Rude Awakenings: A Novel of the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club (Book 2)

Chapter Sixty-Three: Al, Monday

As he emerged from the loading bay on to Hamilton Street, he dialled 911. As he ran, the phone took an infuriatingly long time to connect. Finally, the dispatcher came on the line. "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"I'm calling to report a potential hostage situation at the office of Justiciar Security and Investigative Services," he said, breath coming out in puffs like a steam engine as he weaved around slower pedestrians on the sidewalk. He rattled off the address. "Send police, quickly! My wife and my friend are in trouble."

"Sir, may I have your name, please?" the dispatcher asked.

"Yes, my name is Alistair Mackenzie. The Vancouver Police Department has an open file on a couple of crimes committed against me, against my wife, Rachel, and against Lauren Hasegawa, my friend, as well as against her husband, Joe DiTomaso. I think one of the suspects in these crimes currently has Rachel and Lauren hostage, as they both work at Justiciar." Al wasn't sure at all if this was true, but it was the simplest explanation that would get them going. "If you need more confirmation, contact Detectives Parsons and Reynolds, who have been investigating these crimes."

"Mr. Mackenzie, we're sending police units to that building now. Please stay on the line. Where are you at the moment?"

"I'm heading over there too. I think the hostage taker wants me there for some reason. Rachel called me to come over, I think at the hostage taker's instruction. I was able to ask her, without alerting the hostage taker, whether or not she was in trouble, and if I should call the police."

"Mr. Mackenzie, do not go in the building, I repeat, do not enter a dangerous situation if there are hostages involved."

"I can't do that! That's my wife inside! My friend!"

"I understand that, Mr. Mackenzie, but have you considered that the hostage taker is simply waiting for you to get there before they proceed to do harm to all three of you?"

It had. Of course it had. "Nevertheless," he said, his lungs straining from sprinting and talking at the same time. He was vaguely aware he'd  zoomed into an intersection just as the light was turning red, and a car turning left narrowly missed him and blared its horn. "I can't wait outside while my wife and friend are in danger. What if this person kills them anyway? What if this person kills them because I didn't go there? I couldn't live with myself if I knew that."

Suddenly another voice replaced the dispatcher. "Mr. Mackenzie, this is Detective Parsons, I've been patched in by the dispatcher and have been listening to your conversation for the past ten seconds. I advise you not to go in that building if you believe Rachel and Lauren are in a hostage situation. If you do that we'll have three hostages to worry about instead of two."

Al thought about what he said as he neared the building on Beatty Street that housed the firm. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I have to."

He hung up just as Parsons called out his name again. He reached the front door and ran up the stairs to the second floor where the firm was. He found the glass door that marked the entrance to the firm and tugged on it, finding it locked. He pulled and pulled again. No luck. Vainly he searched for a rock just like he did when he broke Danny Trybek's window, but the hallway was free of any objects that could be used for the purpose, and anyway the glass was far too thick; the firm was meant to be open, airy and bright, at least in the entrance and lobby. Offices might be behind closed doors, but the initial impression was meant to be welcoming. He didn't see any of them in the lobby; Rachel mentioned they were in Lauren's office.

He did spot an intercom next to the door, as well as an RFID card reader just like at his work. Perhaps clients or workers could let themselves in this way after hours. He pressed the button for the intercom.