Blue Steele - Box Set - Captures 1-6

by Donald Wells

  Pain shot through my arm from my elbow to my fingertips and I wondered if he had just broken my hand.

  The other two men came running over with Amy and stared down at us.

  The one named Derek glared at me.

  “It’s the bitch from the mall, the one that killed Bobby.”

  Amy looked over at me with tears in her eyes.

  “Aunt Blue?”

  I smiled at her. “It’s okay baby, Aunt Blue’s come to take you home.”

  A second later, the shotgun rushed toward my face, and then everything went black.

  ***

  I awoke to find my hands and feet bound with plastic restraints, and my head on fire with pain. Beside me, Ramón was still unconscious, and also restrained. Beyond him was Amy, huddled in a corner of the van, with her arms wrapped around her knees.

  We were in a panel van with a plywood floor and blacked-out side and rear windows, from up front in the cab, I could hear murmured voices.

  “Amy,” I whispered.

  Her eyes grew wide and she crawled over to me.

  “Aunt Blue,”

  “Hey baby, how you doin’, those men didn’t hurt you any, did they?”

  “No, but they’re scary.”

  “I know baby, and I know things look bad right now, but I’ll get you back to your mommy as soon as I can, okay?”

  She nodded, and then winced while staring at me.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  She pointed at my face. “Your left eye, it’s closed, and kinda purple.”

  I forced a smile. “I’ll be fine in a few days.”

  Just then, Ramón stirred,

  “Oohhh, Chica, what happened?”

  “We got outflanked,”

  “Oh,” Ramón said, and then he smiled at Amy. “Hey there little one, what’s your name?”

  “Amy,”

  “I am Ramón, Amy; it is very nice to meet you. I would shake your hand, but I’m a little tied up right now.”

  Amy actually smiled.

  Ramón smiled back, a moment later the van made a sharp left, four minutes passed, and then we stopped.

  After the passenger doors opened and shut, we heard brief footfalls and then the side door of the van slid open. I had thought that the windows were blacked-out, but was now shocked to see that it was actually night, the only light came from a crescent moon. Both Ramón and I must have been unconscious for hours, and if we had been on the road all that time, then God only knew where they had taken us. The one called Derek yanked first Ramón, and then myself out of the van and onto hard packed earth, afterward, he glared in at Amy.

  “Toby, why is this little bitch not tied up like the other two?”

  The one called Toby walked over. He was a slightly built man with a round, boyish face and a tiny mouth. He spoke to Derek while looking at the ground.

  “I didn’t need to tie her up; she wasn’t going anywhere, Derek.”

  Derek let out his breath in a huff and climbed in the van to restrain Amy, as the third man moved around to stare down at Ramón and me. He was about six feet tall, like Derek, but he carried an extra twenty pounds of muscle, and his hair was short and black.

  I looked about and saw nothing but flat land in all directions, but then to the west, I made out a small rectangle of light that must have been close to a mile away. It might have been a lit window in a house, but in the darkness, any surrounding features were lost.

  I looked back up, and the third man, the one who had wielded the shotgun, was staring at me in a way that made the lecherous glance Ramón had given me earlier seem like a proud smile from a favorite uncle.

  Ramón had been admiring me, this man was inventorying me, and as his tongue crept out and wet his lower lip, I knew that he planned to do more than simply get rid of me.

  The man stopped his staring and spoke.

  “Derek, you and Toby take this dude and the kid and drop ‘em in the old well out there.”

  The man then reached into a jacket pocket and took out a knife that looked like a switchblade; he held it up.

  “Use your knife, you still got it?”

  “Yeah,” Derek said. “But why don’t I just shoot ‘em?”

  The man pointed to the light in the field, as the knife disappeared back into his pocket.

  “The sound of the gun might carry, might not, but we don’t need any lookie loos coming over to butt in, know what I mean?”

  Derek nodded, “Okay, but what about her?”

  The man smiled down at me.

  “She’ll find her way to the bottom of that well soon enough, but it would be a damn shame to let a piece of ass like this go to waste; she and me, we’re gonna spend a little quality time in the van first.”

  Ramón spat at the man, while shifting his feet beneath him.

  “You are a piece of shit. What kind of man rapes women and harms children?”

  The man wiped the spit off his chin and then reared back a foot to kick Ramón. Ramón then launched himself at the man and the two of them slammed against the side of the van and into the dirt.

  Derek pulled Ramón off the other man and began kicking him repeatedly. I screamed at him to stop, while Amy began crying. Finally, the beating ended and Ramón rolled over to me. He was bleeding from his mouth and his nose and I knew that the repeated kicks to his midsection must have caused damage, but when I looked into his eyes, he winked.

  A second later, I felt something hard strike my thigh, when I looked down I saw the knife, and realized that he had taken it from the man’s pocket as they struggled in the dirt.

  I shifted over and plucked it from the dirt; it took two tries though, because my hand was swollen from being swatted with the shotgun. I had just managed to palm it, when the third man pulled me up on my feet by yanking on my ponytail. The next thing I knew, I was landing atop the plywood floor of the van.

  “Remember Derek, no guns, stick that pig with your knife until he begs you to stop and then cut his throat.”

  “My pleasure,” Derek said, and then I heard the sounds of them moving away, toward the left.

  I explored the knife with my thumb and found a button. I was right; it was switchblade.

  The man climbed in the van and then turned to slide the door shut. As tempting as it was to attack him then, I knew it would end in defeat. If he cried out while his companions were still nearby, they would simply rush the van before I could even cut myself free. I had to bide my time, let them get out of hearing range, and then take-out this one and get to them before they could harm Amy or Ramón.

  The man let out a low whistle. “Damn, you are one sweet piece.”

  He reached out and ripped my top off. It was just a white, sleeveless cotton shirt and it tore away easily. Next, he tried to rip my bra in two, but the thick stitching of the middle part of the front stymied his efforts, and he finally just broke the thin straps and pulled on it, until the hooks at the back gave way. He then tossed the new rag aside and gazed down at my breasts.

  I asked him a question.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  “Hell yes!”

  “That’s good, because they’re the last things you’re ever going to see.”

  I pressed the button on the knife and thrust it upward until the point of the blade pierced the flesh beneath his chin, and as he opened his mouth to scream, I could see the long thin blade poking out of his ruptured tongue and continue into the roof of his mouth.

  He grabbed at me blindly, as I had his head tilted back and his eyes were closed tight in reaction to the agony of the blade. I then twisted the knife hard and a choked cry issued from him that sounded more like a wheeze than a scream, afterward, I withdrew the knife and shifted it around to cut the plastic restraints that bound my wrists and ankles. I nearly dropped it twice because my hands were wet from my attacker’s blood.

  It took me only three seconds to realize that by the time I cut through my bonds, it would be too late for Amy and Ramón.


  Meanwhile the man had fallen out of the van and was crawling around in the dirt without purpose, and I briefly wondered if the blade had somehow damaged his optic nerve. I shuffled out of the van and searched the cab. On the passenger seat, I spied the shotgun; it was a 10 gauge with double triggers, lying beside it, was the satchel full of money.

  I grabbed the shotgun off the seat and used an end of it to blow the horn three times, praying that the unexpected sound would halt the planned violence taking shape out in the darkness. I then tossed the gun back onto the seat and began cutting away at my restraints. It took nearly a minute to free myself, and I had just enough time to grab the shotgun and scramble beneath the van, as the sound of tentative footfalls reached my ears.

  “Mike?” A voice whispered. “Mike, why did you blow the horn?”

  Mike must be the name of my would-be rapist, who wriggled near the van like a wounded worm, as a soft moan dripped from his shredded mouth.

  A shape emerged from the deeper shadows and then three more, and I was so happy to see Amy and Ramón unharmed that I nearly cried out in joy.

  The first shadow grew closer and I could see that it was Derek; he had his gun out and was jerking his head this way and that, when he suddenly stopped and cried out.

  “Mike! Shit man, what happened?”

  As he walked closer, I took aim with the shotgun and pulled hard on the right trigger. The shot caught Derek in the chest and knocked him off his feet, and the recoil nearly dislocated my shoulder while causing my ears to ring, and my already aching head to throb.

  As I moved out from beneath the van, Ramón headbutted Toby and sent the little man sprawling on his ass. I passed Ramón the knife as I walked over and shoved the barrel of the shotgun against Toby’s stomach.

  “Move and you’re dead.” I said. At least I think I did, with the ringing in my ears, the only word I was able to make out was “dead”.

  After cutting himself and Amy free, Ramón checked on Derek. He then looked over at me and shook his head, afterward; he searched Toby for weapons and came up with my .38 and his Desert Eagle. He then took off his shirt and handed it to me. He was already a mass of bruises from the kicks he received.

  “Not that I mind the view...” He said.

  I snatched the shirt and wriggled into it; with all the chaos and adrenaline, I had forgotten I was topless.

  Amy ran over and hugged me. “Are you alright Aunt Blue?”

  “I’m fine baby, what about you?”

  She nodded her head and pointed down at Toby.

  “He wouldn’t let the other man hurt me.”

  “That’s true.” Ramón said. “He had just shoved the other man away from her when you blew the horn.”

  “Where the hell are we?” I asked Toby.

  “Just south of Lubbock, off of route 87,” He said.

  A moan came from behind us; it was Mike. I told Toby to get to his feet and to load Mike into the back of the van. He did as I said, and afterward, Ramón secured both of them with plastic restraints discovered in the glove box.

  Then, I found a cell phone in a cup holder.

  “Hello?” She sounded lost.

  “It’s me Becca, but hold on, someone wants to talk to you.”

  I passed the phone to Amy and a few moments later, heard her say, “Don’t cry mama, I’m fine, Aunt Blue saved me.”

  When Amy passed the phone back, Becca still sounded tearful.

  “Thank you, Blue, oh God, thank you,”

  “You’re welcome, but I didn’t do it alone, I had help from a mysterious stranger.” I said, and then sent Ramón a wink with my one good eye.

  Then the police came on the line and I explained what had happened and told them our approximate location. They said that they would send a cruiser and an ambulance to find us.

  Ramón opened the satchel and looked inside.

  “I don’t suppose you would let me slip away with this, huh Chica?”

  I smiled. “Chico, you do whatever you want.”

  He closed the bag up and sat it on the floor.

  “Hey Blue?”

  “Yes?”

  “You are one tough mama, you know that?”

  I hugged Amy tighter and kissed the top of her head.

  “I do what I have to do.”

  “We all do Chica, we all do,” Ramón said, and then he leaned back against the seat and went to sleep.

  BLUE STEELE – CAPTURE #4

  I was wearing a red dress and looking quite hot, if I do say so myself,

  It was the kind of dress my mother would call haughty naughty and my father would have never let me leave the house in.

  The dress made me feel like a tart and the high heels were killing my feet, but if I wanted to blend in with my surroundings, I couldn’t wear my usual jeans and boots.

  I was at the premiere for an art exhibit in the richest part of Fort Worth, and I was playing bodyguard to a real estate investor named Ernesto Roberts. Ernesto had recently had a dispute with a land developer named Chaney who turned out to be mob connected and the man was not happy how things had turned out. Words were exchanged, threats made, and three days ago, Ernesto’s car had been destroyed by a homemade bomb that detonated when Ernesto started his car remotely. Had Ernesto started the car while inside it, he would have been killed instantly.

  Ernesto went to the police and they told him that there was nothing they could do, because there was no way to prove that the car had been bombed by Chaney. They also pointed out that had Chaney actually been the one who wanted him dead, then maybe he should count himself lucky that Chaney had failed. The thinking being that the failed attempt would make Chaney less likely to go after him a second time, now that the cops were looking at him.

  Ernesto doubted that scenario, because the land deal that he had bested Chaney on was worth over three million, and the destruction of an eighty thousand dollar car hardly seemed even.

  Despite the fact that Chaney vehemently denied having anything to do with trying to kill him, Ernesto expected trouble, and that’s why I was by his side.

  Ernesto Roberts was wearing a two thousand dollar tux. He was fifty-four, divorced, with hair dyed dark and a face taut from strategic nips and tucks. I was twenty-eight, wearing a sexy dress and heels while walking at his side. We looked like nearly every other couple in the place, older man, younger woman.

  While playing bodyguard was not my favorite work, I did take it on occasionally if the money was right. The money was very right this time and, as the evening wore on and nothing happened, I began to think of it as easy money.

  I should have known better.

  When the trouble came, it had nothing to do with Ernesto. It came in the form of three armed, masked men dressed in black.

  The first one to enter fired a shot into the ceiling, while shouting, “Get down on the floor, now!”

  When no one moved, he shot the event’s lone security guard in the chest.

  A second later, everyone was on the floor, and a great many of them were whimpering.

  The shooter’s black T-shirt had a white number one on the front, while the other men wore the numbers two and three on theirs.

  The shooter’s companions carried two duffle bags each, a red one and a blue one. As thug number two went right and number three left, we were instructed to throw our wallets and jewelry in the blue duffle and our phones in the red.

  I was down on the floor when thug number two approached Ernesto and me.

  As I said, my dress was haughty naughty and my girls were practically spilling out of it as I lay on the floor. Even as he gathered the belongings of the people near us, I could see the bandit’s eyes leering at my breasts, meanwhile, my eyes were coveting the gun on his hip, even from the small amount of it that I could see protruding from its holster, I could tell that it was a semi-automatic Glock.

  When it was our turn to hand over our belongings, I tossed my phone in the red bag and then sat up on my knees. The movement not only made
my breasts jiggle, but now my face was also level with the thief’s crotch. As he gazed at me with a look of longing on his face, I reached into my purse as if to retrieve my wallet, took out my .38, and shot him in the right leg.

  The wounded man fell beside me and I used him as a shield as I yanked the gun from his holster and fired at the man who had shot the security guard. My second shot just missed hitting him in the head and he backed out into the hall.

  As I ducked behind the man I had shot, I felt him tremble, even as a cry escaped him.

  He had been hit by friendly fire, as the third man closed in steadily. I stuck my gun under the wounded man’s chin and backed up toward the rear hallway, where the rest of the guests were already fleeing in panic.

  The third man seemed to have no regard for his partner, as he kept firing in our direction. My human shield was struck at least three times and as his knees began to buckle, I struggled to hold him in front of me.

  It was a losing battle. The man outweighed me by eighty pounds and I was still holding a gun in each hand. I let go of the man, fired off a shot, and dived behind a statue. When I peeked out to see where my assailant was, I saw him running away with the two blue bags in his hand and the red bags with the phones were sitting abandoned on the floor.

  Next, I heard the ping of the elevator, but when I reached the hallway, the elevator car was already at the basement level, where the cars were parked.

  I rushed back inside and stared down at the dying bandit. He was lying in a spreading puddle of blood. I reached down and pulled the hood off his head and he gasped in pain. He was white and average looking, but his teeth were yellow.

  “Who are your partners? Where can I find them?”

  “The bastard who shot me; his name is Joe Cordell.”

  I saw movement from the right. It was Ernesto, creeping toward me with a fascinated, but frightened look on his face, behind him, men and women peeked in from the hallway, and outside, came the sound of sirens.

  “And what about the other man, the one who shot the guard?”

  “He... he goes by the name Jones and you can find them at—”