| Hostage by Jim Correale I was in the living room with the baby when I heard the sirens. In my neighborhood I hear them all the time so I didn�t think twice about it. I was watching one of those afternoon shows, Jenni or Sally or Ricki. It was about the usual�chicks who sleep with other chicks� guys, or something like that. The baby slept in her bassinet, which was next to sofa. Then I heard a commotion at the front door. Bang, bang, bang, smash! The front door of the house was kicked open and a young guy came in holding a gun out in front of him with both hands. From where I sat on the sofa I could see him step cautiously into the house, glancing up the stairs that were before him, and then over to the kitchen, which was past the stairs and at the back of the house. Finally, he looked to his right into the living room and saw me. �OK�OK!� yelled out, �OK, we have a hostage here! This is a hostage situation now!� He took a step toward me before he realized that the front door was still open, then he turned and pushed it shut. His kick had broken the lock and so the white wooden door bounced off the frame and came back at him again. �Fuck!� he said, and then turned to me, I guess to make sure I wasn�t trying to escape or anything. I hadn�t moved. He saw this little two-drawer furniture piece that sat outside the living room. He came over and pushed off the vase of flowers and whatever glass knick-knacks were on it. They crashed to the floor. Then he pointed the gun at me. �Don�t you move now! Don�t move!� he said and then slid the dark wood piece of furniture over and used it to keep the front door shut. Then he turned and came toward me. Both of his hands were on the gun again. He had a woman�s nylon pulled over his head and he wore a black leather jacket, jeans and workboots. I stood up as he entered the living room. He spun the gun quickly to his left and right, as if he thought someone was waiting to ambush him inside the entryway of the room. I moved slowly to my left, putting myself between him and the baby. �I said don�t move!� he said, pointing the gun at my face. I didn�t want him to see that there was a baby in the room, though with all of his yelling I was sure that Samantha would start crying at any second. It was then that I realized that I recognized him. Though the nylon distorted his features somewhat, I could see them enough. And then there was the rest of him: that black leather jacket he always wore, his voice, his narrow body. It was definitely him. �Salvatore?!� I cried out. He froze and looked closely at me. �Salvatore Fusiati?!� The gun started to sink lower, as if his arms were some type of meter that was just shut off. �Isabella?� he said, now recognizing me as the younger sister of a girl he had briefly gone out with three years earlier. �What are you doing here?� �Me? I�m babysitting,� I said looking over my shoulder at Samantha. �Yo, man, what are you doing here?� �I�m�� he realized then that his weapon was pointed at the floor and he snapped it back up to the level of my chest. �I�m invading this home �cause I need a hostage, and you my hostage girl.� �Well, the front door was open, y�know,� I said then, not yelling, but smartass. �Yeah, well I don�t have time to knock. In case you haven�t noticed the fuckin� cops is after me.� �Hey,� I said forcefully, but lowering my voice, �keep it down or you�ll wake up the baby.� Then we heard it from outside�the crackling of police radios. He dropped to the floor pointing his gun at the big picture window that faced the street from the living room. I stood looking down at him. The blinds were down and the curtains were drawn, but he made me check them anyway. �See, they�re fine,� I said. �Well, we gotta be ready here �cause they be comin� for me soon and I wanna be ready for �em. I ain�t goin� to no jail, man. No way. If they�re gonna get me I�m gonna take a couple pigs with me.� �Fuzzy, that the only gun you got?� �Don�t call me Fuzzy�it�s Spider. You call me Spider.� I couldn�t help it, I laughed. �OK�Spider, is �at th� only weapon you have wit� you? �Cause in a few minutes there will be like a hundred cops out there all wit� automatic weapons an� shit an� alls you got is �at li�l cap gun?� He stared up at me for a second, looking a bit worried. �Girl,� he said, �you always wuzza big mout�, even when you wuz younger an� I was wit� yo� sistah. I ain�t gonna tell you all of th� resources at my disposal. You my hostage�you don�t ask any questions, now come ova here and sit.� He motioned to the floor next to him and I went and sat down with my back against the sofa. �Fuz�Spider, whatchoo do? Why you in here and th� cops out there?� �Man you is a curious one, jus� like I �member you. Only now I see you growed some titties.� I crossed my arms over my chest. I was about three feet away from him and he sat with his right knee up and his right, gun-toting hand resting there, the barrel pointed in my direction. �Me an� the boys wuz pullin� a job. Things got messed up and th� cops came after us, so I came in here lookin� for a hostage, and I got me one. She cute, too.� Three years earlier, when my sister Angela was 14 and I was 12 she had dated Salvatore Fusiati for about three weeks before she dropped him in pursuit of bigger and better things. She was always hot looking, my sister, and she always hung out with guys that were older. Despite my mother�s protesting, she came and went as she pleased, out all hours of the night, coming home after the sun was up, skipping school. Once in a while she was drunk, but I don�t think she ever did much drugs. She dressed �like a streetwalker,� my mother said, and she was going to make her a grandmother before her time. And she did. When Angela was 15 she gave birth to a boy. He was named Enrique after his father, who was eight years older than my sister. Eventually my mother agreed not to pursue statutory rape charges if he paid the baby�s bills and so far that has worked out OK. |