Everyone is sticking to their guns

Inside the house there was a moment of eerie silence. The sound of gunshots stunned the occupants into a frozen tableau: Charlie Bonner with a gun on Antonio Falco, Ernesto with a tiny Beretta to Genie’s back and Evelyn Falco with a sawed-off shotgun trained on the four of them.

Charlie finally broke the silence. “I believe this is what is known as a standoff.”

“Like at the end of ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,’ ” Ernesto said quietly.

“And ‘Reservoir Dogs,’ ” Charlie added, not to be outdone by a hired thug.

“Shut up, both of you!” Evelyn raised the shotgun to chest level. “Tony, who is outside? You must have seen something in the monitor.”

Falco hesitated, not knowing how to play this. His wife was exhibiting a side he’d never seen before -- one that he found quite arousing, notwithstanding the two guns currently pointed in his direction. She stood with her bare feet shoulder-width apart, her tan arms hoisting the big gun as though it was the most natural thing in the world. She had such a serene look on her face.

“Evelyn, honey,” Falco began in his most soothing, warm politician’s tone. “You and I are in this together. Team Falco, right? The police will be coming soon because of the gunshots. I think it might be wise to dispose of the gun. But first, please relieve these two gentlemen of their weapons.”

“Not so fast, sister.” Bonner was getting into this gangster scenario. “The way I see it, I could very easily put a hole in his head before you manage to figure out how to fire that musket of yours. Is it even loaded?”

The beads of sweat on Bonner’s forehead proved the lie to his nonchalance.

“Give it a rest, Charlie. Evelyn, please take my gun away from Ernesto.” Genie knew better than to use her bee stung pout on another woman. She opted for rationality, of all things. “You and I just might be able to make it out of here alive if we work together.”

Outside, Hauser had made his way to the front of the house just beneath the big bay window in the living room. His visits with Evelyn had paid off, that and the surveillance cameras. Hauser could visualize the players inside. Both of the goons were down and the cops should be arriving within minutes. With luck, an ambulance would be coming along soon thereafter.

He listened to the sounds of the neighborhood, waiting to hear sirens. Utter quiet. Wincing in pain, Hauser flipped open the goon’s phone still in his hand. The blood seeping from his shoulder wound was starting to make him feel woozy and his vision was blurring. Call it in, he thought.

The cell began to vibrate and Hauser glanced down at the number calling. He shook his head to clear it and looked again in astonishment.

Kate Pretorius describes herself as an “avid reader, mom and closet writer.”