I lit a cigarette, thinking it through. "You got a telephone link?" I asked.

"There's a number listed. We haven't tried it yet. Waiting on you. You can try it from the truck."

I walked over to the blue–and–white truck, introduced myself. Sat down at the console and dialed the number.

It rang a half–dozen times before he picked it up.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Walker, Mark. I want to talk to you. About this situation, see if we can't work something out, okay?"

"Are you a cop?"

"No," I said, my voice soft, starting the lies. "I'm a psychologist. The police figured you'd rather talk to me. Is that okay?"

"Make them go away!"

"Okay, Mark. Take it easy, son. There's nothing to get upset about. You didn't do anything."

"Make them go away, I said. I'll kill her, I swear I will."

"Sure, I understand. Give me a few minutes, okay? You'll do that, won't you Mark. I can't just snap my fingers, make them disappear. I have to talk to them. Like I'm talking to you, okay?"

"I…"

"I'll call you back. In a few minutes, okay? Just relax, I'm going to fix everything."

I stepped out of the truck, feeling his eyes on me. The big detective was rooted to the same spot.

"Can we move everyone backs Just out of the sight–line from his window?"

"Procedure…"

"Procedure is we don't let him walk away, we don't give him weapons, and we don't set him off, right? Just pull back, okay? What's the big dealer You can keep the perimeter tight. Anyway, it's a good idea to clear the area…what if he starts firing out the window?"

The big detective gave me a steady gaze, not giving anything away. "It's your show, pal," he said.

In five minutes, the street was empty. I went back to the truck, made my call.

"Okay, Mark? Just like I promised. Nobody's going to hurt you."

"I'm sorry for what I did. Can't I…"

"Mark, I did something for you, right? Now it's time for you to do something for me. Like good faith, okay?"

"Wha…what do you want?"

"What I want is to talk to you, Mark. Face–to–face."

"I'm not coming out!"

"Of course not, Mark. I wouldn't want you to do that. I'll come in, okay? And we'll talk."

"If this is a trick…"

"It's no trick, Mark. Why would I trick you? I'm on your side. We're working together on this. Tell you what: I'll take off my shirt, so you can see I'm not carrying a gun, okay' I'll walk up the stairs, you can watch every step. And you can keep your gun on me all the time. Fair enough?"

"I'll think about it."

"There isn't much time, Mark. The cops, you know how they are. I got them to listen to me because I told them we had a relationship. That we could get along, you and me. If they think we can't talk, you know what they'll do."

"I'll kill her!"

"Why would they care, Mark? You know how the cops are. Another old lady gets killed in New York, so what? Besides, if I come up there, you'd have two hostages, right? Even more insurance."

"How come…"

"Mark, I'm coming up now. I want you to watch me, okay. Watch what I do. You'll see I'm on your side, son."

I hung up the phone, stepped out of the truck. I saw him at the window, watching. I waved. Took off my jacket, laid it on the ground like a blanket. I dropped my shirt on top. Took of my undershirt and added it to the pile. I unlaced my shoes, took them off, peeled off my socks and put them inside. Rolled up the cuffs of my pants to mid–calf. Turned one complete spin, my hands high in the air.

Then I started for the stairs. On the second flight, I heard a door open.

"It's me, Mark," I called out.

The door was open at the top of the stairs. I stepped inside. He was standing next to his mother, the gun leveled at my chest.

"Hello, Mark," I said, reaching out to shake hands.

He didn't go for it, the pistol trembling in his hands.

"Okay if I sit down?" I asked, not waiting for an answer.

He stood silent, watching me. The old lady's eyes were ugly and evil, measuring me. She didn't look afraid.

"Mark, do you smoke?"

"Why?"

"I didn't want to bring my cigarettes with me. Didn't want you to be suspicious. But I'd sure like one now."

"She doesn't let me smoke in the house," he said.

The old lady's expression didn't change, but her eyes flickered triumph. The pistol wasn't cocked.

"Okay, no big deal. Let's talk now, you and me."

"About what?"

"About how you're going to get out of this, okay?"

"The probation officer, she said if I messed up again, I was going to jail. I can't go to jail."

"You're not going to jail, Mark. Why should you go to jails Your mother, she's not going to press charges against you, right?"

He looked down at her. She nodded agreement.

"See?" I told him. "What we have to do, now, is bargain with them. Make a deal, you know?"

"What kind of deal?"

"The only trouble you're in, near as I can see, is maybe running away from the cops this morning. That's nothing, that's not even a crime. But you know how judges are…so we have to give them something, make you look good. Like a hero, okay?"

"A hero?"

"Sure! What we do is, we let your mother go. We let her go outside. You still have me as a hostage. But first, I call the cops. And I make them promise, if you let her go, then they'll drop the charges. Then, you and me, we walk out of here together. Okay?"

"What if…?"

"How does your mother get around, Marks I mean, how does that wheelchair get outsider'

"She can walk. If she had some help. I used to…"

"Okay, here's how we'll do it. I'll help your mother downstairs, right to the door, okay' That wheelchair, it folds up, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll help her downstairs. You're right behind me, with the gun. Then you and me, we'll go back upstairs and talk. After a while, we walk out. And that's it."

"You promise?"

"Just watch me," I said, reaching for the phone. I dialed the truck. "This is Walker," I told them. "Mark and I have had a discussion about this situation and here's what we have to offer. He's going to let his mother come out, okay' In exchange, we want you to drop the charges against him. You do that, and he and I will come out together. But remember, the deal has to be no jail for Mark, you understand?"

Mark stood next to me, the pistol inches from my face. I held the receiver so he could hear the cop in the truck tell me they agreed to my terms, no problem. So long as he sent the old lady out first.

It took a long time to wrestle the old lady down the stairs, her gnarled hands on my arm. I wasn't surprised at the strength of her grip. I snapped the wheelchair open and she sat down. I gently pushed her out into the sunlight. Climbed back the stairs, Mark right behind me.

We both sat down. "You can smoke now," I told him. "She's gone."

His smile was tentative, but he produced a pack. Handed it to me. We lit up, smoked in silence.

Then he told me his story. They all have a story. He was a change–of–life baby. His father left soon after his birth, and the old lady raised him alone. Hard. He showed me the discolored skin on his right hand where she'd burned him when she caught him with dirty magazines. The whip marks on his back. From an electrical cord. He dropped out of school when he was a teenager. Never had a friend. Lonely, scared, sad. Scarred.