Bike Week Blues

by Mary Clay

  “Us?” Ruthie asked nervously.

  “Right,” Fran said, her eyes flashing. She hit the mute key. “Carl, I need Todd’s cell number.”

  “Todd’s number. Why do you want that?”

  “In case we need to call him—what do you think?”

  “Mom, what are you going to do?”

  “Nothing, son,” she said sweetly. “I’d like to have Todd’s number in case I can’t reach you. Besides, what if we find important information on the computer that he needs to know?” She took down the number. “Be careful, baby.” She hit the off button on the receiver and immediately began to dial. “Todd, this is Fran. I need to move Saul’s truck. Ask him if he left the keys here.” She tapped her pen on the notepad as she listened. “Under the mat?” She dipped her chin with a big grin. “Thanks. Carl told you the news, right? Good, be careful, now.” She clicked off, eyes narrowed in thought. “Hear anything?” she asked me.

  “Scraping and crunching noises, like someone moving through brush.” I held up my hand for silence as I strained to hear a new sound. “I think I hear snoring.”

  “The guard must have fallen asleep. That’s probably how Penny Que got to her telephone.”

  “It’s amazing they didn’t find it,” I said.

  Ruthie smirked. “She put the phone in the inside pouch with her credit cards.”

  “Come on, we don’t have time to waste. Let’s see what’s in Saul’s truck.”

  We found the key ring under the mat and sorted through it until we found the one that unlocked the truck’s backdoor. Wielding flashlights, we did a quick scan of the contents. Four mopeds were strapped down next to the door.

  “Have you ever ridden one of those things?” Frannie asked.

  “No.”

  “Me either. And, I don’t think this is the time to learn.”

  “Wait, what’s that at the very back?” I handed the cell phone to Ruthie and hopped up on the step at the back of the truck. “My flashlight’s too dim.” Frannie handed me her halogen spotlight. I panned the bright light on the back of the truck. “Praise the lord,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Saul has two dune buggies!”

  Fran nudged me aside and stepped up to see for herself. She hopped down with a big grin. “Who needs men? We’ll save Penny Sue ourselves.”

  I climbed back into the truck. “We need to get all of these scooters out of the way. Help me, Ruthie, there’s a ramp against the wall.” While Fran monitored the telephone, Ruthie and I wrestled the ramp into place and rolled the motorbikes out of the truck. Then, we examined our find.

  Fran crossed herself and said a silent prayer before turning the halogen on the buggies. She trained her eyes heavenward. “Thank you, we have the keys.”

  The buggies were four wheelers with headlights and big, bulbous tires. Open except for a roll bar, they were about the size of golf carts, which in fact they may have been in a previous life. There were two seats and enough room behind them for a person to crouch, if necessary.

  “I wonder if they’re electric?” Ruthie said.

  “Only one way to tell.” I swung into the cart, turned the key and tapped the accelerator. It lurched forward. “Yep, electric.” I checked out the instrumentation. “This is a piece of cake, I used to play golf.”

  “What’s our plan?” Fran asked.

  “We take Saul’s truck to the Canaveral Park and drive it to the end. Then, we unload the carts, and head down the beach to rescue Penny Sue.”

  “Wait,” Ruthie said. “Can you drive a truck?”

  “No, but—”

  “Don’t worry, I can,” Fran said confidently. “I haven’t always been wealthy, you know. I grew up on a farm.”

  I should have known. Frannie May had more tricks up her sleeve than David Copperfield.

  “The palmetto scrub is so thick, how can we get the buggies to the beach?” Ruthie asked, still not convinced.

  “There are little trails through the scrub blocked off by chains,” I said. “That’s how the rangers get to the beach.”

  Ruthie shook her head. “If the paths are blocked …”

  “The whole place is blocked off. But, Enrico has bolt cutters,” Fran said with a smirk.

  Uncle Enrico, I’d forgotten all about him and his bolt cutters. No telling what he was up to, but his stuff had sure come in handy.

  “I’ve been down to the end of the road at Canaveral and the beach isn’t very wide. If it’s high tide, we’re sunk—literally,” Ruthie said.

  “Good point. We’d better check the tides.”

  Ruthie was still doubtful. “I wonder if the batteries on the buggies are charged. We don’t want to get out there, rescue Penny Sue, and end up stranded.”

  “Easy enough.” Fran took my phone and dialed Todd’s cell. “Todd, it’s Mrs. Annina.”

  Not Fran, I noticed—she was pulling out all of the stops.

  “Please ask Saul if the batteries on his beach buggies are fully charged.” She held the phone away from her ear. We could hear Todd stuttering. “Todd, it’s a simple question. The girls and I thought we’d take them for a spin.”

  There was a pause. “Yes, ma’am, they have a full charge.”

  “Have you located Vulture and his gang?”

  “Not yet. But, we will.”

  She clicked off. “Fifty bucks says Carl will call in about two minutes.” She checked her watch. The phone chirped. “He’s late.” She flipped the phone open. “Yes, son?” She listened, rolling her eyes. “Carl, when did you start giving me orders?” She angled the phone so we could listen.

  “Mom, don’t do it. These people are vicious. They’d kill you in a second.”

  “Carl, we’re monitoring the cell phone you gave Penny Sue. We hear snoring.”

  Ruthie put the cell phone to her ear and nodded.

  “This is going to be a piece of cake,” Fran continued. “We’ll take the buggies to the tunnels, sneak in, stun them with the Taser, grab Penny Sue and Rich, and get away. What could be simpler? Besides, when you and the guys successfully foil Vulture—which, you will—Penny Sue will be in greater danger. We have to get to her before then.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Neither, apparently, had Carl. There was a long pause. “I can’t talk you out of this?” he said.

  “No,” she said in a I’m not in the mood for argument tone.

  “Mom, Dad would kill me for this if he were alive.”

  “He’ll be very proud if we are successful. I feel him smiling down on me. Your father was a great patriot and certainly no wimp.”

  I heard a heavy sigh from Carl.

  “Keep the line open to Leigh’s phone. I’ll guide you to the spot with GPS.”

  “That’s my boy, I knew I could count on you.”

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  Fran drove, Ruthie sat in the middle cradling the bolt cutters between her legs, and I rode shotgun on, probably, the dumbest expedition that had ever been undertaken in the history of Man. Okay, not the absolute dumbest, but close. And worse, the scheme had been my idea! Lord, I’d spent too much time with Penny Sue, she was rubbing off on me.

  Fran said she drove a truck on her parents’ farm as a youngster. Either trucks were smaller then, technology had changed, or Fran had lost her touch. She sideswiped one of the Klingon’s vehicles as she backed Saul’s cargo van out of the driveway.

  “Don’t worry, I have good insurance,” she said, completely unconcerned. We reached the street and the truck jerked spastically as Fran struggled to synchronize the clutch and the gear shifting. By the time we arrived at the Flagler intersection she was doing better, though, forgot to put the clutch in when she stopped at the light and the truck stalled. The light turned green. Fran fought to start the vehicle.

  “Put in the clutch when you turn the key,” I suggested.

  In the meantime, an impatient fool in a small car that had turned out of her next door neighbor’s driveway, got out of his ve
hicle and slapped the back of the truck.

  Still battling the ignition and clutch, Fran said through clenched teeth, “It must be that spoiled brat next door. I don’t recognize the car, but his parents probably gave him a new one. He doesn’t work, he flunked out of school, and still his parents treat him like a prince.” She finally got the truck moving and crossed Flagler, headed for A1A/South Causeway. The little car followed.

  I thanked the spirits, angels, or whomever who watched over us that Fran mastered the clutch/shifting routine by the time we stopped at the South Causeway light.

  “Is that twerp still back there?” she asked.

  I checked the rearview mirror. “Yes.”

  She set her jaw, like Penny Sue did when she was about to morph into a Steel Magnolia. I braced myself.

  “Watch this.” The light changed to green, Fran took a left and floored it. She went through the gears like a race car driver, slowing at 45 mph to match the speed limit. “Did I lose him?”

  I glanced back. “Afraid not.”

  “Brat.” She pulled to the right lane and slowed the truck to 35. The car followed suit.

  “Johnny must be high. I don’t think he’s dangerous, just a smart aleck. Ignore him.” Fran pressed the accelerator to the speed limit and never looked back. I watched the car from my outside mirror. It stayed with us until we reached the last cross street on Bethune Beach, then hung a left. Good, we were about to commit a few crimes and didn’t need witnesses. Fran kept straight to the Canaveral National Seashore, where she ignored the red light at the guardhouse and barreled along until we came to aluminum turnstiles held together by a padlocked chain.

  “Cut the chain,” Fran said without hesitation.

  I took the bolt cutters from Ruthie, which were on the order of long handled pruning shears, except for a small cutting edge. I peered around for witnesses and, seeing none, snapped the cutters on the chain. Nothing happened. It was a thick chain.

  Ruthie climbed down from the truck to help. She took one handle, I took the other and on the count of three we pushed. Still no luck.

  Frannie popped her head out of the driver’s window. “We don’t have time for this. Get in.” She revved the engine, popped the clutch, and rammed the gate. The force of the impact pulled one turnstile out of the ground. She stopped, backed up, then ran over the barricade.

  “I really do have good insurance,” she muttered.

  We drove to the end of the Canaveral Seashore and circled the last parking area at Apollo Beach.

  “We just passed one of the trails to the beach,” Fran said as she stopped the truck with a jolt. We all jumped out. Ruthie and I went to cut the chain, while Fran unlocked the back of the van. Thankfully this chain was not in the league of the other one, so Ruthie and I snapped it easily.

  Fran was already in the cargo hold pushing the carts to the doorway as Ruthie and I climbed in to pull down the ramp. We drove the dune buggies off the truck, put the ramp back, got the Taser, and locked up.

  “Okay, girls,” Frannie May said as we stood by the carts. I’ll drive one, you and Ruthie take the other. Ruthie’s in charge of the Taser.”

  Ruthie hesitated only a moment. “Yes, ma’am.” She stored the extra solution in a dashboard compartment and shouldered the weapon like a pro.

  Meanwhile, Fran called Carl on my cell phone. “We’re ready to take the carts to the beach. Any change?” She held the phone away from her ear, and we huddled close.

  “Todd picked up two sets of heat signatures. The first is small, only three to four people. It’s close to the entrance of the tunnels on Klondike Beach. That’s probably Penny Sue, Rich, and one or two guards. There’s about a dozen down at Playalinda. Todd’s in place, we’ll be there in less than an hour. Todd, Saul, and Roger are waiting for us.” He paused. “Mom, the tide’s coming in. I’m not sure you should try this.”

  “We know that.”

  Ruthie had gone online and checked the tide schedule before we left. We were midway between high and low tide when we left—a three-hour window that was now down to two. The beaches were steep and narrow on this part of the barrier island. We were cutting it close and knew it. But, the beach buggies were designed to drive up and around bunkers. Sand trap queen that I was, I’d driven carts around steep bunkers many times. The buggies had such a low center of gravity, it was virtually impossible to tip them over. A sloped beach didn’t worry me a bit.

  “You’re bound and determined to do this?”

  “Yes,” Fran said, “I feel your father watching over me.”

  “I hope you’re right.” There was a pause. “Your phone’s still connected to Penny Sue?”

  Fran looked to Ruthie who’d been monitoring the phone for sounds. “Yes, it’s still connected.”

  A few minutes passed. “I’ve gotcha.”

  “What do you mean, you’ve got me?” Frannie asked.

  “Your phone has GPS, too. Why do you think I gave it to you?”

  “Keeping tabs on your own mother?”

  “Someone has to.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Let’s argue about that later. I have you on the map. Drive your buggies to the beach and head south.”

  With Fran leading the way, we bumped through the underbrush, which was barely wide enough for the carts. Thankfully, we’d worn denim jeans, long-sleeved shirts, and windbreakers; otherwise we’d have been shredded by the palmettos that lashed the cart. Even so, we got a few slashes on our hands and faces. I normally had a fairly low threshold of pain, yet my adrenaline was surging, so I hardly noticed the wounds.

  The beach was steeper than I remembered, a good forty-degree angle. Ruthie had to brace her feet against the dash to keep from sliding into me on the bench seat.

  We traveled a long way in silence, each thinking our private thoughts. I’d bet Fran was reminiscing about Carlo, Sr. Ruthie was probably thinking of Penny Sue, her father, and Jo Ruth. I stewed over Ann and Penny Sue. While my friend was foremost on my mind, thoughts of Ann kept creeping in. The astrological stuff about Patrick having the potential for violence really troubled me.

  “Let them live together,” Penny Sue had said. Under normal circumstances, good advice, except when a person might be violent. Darned if I wanted my darling daughter to learn a lesson by being a punching bag! That was not going to happen. I didn’t know how I’d prevent it, but bruises were not an option, even if I had to go to London and drag her home. Perhaps I should take Fran and Penny Sue with me.

  A few minutes later, Fran held up her hand and stopped. She hurried back to us. “Carl says the tunnel entrance is right over there,” she whispered, pointing to the palmetto scrub on our right. With only a sliver of moon to light the night, the tunnel was invisible from were we sat. “Turn your buggy around so we’re ready to make a getaway. Park as close to the scrub line as possible, in case the tide rises while we’re gone. And, take the key. We want to be sure the carts are here when we get back.”

  We did as Fran instructed and made a final check of our paraphernalia. I had a flashlight and penlight in one pocket of my windbreaker and a large pair of scissors for cutting ropes. Ruthie stuffed a bottle of electrolyte in one pocket and patted her flashlight in the other. Fran was packing Uncle Enrico’s derringer, which she promised not to use unless absolutely necessary, some duct tape, and a halogen light. Depending on what we found, we planned to blind the guards with the halogen, giving Ruthie enough time to stun them with the Taser. Then, Fran and I would tape their hands and feet, while Ruthie freed Penny Sue and Rich.

  Crouched low, we walked the dune line looking for the entrance to the tunnel with the penlight. It took two passes before we finally found the opening in the brush. We entered single file, me leading the way with the tiny light. Fran followed with the halogen, while Ruthie and the Taser brought up the rear. For a fleeting moment, I questioned the decision for Ruthie to follow us. Gawd, I hoped she didn’t panic and shoot us instead of the bad guys.

&n
bsp; We tiptoed through the narrow opening, as quietly as a person can who’s blindly trying to navigate a maze only five feet high. Though the evening was cool, sweat streamed from every pore of my body and my pulse pounded in my ears. If I lived through this, I would start going to church, I told myself, and never, ever get sucked into another of Penny Sue’s harebrained schemes. I didn’t care how many soul mates were at stake, my participation was finished.

  Hunched forward, I snaked around a curve and caught the faint glow of a flashlight in the distance. Fran unzipped her bike belt so she could get to the derringer. Ruthie lowered the Taser, ready to shoot. We nodded and picked up the pace, racing toward the faint light. We reached the clearing and I stepped aside so Fran could pass. Halogen aglow, she darted into the clearing and tripped on a root. The light went flying and conked a prostrate Red on the head. Ruthie, following close on her heels, fell over Fran. I leaped over the sprawling mess of arms and legs, grabbed the Taser, and turned slowly, prepared to fire.

  Brush rustled and someone—or something—squealed. I swung around and trained the penlight in the direction of the sound. Black boots with red flames came into view.

  By now Fran and Ruthie were on their feet. Fran had her gun out, covering Red. Ruthie raced to Penny Sue and pulled a strip of duct tape off her mouth.

  “Ouch!” she shrieked, rubbing her lip. “I don’t guess I’ll need a lip wax anytime soon. Thank God you found me! I knew I’d gotten through, because I heard you say hello. Then the phone went dead. That really scared me.”

  “We put the phone on mute so we wouldn’t tip your hand,” Ruthie said.

  Penny Sue held up her wrists. I handed the scissors to Ruthie who hacked at the tape binding our friend’s hands and feet. “Red’s out cold, unless you woke her up with the flashlight. She took some pills that she washed down with vodka. Check Rich.” Penny Sue nodded at a heap to the left of the unconscious woman. “They beat him up pretty bad. Then, Red gave him a shot of something. He hasn’t moved in a long time. Is he breathing?”