Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers)

by Nick Stephenson

  “I have to make lunch for the girls.”

  “Forget it,” Reagan told her, taking a seat again.

  “Then I gotta sit down before I fall over. My feet are numb from standing here.”

  “Help yourself. The floor looks very comfortable.”

  She bent her knees and sank down. Without the use of her hands, she fell to the hardwood floor with a clunk. She pushed up to an elbow, and then struggled to a sitting position.

  “Okay now?” Clinton asked, glaring down at her.

  “Never better.”

  As soon as she settled, June inspected the skin on her wrists being abraded from the plastic ties. The one on her right hand was much looser then the other, loose enough that she might even be able to jerk that hand loose if she had the chance. She decided to leave it alone for the time being.

  “Georgie,” Reagan said. “Try sending a text to that number you called before.”

  Georgie found the number. “What should I write?”

  “Send, call ASAP,” Reagan said.

  Georgie wrote the message. But before he could send it, June got his attention.

  “That’s not what I would write to her. ASAP means something else to us,” she lied.

  June had no choice but to pretend to go along with their captors. Part of the plan she had been working out was to lie, deceive, and manipulate dialogue, if only to create as much confusion as possible. If she could do that, she might just be able to turn them against each other. Then all she could do was try and separate them. And she had to do it soon.

  Georgie looked down at where June sat awkwardly on the floor. So far, he had been the only one that had acted reasonably toward her and the girls, if aiming a gun at her chest could be called reasonable. “What would you write to get her to call right away?”

  “Something like, prob with kids.”

  He started tapping that into a text message.

  “No! She’s lying,” Reagan said suddenly. “That will just bring her here. Put in that ASAP thing instead.”

  “I’m telling you…” June started. She knew that whatever he put in would never be read by Amy, but that didn’t matter. Annoyance and confusion mattered.

  Clinton leaned down to her level. “You’re telling us nothin’,” he said into her ear. “We make the decisions around here, not you.”

  “Suit yourself,” June muttered.

  “What’s A-S-A-P mean then?” Clinton asked.

  “Alert, send all police.”

  The three men looked at each other for a moment, until Reagan broke into a grin.

  “Bull shit. Just send it, Georgie.”

  He sent the ASAP text. Georgie took the phone to where Reagan sat in his chair, both waiting for a reply. When none came, Georgie wandered off.

  June looked at Reagan. “Look, the girls need lunch. May I make them something, please?” She was barely able to mask the hostility in her voice as she feigned courtesy.

  “If you can cook with your hands tied. Otherwise, forget it.”

  “Then one of you knuckleheads is going to have to make something. One way or another, those girls aren’t going hungry.”

  Reagan laughed. “Clinton, you know how to make a roast beef? What about you, Georgie? Want to fire up the barbecue and grill steaks for us?”

  “I ain’t no chef,” Clinton said.

  “And we don’t eat meat,” June said back.

  Georgie sat on the couch and worked with the phone. The girls huddled together, still sniffling, the silly antics of cartoon characters on the TV barely holding their interest. They had curled up with each other as far from Georgie at the opposite end of the couch as they could get.

  He finally tossed the phone aside. “I still can’t find a number for the woman. Maybe I should go get a pizza?”

  “What is this, a pajama party?” Reagan asked. He asked Georgie for the phone and it was tossed to him. He began scrolling through numbers, June watching him.

  “Just let me go in the kitchen to make sandwiches for them,” June offered. “It won’t take any more than five minutes, and then you can tie me up again.”

  Clinton snorted a sharp laugh out his nose. “Sure, so you can get a gun you have hid in there? Or a knife?” He laughed again. “That ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Okay, you can come and watch. Since you’re so helpless, I’ll even teach you how to make a sandwich. You wouldn’t even have to undo the zip ties on me.”

  “She’s up to something, Clinton,” Reagan said from the living room easy chair. “Don’t trust her.”

  “You’re hungry, aren’t you Clinton?” she said to him. “I bet a strong guy like you gets hungry a lot.”

  “I’m a little hungry too,” Georgie said.

  “Fine. We’ll get a pizza for all you ladies, just so y’all don’t start cryin’. Is there someplace around here that delivers?” Reagan finally said.

  “Not here in the hills,” said June back to him. “There’s a place down the road at the base of the canyon that has take out. One of your clowns can go pick it up. I’ll even pay.”

  Clinton took a handful of her hair in his fist and twisted it around, wrenching her head sideways. “You’re in no position to do any name callin’, understand?”

  “Just trying to get you something to eat…” she said, grimacing.

  “Knock it off, Clinton.” Reagan tossed the phone down on the table again. “I don’t want either of you being away for that long to pick up a pizza from town.”

  Clinton let loose of her hair and tossed her down again.

  “I saw a minimart down the road a few blocks,” Georgie offered. “I could swing down there and be back in just a few minutes.”

  June craned her head up to look in Georgie’s direction. She had to keep her agenda moving forward. “Get money from my purse. They have sandwiches there. And get some juice also.”

  “Can I, Reagan?” asked Georgie.

  “Yeah, fine, whatever. Just don’t drag your feet. As soon as we get that combination, you and I are out of here.”

  Georgie went to the things dumped from June’s purse on the desk, and got her wallet. June watched him, not at his hands picking though her money, but in fear that he might find Amy’s new phone number written on the desk pad of paper. He stayed focused on her money, wadding all her cash and stuffing it in his pocket.

  Reagan picked up the phone and began scrolling again. June watched Georgie reach for the front door knob.

  “I wouldn’t open that door if I were you,” June called from across the room.

  Reagan looked up. Georgie froze and turned. “Why?”

  June had to think fast, only hatching the idea that moment. The biggest problem in getting her idea to work was to make it sound plausible. “When you came into the house through the door and then closed it, it activated the alarm system.”

  “So?” Reagan asked.

  “So, see that little red light on the alarm system control box?” All their eyes went to the alarm box mounted on the wall next to the front door. “That means the system wasn’t set properly, and will send a message to the authorities if the door is opened again. Now, if you let me have use of a hand, I can reset it.”

  “Fuck you,” Clinton said in a drawn out way. He remained leaning against the wall. “Nice try.”

  “But what if there’s a fire and you’re just running out the door? How does it know which authorities to send the message?” Georgie asked.

  “The alarm has a carbon monoxide monitor and smoke alarm built in. If it doesn’t sense smoke and the door opens, the message is sent to a security agency, and then to the police. You’d get out of the house but not down the hill before the cops were coming up. There just isn’t much traffic on the road down at this time of the afternoon.”

  “Yeah, but how do we know it wasn’t set correctly? You could be lying to us,” Clinton said.

  “Have I lied to you yet? Every step of the way I’ve cooperated, right? Anyway, if it was set properly with
the right code number, a little green light would show.”

  Clinton rushed to behind her. He sank his fingers into her hair and wrenched her head around, twisting her neck hard. “You fucking with us, bitch?”

  June tried glaring at him but said nothing.

  Georgie inspected the control box. “Hey, there is another little light on here. It looks like it would be green also, if it were lit up.”

  “What is it with you women? Codes and safes and everything locked up tight,” said Reagan before turning his attention back to the Disney movie that had started on the TV. “Clinton, let her loose so she can give Georgie the code number.”

  “Needs a thumb on that touch pad, the correct thumb.” She looked at Georgie, the most gullible of the group. “Flip open that front cover on the alarm box. See that shiny black square inside? That’s the touch pad.”

  June could see Georgie’s eyes flit from her face to her hand secured at her waist. He looked at the box again, trying to figure out the logistics of getting her hand up to the box without cutting her arm loose. She couldn’t let him figure it out.

  “But we can go out the back garden gate with less trouble. You just have to take me along.”

  “Why?”

  “At the gate, the control panel is low on the wall, so you don’t even have to untie me for it. That’s the only way it’ll work,” June explained. “It really was a mistake closing the door like that.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The deal was okayed by Reagan, the man in charge, also the one least at ease. She could tell he was trying to hide it, but he showed all the earmarks of losing his nerves. It meant he was most likely to use his gun, but was also most easily tricked with confusion. June had to rely on that.

  Georgie helped June to a standing position. She eyed him close up and saw he wasn’t any bigger than her, and probably not as strong.

  He took his pistol out of his pocket and used it to push her toward the back door.

  “Kids, stay on the couch,” she said over her shoulder. “No talking.”

  She waddled as she led him out the patio door and around the side of the house, turning the corner in silence. With Georgie right behind her, he couldn’t see her work a hand loose from the zip ties, freeing up one hand. When they got to the gate with the old potting shed next to it, she stopped and turned toward Georgie.

  He looked around at the wall and fence. “Where’s the box?” he asked.

  “Right here.”

  She swung her arm at the gun, which went flying into the garden. Before he could react, she swung up again, catching him under the chin with her forearm. While he was still unsteady, she took a cross at his face.

  That last blow put him on the ground. Since her legs were tied together, she couldn’t finish him off with her favorite weapon, a heavy stomp to the chest. Instead, she landed a hammer strike to his throat.

  George’s head flew back and hit the corner of the potting shed with a bounce. When he settled, he laid motionless on the pathway.

  “Stupid dick head.”

  She had to hurry. Not visible from the patio windows, she got the potting shed door open and found rope. She was able to awkwardly lash the man’s arms and legs together, and then pulled the rubber mask from his face. She had never seen him before. Without delay, she shoved an old rag in his mouth, wrapping the last of the rope around his head as a gag. Using only one hand, she dragged him into the potting shed.

  Just before closing the door, she had a thought. June poked through his pockets, found the last of the plastic ties, and stuffed them in her pocket. She could use them later. She didn’t bother with the cash stuffed in another pocket.

  June found the gun in the garden and considered going back to the house with it. She could cut the ties with garden shears, freeing up her arms and legs. Buthaving a shoot out with two armed men that acted as though they had nothing to lose seemed like a bad idea. Plus, with her nieces right in the middle of the group, there was no way she would risk their lives. Especially since she had never been a good shot with a gun.

  Still, she could also cut the bands and run to call the police from a neighbor’s house. If it were only her, she would give it more consideration. But abandoning the kids was out of the question. She had to go back into the house.

  She removed the magazine from the pistol and discovered it was empty. She tried a couple times to eject the cartridge already loaded into the gun, but there wasn’t one. In the end, the gun never was a threat to her or the kids. She tossed all of it into a small grove of bamboo at the side of the shed. Just as she began waddling back to the patio, she heard the back door bang open.

  “What’s going on?” Clinton said from the far end of the walkway.

  “Nothing.” June just had the chance to get her hand stuffed back through the plastic ties while waddling as fast as she could. “Your friend had a problem with the code number is all.”

  “He left?”

  “Yeah. He decided to walk since it’s so close.”

  “That dumb shit.” He looked beyond June toward the far end of the yard. “This ain’t no picnic.”

  She got up to him. “You could go get him if you want. It looked like he was going at a pretty good pace though.

  He pushed June into the house and slammed the door shut behind them. June took an immense amount of pleasure knowing one of the three had been eliminated, even if Georgie was the dumbest one of the group.

  “While we’re waiting for him to get back, can the girls go in and lie down for a while?” she asked Reagan.

  He was fully engaged in the TV, which had been changed from the Disney movie to a men’s programming channel. She looked at the two girls on the couch, who looked either bored or emotionally stunned, June couldn’t tell.

  He nodded them toward the side of the house with the bedrooms.

  With little prompting, she followed the four year olds into the guest room and watched as they tucked themselves under the top blanket. Clinton watched from the doorway.

  “Be quiet, okay?” she admonished them with kisses. “We’ll have lunch in a little while. But stay in here until I come get you, okay?” She pecked kisses at them several more times. “And please please please be quiet.”

  With the door closed, she went back to the living room and stood facing Reagan, still plunked down on the couch intently watching the TV. She stood in his line of sight.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Park it somewhere.”

  “Can I use the bathroom?” she asked.

  “How ya gonna get your pants down?” Clinton asked with a leer.

  “I can do it,” she said back with a hard glare at him.

  She didn’t need to go, but she had another idea in her mind. It was working already.

  Reagan nodded her off again. “Go with her, Clinton. Make sure she stays out of trouble.”

  June waddled to the bathroom next to the master bedroom, Clinton following right behind. She heard the bedroom door shut behind them. It was exactly what she wanted.

  When she got the toilet, she struggled to get her jeans button undone and the zipper down because of the plastic ties. Just as she was getting the button open, he reached for her.

  “I’ll help with that, doll.”

  He tugged on the zipper, lowering it slowly, his gaze intent on her eyes. When the zipper hit bottom, his fingers dallied a moment before giving the slick nylon of her panties a gentle stroke.

  June tried to hide the shiver.

  “Let me piss and you can have more,” she whispered.

  “Finally coming ‘round to seeing things my way,” he said back with a grin. He took a step back and let her do the rest. Before she pulled her pants down, she looked back at Clinton, leaning against the doorframe watching with a new smile.

  She pushed her pants down and sat. “Enjoying the show?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  She waited for a moment then stood again.

  “Stage fright?” he asked with a lau
gh.

  “Just looking forward to knowing you better.” She waddled to the door, pretending to have a hard time getting her pants back up. “Come on.”

  “Let me do that, little missy.”

  He reached for her pants, and she let him take hold. She let out a gasp. He started to tug them further down, then stalled. She watched his thick fingers tremble, and for the first time smelt the scent of old tobacco on his breath. What he hadn’t noticed about her was that she had worked her hand loose from the ties again.

  As he began tugging at her pants again, she reached up between his arms and grabbed him under the jaw. Using the element of surprise, and with as tight of a grip as she could muster, she pushed him backwards into the bedroom. Only able to scurry her feet a few inches at a time, she shoved as hard as she could when they got to the doorway. He stumbled backward, pulling her with him.

  His gun fell to the floor when he was pushed, landing far from his reach.

  They both landed on the bed. By then Clinton was fighting back, but she was straddling him. Keeping as much of her body weight on top of him, she landed hammer strikes to his collarbones, mixed with punches to his face and neck. With the last strike to a collar bone, she felt it snap, a grunt gusting from his throat. That arm fell away, useless to him. Just as she felt his one useful hand get a grip on her chest and push her away, she landed one last fierce blow to the center of his masked face.

  He fell back, landing motionless on the bed.

  She waited for Reagan to burst through the door, but he never did. Instead, he called out from the other room with a laughing tone to his voice.

  “Not so rough in there, Clinton! We still need her later!”

  “Shove it, jerk…” June muttered, panting quickly.

  She looked down at the unconscious man sprawled on her bed. A shiver flew through her, and she felt the replay of his coarse hands on her body, pulling at her pants, stroking her panties. Her hand still balled into a rock-hard fist, she raised it to her shoulder, hesitated for only a moment, and sent it into Clinton’s Adam’s apple in a crushing blow.