Thrilled To Death

by Jennifer Apodaca

  Then Gabe said, “Once a uniform gets here to secure the scene, I’m going to go get gas. Then we’ll be back.” He ended the call.

  “Gas?” I stared at Gabe and repeated myself in confusion. “Gas?”

  He handed the phone back to me. “For the truck. It makes it go.”

  I blinked. Grandpa was kidnapped, and getting gas seemed unimportant.

  “Ali, in,” Gabe said.

  I moved over and Ali jumped in. Gabe followed her and pulled the door shut. Then he looked over at me. “I want to be ready for what comes next. Running out of gas wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  That made sense.

  A police car roared down the street with flashing lights. Gabe got back out of the truck and went to talk to the cop. Then he returned and slid into the seat next to me. He put the truck in gear, did a three-point turn, and headed through the streets toward the main road. “There’s a chance they’ve gotten out of town, Sam.”

  I nodded. “He couldn’t get on an airplane dragging Grandpa as a hostage. Wherever they are going, they are going to have to drive.” Getting gas made more and more sense.

  “To Montana?” Gabe made the dangerous left turn from Gunnerson onto Riverside Drive.

  “That’s a long drive.” I had to force myself to think, to set aside my worry and guilt over Grandpa and think like Fletch. “He’s proving something to his dad, but that doesn’t mean he has to go to Montana, does it?”

  “I don’t know. You know Fletch better than I do.”

  “I thought I knew him, but I was just looking at the surface, at the goofy comedy magician.” Right now, the fact that I could be that shallow wasn’t my biggest problem.

  “Expand on that, Sam.”

  He was right. I had to try. I was the best hope of finding Grandpa. I knew a lot of things about Fletch. “Fletch’s dad seems to be the driving force behind his decisions, maybe more of an influence than I realized. Fletch loves dogs, and he got that from hanging out with his dad’s hunting hounds. His dad used to get furious at Fletch for making the dogs soft.” I let my thoughts string along, adding up the details. “His dad is a bit of a survivalist. Fletch probably picked up all kinds of skills from him. He might try living on the run somewhere. Although he hates rough living.” I was contradicting myself, but I had to look at every angle, see all of Fletch, not just the surface.

  “Where does he usually live?” Gabe asked.

  I knew that answer. “Reno. That’s where he does most of his shows.”

  “He may have a cabin or something. I’ll start running checks, and I know Vance will do the same.” He turned left onto Collier Avenue, and we passed the Lake Elsinore Outlet Shopping Center on our right. Coming to Nicholas Road, Gabe turned into the gas station.

  That made sense. A cabin would utilize some of the survivalist skills but minimize the rough living. Ali’s whining interrupted my thoughts. “She needs to go to the bathroom. I’ll take her while you’re getting gas.”

  Gabe nodded as he got out. “Stay where I can see you.”

  Ali and I got out and walked away from the gas station, toward the dirt hill that led down to the parking lot at the end of the outlet center. At the top of the hill, I stopped and waited.

  Ali edged partway down the hill, sniffed a plant, then snorted and ran the rest of the way down the hill.

  Guess she didn’t want to pee on an incline. I sighed and followed her down, trying not to slip in my boots and end up sliding down on my butt. When we got down to the blacktop, there was a sea of cars and a line of motor homes parked up against the brick wall. On the other side of that wall was the 15 Freeway.

  Ali and I walked across the asphalt to a large tree in a planter that decorated the parking lot. From his position above us at the gas station, Gabe would have no trouble seeing me moving among the parked cars.

  I stopped at the first tree planter, but Ali ran ahead. “Ali, come back here.” She went to the next planter a couple parking lot rows over, closer to the brick wall, and sniffed. Then she relieved herself.

  I looked back at Gabe. He was standing at the truck, pumping the gas and watching us. I turned back and saw that Ali had run to the next tree planter, closer to the row of motor homes.

  She was just letting off the excess anxiety, but we didn’t have time right now. “Ali—” I started to demand she come back.

  But Ali suddenly lifted her head and started barking furiously. She ran flat out toward the motor homes. A green SUV had to swerve and lay on the horn to miss hitting her.

  What the hell was wrong with my dog? I ran after her as fast as I could in my boots. “Ali!”

  She raced around the motor homes, weaving in and out, stopping and sniffing, then taking off again. After a minute or so, she picked out a midsize motor home. It was the fourth motor home in the row from the gas station side. She ran agitated circles around the motor home, barking furiously.

  I stopped at the back of the motor home. Ali raced along the door side of the home, around the back, and up the other side. “Ali.” I dropped my voice to a whisper as I turned to watch her. “Damn it, we don’t have time for this. We have to—” The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  Idiot!

  The obvious slammed into me all at once. The house we knew Fletch had been in had RV access. Shane had a motor home. Successful magicians often traveled in motor homes. A motor home was the perfect answer to a man who had survivalist skills but liked comfort.

  Oh God.

  I started to turn so that I could look toward the door of the motor home.

  “Don’t move. I have a gun.”

  It was Fletch’s voice. Ice crusted my skin as sharp fear slithered over me.

  Ali’s deep growl rose from farther behind him.

  He poked me in the back with what I assumed was his gun.

  “Tell her to stop or I’ll blow up the vest on Barney. You know I’ll do it, Sam.”

  Terror for Grandpa wrapped around my throat and I croaked out, “No, Ali.” I tried to swallow past the constriction around my neck and asked, “Where is he? What have you done with Grandpa?”

  “He’s inside the motor home. He’s going with me. Barney always believed in me. He will come to understand what I did for him. I couldn’t let Shane come to Elsinore and humiliate him, or me. I’ve made both of them proud.”

  “Both?” What was Fletch talking about?

  “Barney and my dad. My dad got tickets to Shane’s show and he laughed. Laughed! Said that I never stood up for myself against real men. Well, I stood up to Shane like a man. He was a bully, and I fought back. And I protected Barney by stopping Shane from humiliating both of us. My dad will see now that magicians are not sissies but tough and brave.”

  Oh God. His dad had finally pushed him over the edge. Fletch was trying to earn his dad’s approval while keeping Grandpa’s support and affection.

  Ali made a low and threatening growl.

  “Make. Her. Stop.” He poked the gun into my back.

  The icy crust paralyzing me cracked, and hot tears filled my eyes. My brilliant dog had tried to tell me Grandpa was in the motor home, and I screwed it up. Again. I had to keep her safe. “Ali, sit. Stay.” I fought to breathe, and said to Fletch, “Don’t hurt her. Let her go.” Fletch loved dogs, but if he was willing to blow up Grandpa, then I had to believe he’d kill my dog.

  “You’re going to lock her in the bathroom inside the motor home. Now turn around slowly.”

  I looked around. I saw a mother pushing a baby stroller. She was across the huge parking lot. An older couple was walking to their car about six or seven rows over. I swept my gaze up to the gas station. From this distance I could see over the dirt hill.

  I didn’t see Gabe or his truck.

  Had he seen where Ali and I went? Could he help us and Grandpa? I knew Gabe wouldn’t leave me. I doubted Fletch realized he was here. How could he?

  “Now,” Fletch ordered.

  I just had to stay alive and keep Grandpa and A
li alive until Gabe could help us. I turned around, facing the space between the door side of Fletch’s motor home and the back of the one parked next to it. Ali sat, but she let out another growl. Her hair stood up on her back in a stiff row of pure canine rage. Her lips were drawn back in a vicious mask of huge teeth. I had never been afraid of Ali, but at that moment I didn’t know if I could control her. She was not going to let her people be threatened. She knew Grandpa was in the motor home, and she meant to get to him.

  “I’ll shoot her if I have to,” Fletch said behind me. He shoved the gun hard into my back.

  “Ali, stay,” I said in the calmest voice I could manage. I thought that the idea of shooting Ali was stressing Fletch even more. Now that he was the real man his dad wanted him to be, he’d have to shoot her if she got in his way.

  “Inside, Sam,” Fletch said. “Open the door.”

  I went to the door and opened the latch. I carefully pulled open the door, unsure what to expect.

  “Tell her to go in.”

  “Are you sure? Wouldn’t it be better to leave her out here?” I really didn’t know if I could control her.

  “No, she’ll alert someone. Get her inside. Now.” His voice was as brutal as the gun jamming into me.

  “Come on, Ali. Let’s go see Grandpa.”

  She got up and raced into the motor home.

  “Now you.”

  I stepped up on the built-in ladder, then into the interior. It was warmer and smelled like closed-up air and old food. I looked around. The motor home was much less grand than Shane’s.

  I spotted Grandpa on the right. He sat at a table that butted up to the cab of the motor home. Across from him was the small kitchen. Over the cab was a bed. Grandpa sat at a table and reached out to pet Ali with his left hand. His right hand was handcuffed to a bolt of some kind that had been anchored into the wall next to a big red fire extinguisher. He still had that vest on. He looked up at me. “Sam, we heard Ali barking. What are you doing here?”

  Seeing him in that vest and handcuffed choked off my air. But I refused to cry and forced myself to remember that Grandpa always boasted no handcuffs could hold him. And I would find a way out of this. I had to. I saw the pain shadow and age Grandpa’s blue eyes. He was afraid for me. But he also trusted me to lie. “I was looking for Rosy’s car. I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just sit home and wait.” I started forward to reassure Grandpa.

  Fletch said, “Stop. Call Ali and get her in the bathroom.”

  I assumed the bathroom was at the other end of the motor home. “Ali, come here girl. Let’s go this way.” I turned. Fletch backed up while holding the gun. He was smart enough to keep me between him and Ali.

  I took the time to study Fletch. His blue eyes were bright and focused, and his face was tight with strain around his mouth. But his hand holding the gun was steady. I was pretty sure Fletch had stayed in the NRA and leaned all about guns, just like he’d learned about pyrotechnics and explosives from the experts that worked on his shows. The determination in his gaze and the steadiness of his hand assured me he would shoot Ali or me if he felt he had to.

  I dropped my gaze to his blue-checked shirt with the pocket. I could see the top third of the remote control device sticking out of the pocket.

  I had to get it somehow. I knew part of the reason he had Grandpa handcuffed was that Grandpa had the skills to pickpocket that remote without Fletch realizing it.

  I didn’t have Grandpa’s skills.

  I didn’t have any magic skills. Now I wished like hell that I did.

  Fletch backed up past the bathroom door. “Turn around slowly, then step back to stand in front of me and tell Ali to go into the bathroom.”

  I turned around with my back to Fletch and took another step back. Ali stood there and watched us both. She was leaning forward slightly on her powerful shoulders, as if she were ready to attack.

  Would she go into the bathroom? God, I hoped so.

  “Ali, go in.” I swept my hand toward the tiny little bathroom. It consisted of the basics—a sink, toilet, and tight little shower. There was just enough room for her to lie down and wait once we shut the door.

  She growled in response.

  “Ali, stop that.” I tried to reason with her. “Just go in.”

  She sat down.

  Damn. “Ali, what’s the matter with you?” I looked past her. “Grandpa, tell her to go in.”

  He looked up from his shackled hand resting in his lap. “Ali, go in.”

  She turned her neck around to look at Grandpa. Then she turned back to me and stared.

  I knew Grandpa was up to something. It was true that no handcuffs could hold him, but what could he have found to pick the lock with? I didn’t want to give him away so I didn’t dare look at him again. Instead, I sighed and looked over my shoulder at Fletch. “I can take hold of her collar and tug her in there.”

  Fletch stabbed the gun hard in my back. “Stop playing games!”

  I yelped and took a half step forward to get away from the pain arcing through my sore ribs and stomach.

  Ali barked and growled, then lunged toward us.

  Fletch got his left arm around my waist and jerked me hard. It hurt like a bitch and I struggled to get away, but we both fell backward. I landed on Fletch and lost my breath in a haze of pain rolling across my middle. His hand dug into the scrape on my stomach.

  Fletch screamed, “Get her off me! She’s biting me!”

  I wasn’t biting him, so it had to be Ali. Where was the gun? Had Fletched dropped it, or was it still in his right hand? I tried to move, but his arm stayed locked around me. Every twist shot another wave of pain through me.

  “Call her off!” he screamed in my ear.

  I lifted my head, fighting to ignore the soreness in my middle, and saw that Ali had her jaws clamped around Fletch’s right calf. “Ali! Let go!” He’d shoot her if he had the gun. And if he didn’t have the gun, he could have the remote that would blow up Grandpa’s vest.

  I forced my head up a little farther to see Grandpa.

  He was gone.

  Before I could make sense of it and figure out where Grandpa was, Fletch screamed in my ear,

  “I’m going to shoot her!”

  My brain put it together that Grandpa had escaped the handcuff. He was gone. We were on the floor in the hallway with the door around the corner about even with our knees. I prayed Grandpa had gotten out. Maybe he could get the vest off, but I couldn’t risk it. I didn’t see any other choice. I had to get that remote control device. Struggling to keep my back away from Fletch’s chest, and the shirt pocket where I hoped the remote still was, I brought my right arm up and drove my elbow hard into Fletch’s side.

  “Ooff.” His body bowed up underneath my back, and he let go of me.

  I rolled to the right, away from that remote control device in his left breast pocket. Then I got to my knees and reached for the remote while my brain tried to figure out if he still had the gun.

  Fletch clamped his right hand over my right wrist. “You’re dead.” He brought the gun up in his left hand.

  Time slowed to a sense of surrealism.

  I saw the gun coming at my face and thought, Damn magicians! That gun had been in his right hand. Then I saw the fury and pain on Fletch’s face change before my eyes—

  Into the intent to kill me.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Ali let go of his calf. From my far right, a stream of foam shot straight over Ali, past me, and hit Fletch in his face.

  Instinctively, I used my left hand to shove the gun away from me.

  It fired, rocking the motor home with the report.

  My ears rang, and adrenaline pumped thick and fast through my veins. Specks of foam hit my face and chest. I didn’t know where it was coming from. All I could think about was getting the remote and not getting shot. I looked at Fletch’s shirt pocket.

  The remote was still there.

  Fletch roared in fury, and his hand tightene
d in a bone-breaking hold on my right wrist. He used the back of his gun hand to wipe foam from his eyes and face.

  I ignored the crunching pain in my wrist and kept my focus on the black remote sticking out of his shirt pocket.

  I had to get it before Fletch remembered it and killed Grandpa. I reached my left hand over and got my slippery, foam-spattered first finger and thumb on the remote. I had it!

  Don’t drop it.

  Don’t think about the pain in my wrist or around my middle.

  Don’t think about killing Grandpa if I make a mistake.

  I bit my lip, struggling to hang on to the remote. I pulled it out of his pocket, every cell in my body centered on that remote. My finger and thumb slid a little on the black plastic casing, but I kept my grip and moved it farther away from Fletch.

  I turned.

  Grandpa stood there in the horrid vest holding a fire extinguisher. He stopped spraying once I had the remote. With my right wrist in Fletch’s grip, I couldn’t reach very far across my body to give the remote to Grandpa.

  I knew Fletch was going to shoot me any second.

  Grandpa started to take a step toward me when there was a loud noise.

  For a horrid second, I thought Fletch had fired the gun and one of us was dead. Grandpa had frozen midstep.

  Then behind him, Gabe, Cal, Blaine, and Vance burst into the door of the motor home. It hadn’t been gunfire we’d heard, but the door bursting open.

  My relief turned to panic when I remembered the remote. “Wait!” I screamed. “The remote. It’s in my hand!” With Fletch’s hold on my right hand, I strained my muscles to reach farther across my body and away from Fletch. I didn’t want to drop it or accidentally push the button that would blow up the vest.

  And I knew Fletch still had the gun.

  It all happened at once, in fast-forward speed.

  Blaine reached for Grandpa, moving him out of the way.

  Cal rushed in and took the remote from my fingers, grabbed Ali’s collar, then got them both out of the way.

  Gabe and Vance stormed in with their guns drawn, filling up the small space.