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In a minute, the other three hostages came out.“Good job, Chrissy,” the lieutenant said. She dropped the bullhorn down to her side; it was too heavy for her skinny arms to hold up any longer. ”“Let him go.”“Oh.” There was another pause, and then the front door opened and a large man with a big mustache came out. One of the uniforms grabbed him and pulled him out of the line of fire.“And the rest of them,” Chrissy called. He still had the shotgun in his hand, but it was down at his side.“Put the gun down,” the lieutenant called. It’s no good.”“It’s okay, Dad.” Her voice cracked; she stopped to clear her throat. Just put the gun down.”“That’s right, Tommy,” the lieutenant agreed. Just put the gun down.”“Just stop right there,” Fusco said.“Dad. White blouse, plaid skirt, knee socks, saddle shoes. Short brown hair, tucked back in one of those fabric hair bands. Her plain blue backpack was almost bigger than she was. “Hey there.”“Hey,” the girl muttered.“I’m, uh, I’m Fusco. That’s pretty.”She looked at him like he was an idiot or possibly a pervert. The girl pulled what looked like a brand-new laptop computer out of her bag and opened it.
They are phrased in terms that could be aired in prime time, but may be upsetting to some readers. It was late September, supposed to be fall, but NYC hadn’t gotten the message. To save her life for a third time, Fusco, Finch, and John Reese will need to examine her choices – and their own. Petty theft, fights, drunk and disorderly, vagrancy, trespassing. Some language, violence, drug use, adult situations. You can run the lights if you want.”She shook her head, not looking up from the computer. She was skinny, all arms and legs, just barely starting to develop. Might turn into one of those girls that would drive all the Catholic boys crazy in a few years. “Not my first rodeo, Officer.”“Huh.” He looked at the girl again. Her dad must have been crazy way before she was even born. “I’m guessin’ they sent somebody else to get your mom.”“Won’t do any good. For a kid, she had the womanly ‘don’t be a dumbass’ look down cold. “And a gun, I suppose.”“Took a sawed-off from under the bar.” “Freakin’ fabulous.” The girl turned to the bar, put one hand on her practically non-existent hip.