by Beth Flynn
“Why not?” I thought as I tried to mentally guess his age. He was older than me, but I didn’t think he was an old guy. I closed my book and stood up.
“Well, I guess it’d be okay. I live off Davie Boulevard, just west of I-95. Is that out of your way?”
“No problem at all.”
He tossed his Coke in a garbage can, came back over to me and held my bag open while I stowed my library book away. He made some comment about how my satchel was probably heavier than I was. He walked toward his motorcycle and grabbed his helmet, which had been hanging on the handlebar, and gave it to me. I put my bag on my back, took the helmet from him and put it on. It was loose, so he tightened the strap under my chin.
He swung a leg over the bike, started it up and then stood. I realized he was standing to make it easy for me to get on behind him, which I did with no problem. He revved the engine and I felt a little thrill at being on the back of a motorcycle with an older guy. I wasn’t the type to care, but for a second or two I actually hoped someone I knew might see me. How prophetic that thought seemed much later. I yelled that I was going to have him drop me at Smitty’s Bar and asked if he knew where it was on Davie Boulevard. He nodded yes.
I guess that was the moment I was officially abducted.
We started out in the direction I’d told him. At a red light he turned and asked if I was enjoying the ride. I nodded yes and he said very loudly that he was going to take a different route to give me a little longer ride. Not to worry though, he would get me safely to Smitty’s. I didn’t worry. Not even for a second. I was enjoying myself too much.
It wasn’t until we were on State Road 84 heading west and missed the right turn onto U.S. 441 that I felt my first stirring of fear. It was then I realized I didn’t even know his name, and that with all the small talk and questions he had for me at the 7-Eleven, he’d never even asked mine. That suddenly struck me as very weird.
I leaned up so my mouth was near his ear and shouted, “Hey, this is the really long way around. I have to be home soon or my parents will be worried.”
He never acknowledged that he heard me.
I leaned back against the backrest on the motorcycle. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic. My bag was still on my back, and I could feel the library books digging into me through the thin fabric. It was then that I noticed his jacket for the first time.
It was a skull with a sinister smile and what appeared to be some kind of horns. A naked woman, somehow tastefully covered, was draped seductively across the top of the skull. She had dark brown hair with bangs and big brown eyes. As I peered closer, I saw she was wearing a brown peace choker. I raised my hand to my neck. It looked just like mine. Before I could ponder that strange coincidence I looked lower. To my horror, I noticed the name embossed beneath the morbid design.
Satan’s Army.
* * *
Chapter Two
I’d soon find out I was nothing more than a thank-you gift after a long initiation ritual.
I sat in the rickety lawn chair and surveyed my surroundings. I clutched my bag to my chest as I tried to adjust my eyes to the dimming light. There was a campfire and a hodgepodge circle of people surrounding it. I can’t remember now if I couldn’t make out their faces in the waning light or if I was too frightened to notice. I knew where I was but wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it. I’d started praying as soon as I realized the seriousness of my predicament. I should’ve taken my chances when there were more people and cars around. I should’ve risked jumping off a moving motorcycle. It would have been better than what I faced now.
I remember starting to physically shake when the reality hit me as we’d made our way west on State Road 84.
These days 84 is updated and modernized, but in 1975 it was an underdeveloped two-way road. Today it runs parallel to a super highway, I-595, that takes you from the Everglades to the beach in a matter of minutes with all kinds of development in between—houses, schools, shopping centers and gas stations. In ’75, it was the highway to hell, famous for its head-on collisions. It had little to no turnoffs with the exception of a little bar called Pete’s.
When we passed Pete’s I felt the nausea rising in my stomach. I knew there was nothing beyond it except the entrance to the deathtrap highway called Alligator Alley that connected the two Florida coasts. I thought the Miccosukee Indian Reservation was out there somewhere, but I didn’t have a clue where.
It was getting dark and there were no other headlights in sight. About ten minutes after passing Pete’s, we slowed and made a right onto a dirt road. I noticed some dim lights for the first time. Just a little way off the road, and barely visible due to the growing brush, was an old motel.
It was one of those little fifteen- or twenty-unit motels with old jalousie windows. It had an unlit sign identifying it as the Glades Motel. I hoped maybe it was still in business. A working motel might be good. Someone had to be running it. This might be my chance to explain I had made a mistake and ask to use the phone.
I guess it was originally built with the intention of giving travelers a place to stop in the middle of nowhere, but for whatever reason, it couldn’t stay in business. As we pulled into the pitted and worn-down parking lot, I saw old gas pumps off to the right. It was obvious they were no longer in use. A couple of rooms had lights on, but what looked like the office showed no signs of life.
As we passed the old gas pumps I looked to my left and noticed a group of people between the motel and us. They were sitting around a dying campfire among the rusty old swings, slide and an antiquated carousel. It looked like a picnic and playground area that had seen better days. On the other side of the playground looked like a pool area. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought it looked like it didn’t have any water in it.
We circled to our left, and I noticed about six or seven motorcycles scattered in front of the units. He pulled up next to one and cut the engine. That’s when I heard them.
It was a mixture of laughter, cursing and what sounded like two women arguing. I thought I heard Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride” coming from somewhere.
He stood up and said, “Get off.”
I stood on the foot pegs and swung my leg over. My legs almost buckled, probably from a combination of the ride and fear, but I caught myself. I adjusted my backpack and stood straight. I figured the best way to deal with this was with confidence. I was scared to death, but darn if I was going to show it. He put the kickstand down and got off the bike.
“So, how long before you can give me a ride back?” I asked. I sounded a little too perky even to my own ears.
He didn’t reply. He looked straight at me and gave me a smile that was born from pure evil. Was that the smile I’d seen at the 7-Eleven? I couldn’t remember. How could I have not noticed it then? The realization of my situation hit me like a lead bullet.
I remembered once when Delia and Vince weren’t home and one of his supposed friends stopped by. He’d convinced me to let him in the house to use the phone.
“You can trust me, sweetheart. I’m a friend of Vinny, your stepdaddy.”
That should’ve been a red flag. Nobody called Vince by the nickname Vinny. I’d released the deadbolt and as I was leading him toward the kitchen, where our only phone was mounted to the wall, he grabbed me by the back of my hair and threw me on the cracked linoleum floor. That’s when I knew true fear. I’d felt a heat slowly work its way up my spine.
Before anything could happen there was a loud pounding on the front door. It was our neighbor, Guido. That was his real name. Well, that was the name he told us. Vince was convinced Guido was some Mafia guy in the Witness Protection Program. He didn’t fit into our neighborhood at all. He was a total bully, and now he was loudly complaining because Vince’s friend had parked on his lawn.
That’s what Guido did. He sat on his front porch and waited for someone to do something wrong so he could assert himself. Normally I disliked Guido, but at that moment, his big mout
h and heavy New York accent were music to my ears.
The mystery man, who never mentioned his name, had flipped me on my back and was sitting on my stomach with one hand over my mouth and the other holding both of my hands over my head. He was yelling for Guido to go away and that he’d move his truck when he damn well pleased. It wasn’t until Guido threatened to call the police that the man let go of my hands and jumped off me in one swift movement.
He told me if I ever told anyone what happened he would come back and finish what he’d started. I told him it would just be our secret. I wouldn’t say a word. I wasn’t hurt. No harm done. I would never tell. He could trust me.
I told. The minute Delia and Vince got home I told, and they called the police. After I described him and Guido described his truck, Vince knew who he was. Some low-life drifter named Johnny Tillman, who’d been hanging out at my parents’ local haunt, Smitty’s Bar on Davie Boulevard. He wasn’t a friend of Vince’s, but he’d had enough conversations with him to learn his name. How he’d known about me, I had an idea. I’d never seen him before, but he may have seen me. When I couldn’t get a ride from my friends, sometimes I’d walk from the school bus stop to Smitty’s to wait for Delia or Vince to give me a ride home. They could be counted on to stop in for a beer most days. The owner was a real nice lady. I’d sit in the corner and do homework, and she’d give me an orange soda and French fries on the house.
Now, standing in the middle of nowhere, Steppenwolf playing and motorcycle guy still smiling evilly, I was so paralyzed with fear I couldn’t even remember her name. But one thing I wish I could forget was Delia’s remark after that incident: “How can someone as smart as you do something so ridiculously dumb?”
Back then, I’d tried to reason my way out of it: “But Delia, he knew Vince.” I’d even tried to convince myself the man seemed familiar. But that was a lie. She was right. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever done.
Until an hour ago.
Now all I could think was, “You’re on your own, girlie. No Guido here this time.”
Motorcycle guy grabbed me roughly by the arm and pulled me forward. “C’mon, time to meet your new family.”
Family? I was in too much shock to try to decipher that remark. We walked toward the group of people sitting around a campfire, the noise from earlier slowly fading. As we approached, I heard a long, low whistle and comments coming from all directions.
“Oooh, look what Monster brought us.”
“Hey Monster, thought you liked blondes and gigantic titties.”
“That one’ll bring in a pretty penny. Help pay the bills.”
Then a shrill female voice hissed, “Don’t know what you think you’re doin’ bringing that piece of trash here.”
A very articulate male voice retorted, “What’s the matter, Willow? Afraid Grizz might be interested? Everyone knows he likes brunettes, and I’m pretty sure he’s had his fill of you.”
“Fuck you, Fess, and your momma and your daddy. She’s too scrawny for Grizz and ugly, too.”
Good, let them think I’m scrawny, ugly. Anything to get me out of here.
A gravelly male voice added, “No, she ain’t none of that, Willow. But don’t you worry, honey. You’ve been with Grizz going on two years now. He ain’t ever lasted that long with one woman. I guess it’s really love with you guys.”
That seemed to placate Willow. The exchanges were so quick and the campfire so dim I couldn’t put a face to a voice. My captor roughly plopped me down in a scratchy lawn chair within the group, then took the one beside me. I leaned forward, took my backpack off and placed it in my lap. I realized I wasn’t wearing my poncho and the most ridiculous thought popped into my head that at least my poncho was safe and sound at the library. I wrapped my arms around my bag and started to look around, assessing my surroundings.
That’s when my captor spoke. “Where’s Grizz?”
Monster. I think that’s what someone called him. Monster. God help me.
“He’s here somewhere. Just went in to make a call, I think,” someone answered.
“Why? What you need Grizz for?” snapped Willow.
Monster leaned forward in his chair as if to emphasize his point. “Well, bitch,” he spat, “I want to show Grizz my gratitude for letting me be a member. You know, like with a thank-you gift. And this here is it,” he said, waving his hand in front of my face.
I felt like a prize on some cheesy game show, and Monster was the model showing off the goods. Of course, I couldn’t have been any further away from a soundstage somewhere in California than I was at that moment.
“It being what? Her?” Willow snarled.
My eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dim light, and I finally saw the source of the irritatingly shrill voice. Willow picked this moment to stand up and point at me, the campfire illuminating her. She was small. I couldn’t guess her age, but she was probably younger than she looked. She had mousy blonde hair that hung limply around her face. There was nothing really special about that face, although I thought maybe she’d been really pretty at one time. She had smudged dark makeup under each eye. Her eyebrows were pencil-thin and overly arched, which added to her sinister look. She probably didn’t need expressive eyebrows to achieve that, though. Hard living, probably including some serious drug use, had aged her. Even in the dim light I could see traces of slight acne scars, and her cheekbones were almost too prominent. They stuck out in sharp contrast to the hollowness that had likely been full cheeks at one time. She was wearing a purple tube top and ratty jeans that rested on her bony hips. And she called me scrawny? She had an assortment of dirty macramé and beaded bracelets on both arms. Almost every part of her skin that was showing was covered in tattoos with the exception of her face and hands. I looked down and saw she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her feet and toenails were filthy.
This was Grizz’s woman? Whoever this Grizz was, I wondered if he was into dirty feet.
“Yeah her, Willow. I saw her sitting at the 7-Eleven and thought she looked like the girl on our jacket. Then I saw the damn choker and knew I had to get her for Grizz. Got a problem with that?”
“Damn right I do. He ain’t gonna want her and you and your stupid ass should know better than to bring her here.”
“Well why don’t we let Grizz decide.”
“Let Grizz decide what?”
I was so busy watching the exchange between Willow and Monster I didn’t notice the large man walk up. Startled, I turned my head to the left and was eye level with the zipper of a pair of blue jeans. I slowly raised my eyes and my breath actually caught in my throat.
I thought Monster and his evil smile were something to fear. The man who stood next to me was not only large and impressive in appearance, but I could feel his raw energy and aggression radiating like a beacon. This was a person of authority. This was a person you didn’t mess with.
This was Grizz.
He was the reason I was abducted, and I feared I now belonged to him.
At that moment my mind went in a million directions. I remember hearing snippets of conversation as to why I was there. Apparently Monster, the newest member of this group or gang or whatever they were, had just finished an initiation ritual. This final part wasn’t required, and from what I later learned rarely, if ever, carried out: Kidnapping someone to be presented to the leader as a thank-you gift to do with whatever they wanted.
That was me. The thank-you gift. Now that I thought about it, Monster’s leather jacket looked brand-spanking new. He couldn’t have been part of this group for very long.
Just then my eyes reached Grizz’s, and he was looking down at me. I couldn’t read his expression. He wasn’t classically handsome, but he wasn’t ugly either. He was rugged, hard. Even in the semidarkness I could see he had compelling eyes. He was wearing a T-shirt that had the sleeves ripped off. He was muscular and covered in tattoos. His hair looked dirty blonde or maybe light brown, a little long and unkempt. I couldn’t guess his age. For someone wi
th such authority, he seemed like he should have been older than he looked. But I couldn’t tell.
The dim light and my own fear caused all reason and clarity to leave my brain. I suddenly couldn’t think or feel. I was numb.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He just continued to stare down at me with those eyes. Willow’s voice broke the spell.
“Stupid asshole here thinks you’re gonna want this little scrawny piece of shit, Grizz. I told him you wouldn’t like her. Right, baby? You don’t want her, do ya? The guys can have her, huh? If she’s a gift to you, you can do whatever you want with her, like give her away. Right, baby? And he should know better than to bring someone here. Gonna kick his ass, aren’t ya babe?”
He looked up then and stared at Willow without saying anything. I could see her face, and it had a pleading look. She wouldn’t take her eyes off of him. Just stared with that look of someone who knows they’ve just lost.
She then turned her anger on me. She lunged at me with her hands outstretched. She was going for my neck.
Before she reached me, Grizz grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground with one hand. He had her suspended, and she was kicking her feet. She had both her hands wrapped around his one hand and was trying to pry his fingers loose. Gurgling sounds came from her throat. Without saying a word, he tossed her, and she fell onto one of the flimsy lawn chairs, crushing it beneath her.
A figure rose from the group and went to her. I recognized the gravelly voice from earlier.
“It’ll be okay Willow, honey. He’ll play with her a couple of days and be back in your bed before the weekend is over.” The man tried to help her up but she brushed him off.
“Shut the fuck up, Froggy,” Willow barked. “You don’t know nothin’. I’m supposed to feel better knowing my man is sleeping with that white-trash piece of shit? You just leave me alone. Stop touching me! I can get myself up.”
