly handle the weapon.

He loved the Los Angeles Philharmonic. They regularly went to concerts, mostly as guests. One of the many perks of being a congressman -- free concerts, trips, strippers. But never had a conductor moved him the way his wife moved him at this moment.

Maestra Evelyna Alma Falco. La Tigra.

That was his downfall, bad girls.

It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. If he’d been aware of this side of her, there would have never been a need for Jumbo’s Clown Room. There would have never been a need for Carmen. There would have never been a need for him to be trapped in his own home, a gun pressed to his head, his life a fine mist in a maelstrom.

“Evelyn . . . “

Bonner applied just enough pressure to Tony’s head with the gun that whatever Falco was about to say was immediately swallowed.

“Shut up, Tony. You talk too much. You always have.”

Evelyn took a step to her left as Hauser took up the remaining space in the doorway.

Tony disregarded Bonner’s warning and shouted out, “How did you get in here?”

“The door was open.” Hauser quickly assessed the room. His eyes lingered a millisecond on Ernesto and Genie before he whispered in Evelyn’s ear.

The conductor’s wand froze. The orchestra paused. Her grip firm, her aim true, Evelyn trained the barrel of the shotgun at Bonner’s head.

Baby Doll followed suit. Without taking her eyes off her target, Evelyn calmly asked Hauser, “Are you OK?”

He replied. “Ambidextrous. I can shoot with either hand. This is my better hand.”

Ernesto raised Genie’s Beretta, steadied his arm over Genie’s shoulder and took aim also. Genie tried to slither away from under his outstretched arm, but Ernesto tightened his grip around her waist. Genie could smell the chorizo on his breath still lingering from that morning’s breakfast as he slowly and deliberately said, “Be still.”

Bonner looked from the two firearms pointed at him to the one Ernesto held. “Et tu Brute?” he asked.

“You’re not Caesar,” he replied.

“Aren’t we forgetting the cops who could be right outside as we speak?” There was a hint of desperation in Bonner’s voice. His negotiating skills were failing him miserably.

Hauser smiled as he said, “Don’t worry about any police outside. Worry about the one inside.”

“You’re a cop?” Tony exclaimed.

“He talking about me,” said Ernesto.

Wadzell Williams is a Caltrans land surveyor who has completed three screenplays “that have been hidden in a drawer, but since this project began have been brought out once again into the light.”