The Operator: Part 2

The robbery should have lasted five minutes and five minutes only. It was so uniquely planned; it just had to work. The security guard of the Brooklyn branch of Western International was in on it; so it was just bound to work. Everyone knew what to do. But somehow, by some touch of fate, everything just went wrong. And he was stuck here with ten hostages, no one to protect him but his own, rust (and for that matter, unloaded) Kalashnikov. Here he is, Jack Richards; ex-accountant, ex-husband, ex-successful-guy. And now that he thinks about it, the amount of ‘ex’s in his life had been surmounting to a rather dangerous level.

He’s almost alone at this point. Perhaps he already is.
He has to do something. Or he’s going to explode and in doing so; take one of these people to the afterlife before probably taking himself there. His fingers are itchy for the trigger but he decides he needs to calm down.

Take some time to think. His inhalation is deep and steady; he shuts his eyes and imagines the air particles travel through his entire body, the way he did in yoga sessions.

His hands wipe feverishly at his forehead and the cold sweat is dry now. His mind is clearer. He’s oxygenated now. Cautious and careful, as if handling a bomb, he picks up the phone from the receptionist desk (she winces as he approaches) and dials a number hastily. The only number he remembers because he called them two days (for all he cared, It might have been two years) ago and asked about some problem he had.

And they solved it.

He still remembered the name of the guy there; Peter Sheldon.
People who solve problems are always good. They can get you out of shit like this; he just knew it.
1-9-8-0-0. He awaits the robot voice that welcomes him to ConnectionWins.