Ransom of Brownie

by Bevill, C. L.

  It wasn’t the same.

  Bubba frowned. They both re-read the flyer. The letters had been cut from other flyers or magazines or something and carefully glued on the Piggly Wiggly flyer. The message careened through the sales in a way that indicated that the person was as needy of reading glasses as Bubba. “We have Brownie Snoddy,” the first part said. “Collect $1 million dollars” (sic) “in $10s, $20s, and 5 rolls of quarters.” The last part had been handwritten in small block letters because they had run out of space, and the cut-out letters were too big to fit. They concluded with “No police. We’ll contact you.”

  Miz Demetrice’s head came up, and she looked at her only son. Her expression was grave. “It’s true. Brownie’s been kidnapped.”

  Chapter 2

  Tuesday, November 12th

  Brownie and the Kidnappers

  Brownie had a very strong suspicion that he had been kidnapped. His suspicion occurred when two masked men grabbed him off the lane and tossed him in the back of a rusting panel van. They might have been kidnappers, but they were of the incompetent sort. They tripped over their feet, forgot to tie his hands securely, and one had to take the pantyhose off his head in order to breathe properly.

  “This hose is like burlap,” Kidnapper One said, pulling the material over his nose and gasping loudly.

  “Shuddup,” Kidnapper Two said.

  “But I’ll get a terr’ble rash ifin I keep this on,” Kidnapper One protested. “I’ll get them little red bumps that itch like a horde of mosquitos done found a buffet, and I’ll have to go to the doc ifin I ignore it.”

  Kidnapper Two said, “Don’t want the boy to identify us so keep it on.”

  “You aren’t perverts are you?” Brownie asked while he registered what the kidnappers were wearing. Kidnapper One had blue jeans, a white shirt, and a belt with a belt buckle that said TOM on it. Kidnapper Two had the initials LB tattooed on his right forearm and the tattoo of a mermaid on his left forearm.

  Brownie had a friend named Janie. Janie was two years younger, and she came from a family of cops. She had forgotten more about guns, knives, and weapons than Brownie would ever learn. She also had memorized three entire police manuals on proper investigatory techniques. (Three! And with tons of big words, too!) It was a cause for great admiration. Janie’s only failing was that she was a girl, but he would never tell her that. In any case, Janie would have laughed her tushie off at the two inept kidnappers and their trail of clues as large as boulders. They might as well have handed their driver’s licenses to him.

  Initially, Brownie had been alarmed. Who wouldn’t have been alarmed to be grabbed and tossed in a van? His mother had warned him many times not to take candy from strangers, not to go down dark streets, to always wear underwear without holes, which he still didn’t understand, and to never, ever, ever walk by a van without windows. Truth be told, Brownie hadn’t walked past the van without windows. It had been hidden behind a stand of oaks, and the two men had jumped out at him. One had thrown him over a shoulder and jogged to the panel van. Then Two had assisted in the tossing into the van.

  They had duct taped Brownie’s mouth shut before he could start asking questions. One was particularly loquacious and more than adequately informative. “We ain’t perverts. You’re being kidnapped,” One said. “We aim to get some of that Confederate gold money from the Snoddys. We couldn’t get Miz Demetrice, and they seem to like you, seeing as though they keep having you over.”

  Two stared intently at Brownie. “You don’t have that stun gun, do you, boy?”

  Brownie shook his head. The stun gun had been appropriated by his father as soon as his parents announced the impending pregnancy. (Like Brownie would shock his mother or a baby. Brownie knew full well he would have to wait until the baby was at least five or six years old before he could shock them.) (And did he need to bring up the whole “babies come from a stork” thing? Brownie thought he’d had the Santa Claus-Easter Bunny-Tooth Fairy thing straightened out until Ma and Pa had said a baby was on the way. Then Pa had explained that Ma was carrying the baby inside her tummy. That’s where it would stay until it came out around the beginning of January. So what had happened to the frickin’ stork? Brownie was very sure that a stork wasn’t going to come out of his mother’s tummy holding a baby swaddled up in a big handkerchief. Pretty sure, anyway. Ma’s tummy is getting dang big, though.)

  “Okay then,” Two said. “T-uh-hey, you take the note up to the front door and make sure it don’t blow away. Anyone awake up there, boy?”

  Brownie nodded. Miz Adelia was up and making pancakes. Also Brownie had heard Bubba shuffling about upstairs. Precious and Bogie had been trying to eat a whiptail around the side of the mansion. Precious had gotten to it before Bogie had, and Bogie looked rightly upset. (Whiptails weren’t cinnamon rolls but maybe they tasted like chicken. It made Brownie make a future note to himself. It was conceivable that Scout Leader Marlon Tarterhouse would be open to experimentation with survival-type foods. Once they had eaten snake, and it had tasted just like chicken. Even Colonel Sanders would have been impressed.)

  “Hurry then and take that note. Sneaky-like, T-uh-um, just T.”

  One or T-uh-um-just-T or Tom, according to the belt buckle, hurried off while Two checked Brownie’s arms and then tied Brownie’s ankles. Two kept talking while he worked, “As I’ve said, you’re being kidnapped and all, kid. We won’t hurt you. We’re just gonna keep you until they pay the ransom. It’ll be like a little vacation for you. No school. No parents. I’ll let you watch television all night if you’ve a mind, and I’ll even let you watch a PG-13 movie. No R ones, though. We have to have our limitations.”

  “Mmmce mmeam?” Brownie murmured hopefully. It was at that point that his alarm dissipated. The two were ham-fisted and didn’t seem to want to hurt him. The whole point of holding a hostage for money seemed to be escaping them. Kidnapped victim, not guest. (Brownie could barely feel the rope around his wrists. It seemed like a shameful waste to be tied up in such a shoddy fashion.)

  “What’s that, boy? Ice cream?” Two guessed. “Shore. We got both kinds. Chocolate and vanilla.”

  One came back after five minutes and leaned over huffing and puffing. “Think I’m-hawww-getting a-hawww-rash.”

  “You leave the note?”

  “Shore-hawww.”

  “Good Lord, man, you should get more exercise.”

  “I bin-hawww-running on account that-hawww-them peoples in town-hawww-are getting smarter when I pick their pock-hawww-ets. Also I got-hawww-asthma. Where’s my inhaler-hawww?”

  Brownie was lying on something he thought might be an inhaler. How about that?

  “You should start jogging,” Two advised. “I use the treadmill every day. Two miles uphill.” He thumped his chest. “I ain’t out of breath.” He looked down at One’s feet. “Say, boy. You’re missin’ a shoe.”

  “Them dogs nearly et me up-hawww. I had to throw a-hawww-shoe at them. Mebe-hawww-we should get on outta here.”

  Two looked around. “Mebe so.”

  A few minutes later the paneled van was on the road. One was driving. Brownie couldn’t tell where they were going, but One and Two kept up a commentary.

  “There goes his bus.”

  “Ain’t they gonna miss him too soon?”

  “Naw. They’ll wait until it gets to school. Then they’ll drink coffee. Then they’ll wait for the Snoddys to call them and say the kid’s sick or something. Then they’ll call the Snoddys and by that time, Bubba and the old woman will be out of the house. Half the time the housekeeper don’t answer the phone. It’ll be until they find the note or until the school bus comes back by without him before they realize something’s amiss. Watch out for that truck. Damn Stinedurf. How many wives does that man need?”

  “He needs at least three, I reckon. Do you think they all sleep in the same bed at the same time?”

  “Hush, there’s a child back there, T-uh, T. You’re gonna give him all kinds of idears
.”

  Brownie already had “idears.” Being kidnapped could be very interesting. It was true he wasn’t very happy lately. He missed his mother and his father, and he was worried about his mother. He didn’t know what a “detached amniotic sac” was or why “increased blood pressure” would hurt her, but she wasn’t feeling up to snuff. As a matter of fact, his mother was rather sedate lately. She lay in bed and read magazines about antiques and surfed the net on her Droid. She hummed, and she was knitting dozens of booties that didn’t match one another because she couldn’t really knit. She hadn’t yelled at him for weeks. It was weird.

  When his father drove him over to Pegramville, Brownie tried to argue about it, but Fudge was adamant. “It’s only for two months, boy,” his father had said. “After your ma gives birth, everything will okay, and you kin come he’p with the baby. Gonna teach you how to change diapers in a minute flat. Don’t worry about the smell of the poopoo. You get used to it.” The fact that his father had turned green and gagged while thinking about it didn’t help Brownie adjust to the idea.

  Getting used to the smell of a baby’s poop didn’t sound good. Brownie had discussed it with his friend, Pierce Nordwall. Pierce had three younger brothers and one sister, so he was an expert on peculiar infant-instigated aromas. “You never get used to that smell,” Pierce advised him. “Get a nose clip. It’s like bean-broccoli-popcorn farts, except worse. And it comes out like soft serve at the Dairy Queen. Sometimes it’s green. Seriously, just wait until they figure out how to undo their diapers and they do artwork with the poop and you have to clean it up.”

  Upon searching the Internet, Brownie had discovered that there was a surgery that would remove his ability to smell but he didn’t think he could afford it on his allowance. A nose clip would have to do.

  “Ulp,” said One. “There’s Sheriff John. Pretend not to be a-hawww-kidnapper.”

  “Don’t duck, stupid!” Two yelled. “You’re driving!”

  “It’s okay. He’s driven past. Must be on his way to a donut. Hawww-hawww-hawww.”

  “You need your dang inhaler.”

  “Hey, it’s dime night at Grubbo’s Tavern. Hawww.”

  “I believe Grubbo’s new waitress is a transvestite and a Republican.”

  “Well, which one gives you a bigger problem?”

  “I’d have to think about it.”

  One began a commentary about the evils of the Republican Party. Then he threw in some evils of the Democratic Party. For sheer orneriness, he threw in some from the Tea Party.

  Brownie frowned. He didn’t understand the whole politics thing. And what was a transmission-ite anyway? How could a waitress have something to do with an automobile part? Were they…robot waitresses? That was something else he would have to investigate later. First, there was this whole kidnapping thing. Honestly, it didn’t seem like either man wanted to hurt Brownie. After all, the tossing into the van was more like placing carefully down on the bed.

  Two turned and looked at Brownie with concern. “You all right, boy?”

  “Mmm-uh.”

  “Well, okay then. We’ll get Taco Bell later. You like tacos, right?”

  Brownie did like tacos. What kid didn’t like tacos? He nodded.

  By the time they slowed down and turned onto a road, Brownie had a very good idea where they were located. After all, One made mention of just about every local landmark and what local foolishness had occurred there. “Hey you recollect when Lloyd Goshorn peed on that statue of Colonel Snoddy?” “Them goats at the Boomer Farm gives me the whirly-whistling-creepies. Jed Tankersley tried to kidnap one, but it was so stiff he couldn’t shut the trunk. Hawww-hawww-hawww.” “Is that BuyMeQuik goin’ out of business? Ain’t no wonder on account that their bread is week old bread. Rob Longbow broke one of his teeth on that bread. Mebe we should stock up on bread.” “We best take that big OPEN NOW! sign down so ain’t nobody come in for parts and such. Did you know once Jasper Dukeminer painted over the OPEN with the word FART?”

  Brownie chuckled under the duct tape. That was pretty good.

  “I’ll get the gate.” One got out with only a brief wheeze.

  Two looked back at Brownie again. Brownie had been craning his neck to see what he could see out of the front windshield. He saw a large gate that had concertina wire wrapped around the top. Everything was rusted a deep brownish-red. Further on were piles of dark-colored items. One punched a code into a control panel mounted on a pole next to the gate and then punched a large red button.

  Brownie put his head back down as soon as Two turned his head. 1-2-3-4 is the stupidest code ever, he thought.

  “Listen, boy,” Two said somberly, “there ain’t no way for you to escape. We got dogs. Dobermans. Big fat snarling Dobermans. They ate part of the UPS man last week. I dint know a fella could run without part of his foot, but he did, all the way back to his brown van. We got the dogs to throw up so they could reattach the toes at the hospital.”

  That’s cool. How do you get a dog to throw up?

  “They’re man eaters, all right,” Two confirmed in a serious voice. “Hell, I don’t go out there without my billy club. And fast suckers, too. They could chase down a cheetah. Betcha. But in case you get any idears, there’s also booby traps everywhere. Yeah.”

  What kind? I mean, give me the details. Don’t leave me hanging.

  “Bear traps that will snap your little legs in half,” Two detailed. “They got metal teeth on them three inches long and I’m betting your calves ain’t but two.” He let that sink in, then added, “Then there’s bombs. Blow your little butter bean butt up into the sky so high an air traffic controller will have to get you down. I used to be in the military, just like Bubba Snoddy, so I know my bombs.”

  Bubba dint mess with no bombs. He messed with the motor pool and the motors therein. Aside from that, I saw the book about improvised munitions Miz Demetrice had. Right before she snatched it away and hid it. So cool. Dogs, traps, and bombs. My kind of place.

  “So ifin you miss the dogs, the traps, and bombs, there’s the snakes. Black snakes that hide in shadows. Nasty tempered snakes,” Two said carefully. “Poisonous, too. Them fellas have a bite that will rot your guts out. Make ‘em fall out one day while you’re minding your own bizness, right into your lap, and you’ll be all ‘What?’”

  What? A snake bite won’t make your guts fall out. But still, big black snakes that hide in shadows. That’s purty cool, too. Wait, why don’t them snakes bite the dogs? And why don’t them snakes and dogs set off the traps and bombs?

  “And if you’re wondering why the snakes don’t bite the dogs, it’s because they’re trained snakes. Trained in India by master snake charmers. You have to know the right words in order to get past them. They’re like ninja snakes. You ain’t goin’ know they was there until your leg starts burning from the bites. That’s also why they don’t set off the traps and the bombs.”

  I’m beginning to think that this fella tells the same stories about the stork, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and the Tooth Fairy as my parents. Brownie was skeptical. He smelled bullhockey. He had smelled that distinctive aroma before and knew it well.

  One climbed back in and drove the van through the gates.

  And so why don’t the snakes and the dogs run through the gate while it’s open?

  “And if you’re wondering why the snakes and the dogs don’t run through the gate, it’s because they’re super-duper trained,” Two threw back at Brownie, “by them same masters in India.”

  “What dogs?” One asked, and Two punched One in the shoulder.

  “Oww, oh, them dogs, right,” One said. “I forgot on account that they’re like little stealth dogs. You’ll be minding your bizness, looking for a 1999 Ford Focus transmission and wham, there they are, looking at you with their little beady black eyes, ready to rip out your ba-uh-britches.”

  “Red eyes,” Two corrected.

  “Right, red eyes like the devil is looking at you.”

>   I suspect there ain’t any dogs, traps, snakes or bombs. Too bad.

  One stopped the van again and got out. “Got to close that gate before some unsuspecting soul wanders in and gets et by dogs, snakes, and bears.”

  Bears. Right. I bet there aren’t bears everywhere.

  Two turned back to Brownie. “And if you do escape, you need to know that we’ll come after your family. It’ll be just like that part outta the movie, The Godfather, except without the horse’s head.” Two’s face crinkled under the pantyhose. “I don’t reckon Miz Demetrice would have let you see that one, so you gotta imagine it would be something very, very, very bad. I bet you could imagine something very, very, very bad, right boy?” Brownie could, so he nodded, and Two tacked on, “So you gotta promise not to escape, right, kid?”

  Escape. Brownie sat up and looked around. Outside the van was the biggest junkyard he’d ever seen. There were car parts and cars and was that a cannon?, boat parts, and there was an old Chevy Camaro mounted on top of a giant pole that advertised that it was a junkyard. It was piles upon piles of the most interesting things he could think of. There was a line of rusting porta-potties standing like brave soldiers. There was a pile of plastic chemical bottles to one side. There was a pile of rusted axes and mauls and sharp, pointy things he longed to caress with his hot little fingers. There were tringlers and fuzzles. There were pantookas, dafflers, and wuzzles. In Brownie’s estimation, a rainbow would have ended at the junkyard and he would have skipped in with glee in his thudding black heart.

  If Brownie’s hands weren’t poorly tied, he would have clapped with utter delight. Escape? Who would be that stupid?

  Chapter 3