James Grippando - When Darkness Falls

The sixth book in the Jack Swyteck series

Sergeant Vincent Paulo couldnt see the man who had climbed to the very top of the William Powell Bridge. Paulo couldnt even see the damn bridge. He heard the desperation in the mans voice, however, and he knew this one was a jumper. After seven years as a crisis negotiator with the City of Miami Police Department, there were some things you just knew, even if you were blind.

Especially if you were blind.

Falcon, he called out for the umpteenth time, his voice amplified by a police megaphone. This is Vincent Paulo youre talking to. We can work this out, all right?

The man was atop a lamppost-as high in the sky as he could possibly get-looking down from his roost. The views of Miami had to be spectacular from up there. Paulo, however, could only imagine the blue-green waters of the bay, the high-rise condominiums along the waterfront like so many dominoes ready to topple in a colossal chain reaction. Cruise ships, perhaps, were headed slowly out to sea, trails of white smoke puffing against a sky so blue that no cloud dared to disturb it. Traffic, they told him, was backed up for miles in each direction, west toward the mainland and east toward the island of Key Biscayne. There were squad cars, a SWAT van, teams of police officers, police boats in the bay, and a legion of media vans and reporters swarming the bridge. Paulo could hear the helicopters whirring all around, as local news broadcasted the entire episode live into South Florida living rooms.

All this, for one of Miamis homeless. He called himself Falcon, and the name was a perfect fit. He was straddling the lamppost, his legs intertwined with the metalwork so that he could stand erect without holding on to anything. He was a life-size imitation of an old-fashioned hood ornament, without the chrome finish-chin up, chest out, his body extended out over the water, arms outstretched like the wings of a bird. Like a falcon. Paulo had a uniformed officer at his side to describe the situation to him, but she was hardly needed. It wasnt the first time Paulo had been called upon to stop one of Miamis homeless from hurting himself. It wasnt even his first encounter with Falcon. Twice in the past eighteen months, Falcon had climbed atop a bridge and assumed the same falcon-like pose. Each time, Paulo had talked him down. But this time was different.

It was Vinces first assignment since losing his eyesight.

And for the first time, he was absolutely convinced that this one was going to jump.

Falcon, just come down and talk. Its the best way for everyone.

No more bullshit! he shouted. I want to talk to the mayors daughter. Get her here in fifteen minutes, or Im doing a face plant onto the old bridge.

The Powell Bridge is like a big arc over Biscayne Bay. Cyclists call it Miami Mountain, though as suicides go, it is no match for the Golden Gate in San Francisco or the George Washington in New York. The crest is only seventy-eight feet above mean tide. Even with the added thirty vertical feet of the lamppost, it was debatable whether Falcons plunge into the bay would be fatal. The old causeway runs parallel to the new bridge, however, and it is still used as a fishing pier. A hundred-foot swan dive onto solid concrete wouldnt be pretty-especially on live television.

You ready to punt yet, Paulo? The voice came from over Vinces left shoulder, and he recognized the speaker as Juan Chavez, SWAT team coordinator.

Vince cut off his megaphone. Lets talk to the chief.

The walk back to the police van was clear of obstacles, and Vince had memorized the way. His long white walking stick was almost unnecessary. He and Chavez entered the van through the side door and sat across from one another in the rear captains chairs. An officer outside the van slid the door closed as Chavez dialed headquarters on an encrypted telephone. The call went directly to Miamis chief of police, who was watching the standoff on television. Her first words werent exactly the vote of confidence Vince needed.

Its been over two hours now, Paulo. Im not seeing much progress.

It took me almost twice that long to talk him down from the Golden Glades flyover last winter.

I understand that, said the chief. I guess what Im asking is, are you comfortable doing this?

Now that Im blind, you mean?

Dont get me wrong. Im glad you decided to stay with the force and teach at the academy. I called you back into the field because you have a history with this guy, but the last thing I want to do is to put you in a situation that you dont think you can handle.

I can handle it fine, Chief.

Great, but time is a factor. I shouldnt have to remind you that no one in Miami keeps gloves in the glove compartment. If this sucker doesnt climb down soon, one of those stranded motorists is going to reach for his revolver and take him out for us.

I say we move in now, said Chavez.

Vince said, Dont you think a three-oh-eight-caliber, custom-built thunderstick is a bit of overkill against a homeless guy perched on a lamppost?

No ones talking about a sniper shot. I just want to move our team closer into position, make them more visible. We need to send a message that our patience is wearing thin.

If he thinks SWAT is coming up there after him, hell jump.

The same tactic worked just fine the last time.

This time is different.

How do you know?

I can tell.

What, going blind made you psychic?

That made Vince blink, but dark sunglasses hid plenty of pain. Shove it, Chavez.

All right, fellas, knock it off, said the chief.

Im serious, said Chavez. This isnt the first time weve had to deal with a homeless guy threatening to hurt himself. Nine times out of ten, they just want a little attention. Id like to know what makes Paulo think this is the real deal.

That seems like a fair question, said the chief.

All right, said Vince. For one, it may be his third time up on a bridge, but its the first time that Falcon has made a specific demand. And its a fairly rational one at that. Its not as if he wants us to make the bubble people stop stealing his thoughts. Just as important, hes set a time limit. A short one-fifteen minutes. You factor in the stress in his voice, and youve got a man on the edge.

Wait a minute, said Chavez. Because he shows some signs of clear-headed thinking, that makes him more of a danger to himself?

In some ways, yes. The only way Falcon climbs down from that lamppost is if he gives up on his demand to talk to the mayors daughter. Because he still shows some signs of rational thought, he will very likely feel overwhelming humiliation when the television world sees him fail. If we send the SWAT team up that pole before hes ready to accept his public failure, you might as well push him off the bridge yourself.

How about soaking him with a fire hose? said the chief. Or maybe a stun gun.

There again, were on live television, said Vince. You knock him off that lamppost and well have two dozen personal-injury lawyers handing him business cards before he hits the ground.

There was silence, each officer thinking it through. Finally, the chief said, I suppose we could promise to give him what he wants.

You mean let him talk to the mayors daughter? said Vince.

No, I said promise it. Thats his only demand, right?

Bad move, said Vince. A negotiator never promises anything he cant deliver. Or that he has no intention of delivering.