The gun hand of the 20-something college sophomore shook. His finger rested on the trigger.
"What's your name?"
"All right, Jonah. What do you need? How can I help you get what you want?"
"I just wanted -- want, her to listen to me."
I'd been following Jonah since 10:30 p.m. He looked like an ordinary kid. His brown hair was a bit too long and unkempt, he wore faded jeans, an oversize hoodie, and carried a messenger bag. The only difference between him and every other college sophomore was that his bag didn't have any books in it. I'd watched him as he filled it with one roll of duct tape, a pillow case, and a gun.
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