by Gina LaManna
“Are you offering tea and crunckets?” Meg asked.
“Crunck-ettes?” he asked.
“She means crumpets,” I added.
“No,” Meg growled. “I’m pretty sure its crunckets.”
“Sure,” I said. “I doubt he’s got them on hand, though.”
“Once again, Lacey is right,” Grease Ball said. “No more talking. The next person who murmurs a word gets a bullet through the foot, which will make the walk back pretty painful.”
It took longer than I expected to make the trek back to his little cabin. Meg must have brought us there at incredibly high speeds the first time, since this time around it felt like we walked for miles.
“Not so easy on foot, is it?” he asked, after Meg tried to take a break and sit on a rock. He nudged her with his gun. “Keep moving.”
Despite his warning glare, I walked over to my friend and extended an arm. Though I couldn’t do much in terms of actually lifting Meg to her feet, the gesture seemed to give her the boost of strength she needed. In fact, it seemed to give her turbo strength; more strength than either of us could actually handle.
She shot right up off the rock and collided straight into my body, crushing me with her weight.
I gasped for air while Grease Ball shouted at us to get up and move it!
“Ugrh,” I gargled, barely able to suck in enough air to keep my lungs inflated.
“I’m taking your phone,” Meg whispered. “Just in case. If I can dial while he’s not looking and keep it in my pocket…”
I tried to tell her that she was squeezing my butt, not my phone, but I didn’t have enough air. Wheezing, I tried to nod or otherwise convey a signal that I had heard her.
“Butt,” I managed.
“But nothing,” Meg said, pulling herself to her feet. She brushed off her vest, and if I hadn’t noticed a sudden weightlessness in my pocket or the twitch of her wrist, I’d have never noticed her slide my little smartphone into one of her nine hundred pockets.
“Thanks,” I said as Meg hauled me up so fast I saw stars blink before my eyes for a few seconds while I regained my balance. “Thanks for helping.”
Meg winked. She understood my message. “Least I could do after I squashed your guts.”
I managed a quick laugh.
“We’re not here to have fun,” Grease Ball growled. “Keep walking. We’re almost there.”
“Not here to have fun?” Meg asked. “What kind of birthday party are you running? Cripes. Last time I checked, fun was a necessary ingredient to any birthday. How about this? You take us off your birthday party list and I’ll take you off my perma-shit list.”
“It’s fair,” I said with a shrug. “Tit for tat.”
“I’m taking tit and tat,” he said. “I don’t negotiate.”
Meg and I exchanged an exasperated glance, but I had newfound hope now that Meg had taken my phone. First of all, I wouldn’t have to lie when he asked me for my device. Second, the phone would be much harder to find in Meg’s pocket collection of car keys, lint balls, peanut brittle, and bottle openers. And if the man dared poke and prod Meg in an attempt to fine a phone, there was a good chance Meg would be able to take him out with an elbow to the head. After all, I estimated Grease Ball’s emaciated frame at about half of Meg’s weight.
If he didn’t decide to manhandle Meg, maybe he’d tie us up and leave us alone for some amount of time. The chances Anthony or Clay had a tracking device implanted somewhere on us was high; if we weren’t back in a reasonable time frame, they could look us up via GPS. And if we were really in luck, maybe we’d be able to wiggle our way into a position where we could actually use the phone to call someone. Unlikely, yes – but not impossible.
We trudged along in silence for the rest of the way. The silence had a slightly less desperate feeling about it, however. My thoughts now whirred with escape tactics and all sorts of scenarios that could potentially play out over the course of the near future.
The first chance we’d have to escape would be when we reached the shack. At the moment, he was focused on maintaining steady aim as we walked, his gun never leaving one or the other’s head. To act now would be foolish. However, when Grease Ball got us to the shack, he’d have to do something. Whether it was open the door, tie us up, or phone a friend, at some point his attention might lapse. I couldn’t yet tell if he was a professional or just a whack job, but I wouldn’t take chances with my life. I was thirty. And thirty was still young!
I didn’t realize I was smiling until Grease Ball, practically foaming at the mouth, growled in my direction.
“What are you smiling at?” His gaze darted between Meg and me.
“I just realized,” I said, still marching forward, “that thirty isn’t that old!”
“That’s the right attitude,” Meg said. “Nothing like the threat of an ol’ bullet in the brain to make you feel young again. At least, that’s what my aunt used to say. She’s the same one who left me the bar money when she died.”
I nodded. “Maybe this whole thing is happening for a reason.”
“Don’t be getting all philosogical on me now,” he said. “I know what you’re trying to do. Distract me.”
“It’s physiological,” Meg said. “Learn English.”
“It’s psychological,” I said. “I can teach you both, if you like.”
“Stop distracting me,” he said. “I learned English just fine when I got here.”
I knew Meg heard his slip of the tongue because she blinked reflexively in surprise. But otherwise, she gave no signal she’d realized anything was fishy. We were getting better at this whole partner-in-crime sort of thing. Pretty soon, we’d be able to read each other’s minds.
Regardless, his words had triggered something. When I got here. The man wasn’t from here. I wasn’t yet sure what to do with that information, but I filed it away for a time in the future when it might come in handy. For example, when Clay showed up with reinforcements and asked what I knew about the man. Clay had to show up. He would notice we were gone – wouldn’t he?
“In you go,” Grease Ball said, his instructions clipped.
To my dismay, he didn’t seem to be lapsing in attention as he flicked the door to the shack open and gestured for us to enter, single file, with his gun. The man didn’t seem to be a consummate professional – after all, he let us get into his head on the way over here, resulting in a slip of the tongue. Maybe if we could keep him talking…
“One false move and one of you gets a bullet. I don’t discriminate between skinny and fat—” Grease Ball started, but he was interrupted by a huge gasp.
The inhalation of breath was a combined effort between Meg and I. Meg wasn’t particularly sensitive about her weight. She was more confident than any lingerie model, and attracted guys left and right. But despite her good looks, she responded harshly to insulting names. And rightfully so.
If the guy didn’t have a gun in my face, I’d punch him for her.
“You didn’t,” Meg said. Her voice was low and menacing, and even I was scared. Meg had been fired from the force for knocking someone out for referring to her physique, and I feared a worse fate for Grease Ball.
Speaking of which, even though he was the one holding a gun, Grease Ball stuttered as he tried to come up with a response. “I didn’t – I mean…” he tried again, clearing his throat and adjusting his gun, as if trying to remind himself who was in charge. “Be quiet, both of you.”
“You’ll pay for this,” Meg said. “You’ll pay, big time.”
Regaining a bit of his former confidence now that he had two unarmed women lined up against the wall of his rickety old shack, Grease Ball smiled. “You think so, huh?”
“I know so,” I said. “I don’t know what’s worse than Meg’s perma-shit list, but I do know you’re on it.”
“I’m so scared,” he said. “Now you, birthday girl – tie your friend up.”
I looked at Meg with hesitation. I hadn’t really expected this part. �
�With what?” I stalled, looking around the cabin for something – anything I could use to get away from this man.
His eyes grew crazier by the second as he tasted the power and felt the anticipation.
“The rope, over there,” he said. He very briefly flicked his gun in the direction of the center of the room.
The shack itself was plain; wind whistled through cracks in the walls and the building itself was rickety enough to fall over with a single huff and a puff from the big bad wolf. Not a single decoration hung on the walls. No telling details were exposed anywhere about the owner of this place – no hockey signs or bottles of beer or any of the normal paraphernalia one would expect from a man cave.
I could still smell the freshly carved pine logs lining the newly built cabin. The smell was a fresh one – an outdoorsy Minnesotan scent that normally meant summer and camping and bonfires. At the moment I was a bit angry that Grease Ball had ruined it for me. Now, the odor turned my stomach with its sickly sweetness.
Mentally repressing my gag reflex, I desperately glanced at the only furniture in the place: a crude chair and a rough table, the latter holding a box. I couldn’t see inside from my current position, but I edged closer, as instructed by Grease Ball. A few steps later, I saw the long rope he referenced with the nose of his gun. I took my time pulling it from the box, looking to see if there was anything else I could use to escape. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see a single thing of value. It appeared to be mostly old grease rags and scraps of cloth. Bummer.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he said. “There’s nothing in there except cloth. I plan on using it to wipe up any accidental messes we might have here.”
“Well, I don’t plan on making any messes,” Meg said. “Speak for yourself.”
“I think he meant that we won’t have a choice,” I said as I approached Meg slowly, holding my hands out so Grease Ball could see my every action. I didn’t want him to perceive any suspicious movement, or any reason to shoot us, for that matter. At least not before we’d tried to escape.
“What messes are you talking abou—oh…” she trailed off, looking up at our captor. “Blood.”
“Your blood, specifically,” he said. “Either one. Like I said, I don’t discriminate.”
I felt Meg’s arm muscles tense as she held her hands behind her back for me to tie her up.
“Turn around so I can see,” he instructed. “And if the knot’s loose enough for her to wiggle a centimeter, I’m firing. And I haven’t decided who I’m starting with.”
I gulped, holding the rope up bluntly before Meg and making meaningful eye contact. “Got it.”
“Why you got that bag of guns over there?” Meg asked. She nodded towards the far corner. Grease Ball whipped his head in the opposite direction, which gave me all the time I needed to set the plan in action – the last minute plan I’d rapidly devised on the walk back from the box of rags.
I’d tried to convey my plan to Meg via a combination of glances and gestures, and apparently it worked. She, too, was ready.
Slipping the rope into the waistband of my yoga pants – the bulge covered by my loose tank top – I quickly switched it out for the rope candy from Meg’s back pocket. When Grease Ball had instructed I tie her up, I’d used the opportunity to poke around at her pockets and feel around for the right one. When I finally landed on the stash containing the roll of licorice rope, she’d created the diversion I needed in order to do the switcheroo.
Thankfully, most of the rope was still intact. I ripped off the bite mark on the end and quickly surveyed the candy. Upon close inspection, it certainly wouldn’t hold up. The licorice was made to look like real rope, but it was sticky and a bit flimsy and overall, quite clearly a piece of candy.
However, it wasn’t meant to hold up in a court of law. Its purpose was as a temporary placeholder – neither Meg nor I were planning to wait until Grease Ball got close enough to smell the sugar. We wanted to escape, and if we accurately balanced proactivity and patience, maybe this little trick could give us the tiniest advantage. Sometimes, it was the little things that made the biggest differences.
When Grease Ball turned back, the only thing he saw was me dutifully tying up my friend. Meg had provided the perfect distraction.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, referencing the perfectly empty corner of the room. Aside from the box of mess rags, there was nothing else in the place. “Guns?”
Meg’s distraction had the additional benefit of partially confirming our suspicions that Grease Ball had been carrying the guns into the shack the other day. If he hadn’t been, he would have just looked confused at Meg’s accusation. However, the alarm in his eyes and the unintentional way he’d started at the word was telling. Not to mention, he’d been waiting for us to come back to his land. Watching for us. We hadn’t even made it into his front yard before he’d attacked us. My mind flicked to Fede’s request during the stakeout for Anthony’s help with the firearms case. Could our captor possibly be involved?
“What are you talking about, guns?” he asked, taking a step closer to Meg.
I finished tying a knot with the licorice rope. It wasn’t an incredibly loose knot. From far away, it could pass for the real deal. But for up close, it wouldn’t get past anyone.
Meg shifted so her hands were hidden, as I took a step away. I kept my hands raised next to my chin.
“I was mistaken,” Meg said. “No guns. In fact, this place is empty. Really, you could do with some decoration in here. If you let us go, I could set you up with a friend. She’s a fabulous interior designer—”
“Where’d you get the idea I had more guns?” he asked, not taking the bait.
“I made it up,” Meg said. “Probably all this stress from being tied up is playing tricks on my mind. Plus, I got the cat to worry about in the car. Not to mention, I was really looking forward to eating some sauce right about now. Do you got anything to eat?”
“I’ll give you one more chance to answer,” he said, the metal in his hand glinting beneath a ray of sunlight peeking through the cracks.
Meg rolled her eyes. “We saw you with a sack of ‘em the other day, genius.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You couldn’t have – I had them…” he trailed off, staring at the ceiling as if retracing his steps back to the first time we’d stumbled on the place.
He didn’t need to finish his sentence. He’d essentially confirmed that a sack of guns was in his possession. “It’s no use lying about it now,” I said. “You thought far too long for me to believe any excuse you come up with.”
“I – no,” he said.
Taking a big step towards us, he tilted the nose of the gun at my forehead. He barely glanced at Meg, which meant our little trick was working. He assumed her hands were tied behind her back, and focused his attention on me.
He stopped his forward march only a few feet from us. “Fine,” he said, with a slight bow. “Have it your way. Yes, I have a bag full of guns. They’re not in here at the moment, but be well aware they’re around.”
“Where are they?” Meg asked.
My eyes, meanwhile, had been scanning the floor. “In the cellar,” I said, pointing towards a hatch that’d been partially hidden under the table in the center of the room. “Am I right?”
“This isn’t twenty-nine questions,” the man growled. “But, since we’re playing this game, you’ll be happy to know I always win. Now you’ve so kindly given me no choice but to kill you, because you couldn’t keep your noses out of business that wasn’t yours.”
“First, it’s twenty-one questions. Second, why do you have the weapons?” I asked. “What are you doing with them?”
“I’m not an amateur. You think I’m going to tell you? Forget it.” He shook his head. “And show me her hands. I need to make sure you actually tied her up.”
No! I wasn’t ready yet. My palms were sweating like mad, my underarms were no better, and a line of perspiration even beaded my forehead. To top it
all off, I could’ve used another layer of deodorant.
One escape plan after another flashed through my brain. I’d been hoping Grease Ball would walk over to inspect Meg’s hands; then, we could rush him and try to get the gun. Because he stood so far back, it was too dangerous to make a run for him – he’d shoot us seven times before we could reach him.
Meg slowly turned around, her hands wrapped in licorice rope behind her back.
“Decent knot,” he said from afar, his eyes glancing at her wrists. “But I want to see you test it. Try to get out. Try hard.”
“Why don’t you look at it up close?” I pressed. “My dad taught me how to tie the knot. I’m actually pretty proud of it.”
He didn’t even blink at the reference to my father, which told me he most likely had no idea who I was. I didn’t have a dad. Or not one I knew about, at least. And if he was familiar with my Luzzi family name, I imagined he would’ve brought up the whole mobster thing.
Chances were slim he’d even tried to figure out my identity after our first visit. Not everyone had a facial recognition system next to the laying desk in their living room.
“I’m not falling for your tricks,” he said. “You, girl, try to get out of the knot.”
Meg put on a valiant display of attempting to fake-maneuver her hands free of the rope. I held my breath; struggle too much, and she’d snap her bindings. Struggle too little, and he’d know we’d cheated.
My heart pumped hard, and I was sure he’d be able to hear my shallow breathing as Meg put on a believable display of grunts and sharp inhalations as she “attempted” to slide her wrists from the bindings. I reminded myself to buy an Oscar trophy and gift it to her on her next birthday. Her performance was stellar.
“Wait a second,” Grease Ball said, standing up and taking a step towards us.
My breath caught in my throat. I watched, the blood pulsing in my ears, as he took one step after another.
“I want to see you pull,” he hissed to Meg, his body still out of reach.
Meg’s eye twitched as she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. We were trapped.
Reluctantly, Meg separated her arms from one another, straining the rope.
