Chapter 33

(Author's note: This is not my fault. One of you readers came up with this transcript and sent it to me. I think it's part of the story.)

[transcript]

Operator 22: Nine one one, what's your emergency?

Caller: There's an armed robbery in progress at the Desai Indian Restaurant at 1148 Walnut, on the corner with Mockingbird Lane.

Operator 22: What's your name, honey? You sound pretty young.

Caller: I'm Terri Addison and I'm nine.

Operator 22: Are you sure it's a robbery? You aren't fooling around?

Caller: This guy came in and pulled out a gun and told Grandma Desai to give ' all the money. I sneaked out the back and came next door to our family's offices. I'm using the landline.

Operator 22: Are you safe there? Are there any adults around?

Caller: My dad and another guy are at the office at the other end of the building and the other two are out on jobs. I'm gonna call Dad next.

Operator 22: Can you describe-

Caller: He's a- about six feet tall. He must weigh about 250 pounds, shaved head, mirror sunglasses, tee shirt and a hoodie, baggy jeans, yellow metal necklace. He is really dark, African-American dark, not Indian-Indian dark like the Desai family.

Operator 22: You said he had a gun?

Caller: He has a dark colored automatic pistol.

Operator 22: Okay, I'm dispatching the police now; you stay on the line and stay inside where you'll be safe.

Caller: Yes, ma'am. Uh, I think there's another guy in a car outside. Maybe a silver Toyota with the big rims. I'm routing the feed from the security cameras to our WiFi so your officers can see what's happening. Our URL is threesigmaengineering.com, that's three s.i.g.m.a. I turned off the password protection for now and shut off access to anything else.

[End transcript]

Alan's turn:

Another day in the office. I was there. Dan 2.0 was there. Dan 1.0 and Cindy were in the apartment after flying back from a meeting in Houston. Jason was at a utility company substation an hour away. The rest of the Sisterhood were on campus.

It was about one o'clock. I'd called the restaurant and asked if they could put me together a little plate of biryani for lunch. My stomach's growling told me it was time to go get it.

"Gone to the Desai's," I told Dan. "You want anything besides that plate lunch?"

"Nope, that's plenty," he said. I thought I heard the back door to the office open as I left. That would likely be Terri. Rachel was at home with a case of the sniffles.

I didn't pay attention to the car idling in the parking lot, even though he wasn't pulled into a slot. Sometimes I guess we just get complacent. When I pushed open the door, it all came apart.

Two things happened at once: My cellphone rang with Terri's ringtone. That wasn't unusual. It usually meant an excited conversation about a new discovery. What was unusual was having a guy swing around and point a gun at me.

"Git ovuh dere wit' da udders, muthfuckah!" Black dude. Maybe my height or a tad shorter. Stockier than me.

He had me. I complied. I kept my hands visible, my mind working a million operations a minute.

He shifted back to Grandma Desai at the cash register. "Bitch! Gimme dah money or I'm onna cap yo' ass!"

Grandma Desai punched the keys to open the register. She started scooping the bills out of the drawer. I watched his eyes. He focused on the money. Agitated. Nervous. Maybe scared.

"Undah de draw! Get dat stuff undah de draw!" give him credit for knowing that the big bills went under the bill and coin insert in the register drawer. I'm thinking, though, that it's lunchtime, and most people pay with plastic, and if he gets three hundred bucks, he's lucky.

Grandma Desai tried to pick up the insert, slipped. It fell back in the drawer.

"Bitch! Doan' be fuckin' wit' me. I'm onna cap yo'ol' ass!"

She got the insert out and he focused on a hundred dollar bill in the drawer. She reached to get it, picked it up, it fluttered out of her grasp, to the floor. He pulled the trigger. Cindy's adopted grandmother and MY friend went down. The others started screaming.

Our center of attention was confused with the noise and was watching those closer to him. I made my move as smoothly as I could when he commanded, "Y'all get yo' ass on de flo'!"

When I hit the floor I had my gun in my hand under me and I was making measurements. Grandma Desai's moans further agitated him and her daughter started to move toward her mother.

I saw his gun starting to move toward that motion. I knew that he was going to shoot her too. My options weren't perfect, but they were the best I had. I rolled off my right hand and brought my little pistol up.

He caught that motion but I was too far away. He had to shift his feet. I was pulling the front sight onto his chest. 'Front sight. Target. Squeeze.' BANG! 'Front sight.' BANG! 'Front sight.' BANG!

He crumpled.

"Call 9-1-1," I yelled. Grandma Desai was still moaning. That meant life.

Our center of attention was lying on the floor in a widening pool of blood, not moving, his head thrown back, mouth open, pupils dilated. No visible movement. I kicked his pistol away.

And heard sirens. And the squeal of tires as that car in the parking lot roared off.

Grandma Desai and her daughter were talking rapidly in a foreign dialect as her son applied a folded napkin to her wound.

"Where's she hit?" I asked.

"Along her neck. It is going to be okay," he said.

Sirens in the parking lot. Flashing lights. The first police officers peered from cover, then the first one burst through the door, gun drawn.

Now I'm nervous again.

"The robber's down. We need an ambulance for Mizz Desai."

"Who shot 'im?"

"That would be me," I said. I had my own hands up in plain view. "That pistol on the counter is mine. The one over there against that table leg is his. He shot Mizz Desai."

By now the second officer was in the restaurant and I saw Dan and Terri looking in the window. Terri had her cellphone at her ear. I can only imagine who she was calling.

"Sir, do you have some ID?"

"Yessir," I said. "You want me to get my own wallet out?"

Two officers with drawn weapons. I darned sure wasn't moving fast.

"Get it."

I retrieved it. Pulled out my drivers' license and my concealed carry permit, both from Louisiana.

He picked the license up. "Mister Addison. You want to tell me what happened?"

"I walked in to get my lunch. The gentleman on the floor had a gun, robbing the place. He shot Mizz Desai. He was getting ready to shoot her daughter. I took a risk that I could stop that."

He looked at the Desai son. "Is that what you saw."

"Alan saved my wife."

A couple of paramedics were pushing a gurney into the dining room. One of them knelt beside Grandma Desai, taking the blood-soaked napkins from her son. Gingerly he raised the corner.

"You're going to be okay, ma'am," he told her. "Let's get you to the hospital." The two of them eased her onto the stretcher.

"Malati," I said.

Mizz Desai's daughter in law turned to me, eyes wet.

"Call us and let us know how she's doing, okay? We want to know ... especially Cindy."

"Can we accompany my mother to the hospital," Arun asked the officers.

"Let me get your identification," the lead officer said.

Arun presented his ID and the officer scribbled madly. "Okay, sir. I hope she's okay."

Arun and Malati and Grandma Desai were gone. That left me, two police officers, and the dead guy.

An unintelligible voice emanated from their portable mics.

"10-4," the first officer said. "This one's deceased. One wounded, on the way to the hospital." More buzzes and screeches. "10-4." He turned to me. "They caught the guy who raced outta here."

"Good," I said. "I though they were here for carry-out."

The officer looked a the corpse on the floor. "Kev, see if there's any ID on that guy."

"Yeah, okay," Kev said. He started donning a pair of rubber gloves.

I took a deep breath. "Officer Canfield..." I heard a voice call "Dad?"

"That's my daughter."

"She's the one that made the 9-1-1 call," Canfield said. "Pretty sure. Dispatch said a real young girl."

"Can I step over there and talk with her?"

"Yeah."

I walked to the door.

"Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy!" Terri squealed, launching herself around my neck. "You're okay..."

I hugged my daughter. "Yes, I'm okay. How'd you call 9-1-1?"

"I heard loud talking and I looked through the door to the kitchen, an' saw 'im with the gun. I went out through the back door. I went in your office but Mister Dan said you'd just left. I called you." One big rush of words.

"I got your call just as I walked in and the guy pointed a gun at me."

"He's dead, isn't he, Daddy?"

"Yes, he is. He shot Grandma Desai. I thought he was going to shoot Mizz Malati. I couldn't let him do that." I kissed her. "Now go back to the office or to Rachel's until I get finished."

"Yes Daddy."

"Who else did you call?"

"Everybody."

"Okay. Then wait at the office. I might have to go downtown."

"They're not putting you in jail, huh, Dad?"

"I don't think so. Tell Cindy's Dan..."

"He knows. He was talking to somebody on the phone."

"Okay, baby. I need to go to talk to the police officer. I love you."

"'Kay, Dad."

I went back inside. A second crew of paramedics was loading the dead guy onto a stretcher.

"I suppose we end up downtown?" I said to Canfield.

"Mister Addison, I have to ... I'm sorry. Your guy there," he motioned to the corpse going out the door, "is likely the perp for a several convenience store hold-ups. If ... in a sane world, I'd shake your hand and send these people a crew of trusties from the jail to mop up the mess."

"Jack," the other officer said, "there you go again."

"I know," Canfield retorted. "But we are getting ready to take this guy away from his daughter. Rankles me. He's not the criminal."

"It's okay. My wife's coming. Terri can go to the office. Can I step out and talk to that guy?" 'That guy' was Dan 1.0.

"Sure."

Back out the door.

"What'd you do, buddy?"

"Picked an odd time to go for lunch," I said. "Dude was robbin' the place. All nervous. Shot MIzz Desai."

"Cindy's gonna freak," Dan said.

"He was getting ready to shoot Malati. I couldn't let it happen."

"Three shots?"

"Took his chest out. Dropped right there. Could you call your friend? The judge? Just in case?"

"Already did. He says we need to stop shootin' up Alabama."

"Yeah. I can see where that might be the case. Can you watch Terri till..." I heard tired squeal around the corner. "Never mind. Here comes Tina."

I caught a tearful armload of Tina.

"They shot Mizz Desai?"

"She's gonna be okay," I said. "I need to go downtown with these officers."

"They're not arresting you, are they?"

"No. Just routine for this sort of thing."

"I love you, baby. You scare me to death."

I left her with a kiss and rejoined the officers. "Whenever you're ready," I said. And we left. A crime scene crew was still taking pictures.

The station. Formal statements. Questions. "You know," I said, "you should be able to get a good video of the whole thing."

"Video? I didn't see the camera."

"I had a big argument with two girls who were designing that system. I wanted visible, standard cameras. Figured they'd have deterrent value. They wanted the little state of the art imaging equipment. Wide spectrum. High resolution. Goes to a video file on a server."

"We're going to need to get that," Canfield said. The detective sergeant with him nodded.

"Just the file? Or the drive it's on?"

"Both."

"Got it. Lemme make a phone call."