Brake Failure

by Alison Brodie

  Woolly Hat struggled to her feet. ‘Spoke too soon,’ she said, limping out. In the next moment, Rowdy dashed past the office, frantically searching the corridor.

  ‘Rowdy!’ Ruby called. Instantly, he was upon her, pushing his teddy in her face and wagging his tail.

  Woolly Hat re-appeared and dropped the rabbit coat, GOOD backpack and water bowl at Ruby’s feet. ‘What’s his name?’ she asked.

  ‘Rowdy.’

  ‘You want me to fetch him some water?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Their captor sat behind the desk, studying the dog. ‘He sure ain’t gonna be winning no beauty pageant.’ She put the phone to her ear and dialled. ‘Hi, Alexis,’ she said. ‘It’s me. I let most everybody go, ’cept three.’ She listened for a moment. ‘Names? Sure.’ She turned to her prisoners. ‘I need your names, ladies.’

  As Ruby and her companions gave their names, their captor repeated them into the telephone, before adding: ‘You might wanna know that Ruby Mortimer-Smyth is English!’ She gave Ruby a sly, conspiratorial wink before sneering into the phone: ‘That won’t look good for the Kansas tourist industry, will it?’

  What tourist industry? Ruby thought wildly.

  While the telephone negotiations continued, Ruby now had names for her companions: Bianca wore the pink pants and Jezette wore the reindeer hat.

  Suddenly their captor shouted: ‘I’m the tax payer! You’re the cops. It’s your job to find him. And I want to speak to KMBC-TV, Channel 9.’ She banged down the receiver and sighed. ‘Ahm sorry, ladies, but this is gonna take longer than I thought. Seems Sean has crawled under a rock. But I reckon we’ll all be out by ten.’

  Ruby breathed with relief. She would return to the party, entertain the guests with her amazing escapade then slip away into the night with Payat. Her plan was still on course – as long as she didn’t get shot.

  ‘Say, Cindy.’ Bianca plumped up her coat, sat on it and faced their captor. ‘That true, then. You pregnant?’

  ‘Sure am. And that bag of shit promised to walk up the aisle with me.’

  Bianca snorted derisively. ‘And you believed him?’

  Ruby shivered. Why was Bianca riling up their captor? Did she want to get them all murdered?

  Their captor didn’t get angry but instead slumped lower in her chair. ‘Yeah, I did.’

  ‘So,’ Jezette began. ‘When they find Sean, what you gonna say to him?’

  Their captor jerked like a Rottweiler on a short chain. ‘Ahm goin’ to tell him he’s a no-good rat-bastard dirt-hound!’

  Ruby squirmed. For Heaven’s sake, Jezette, let’s not go down that road.

  ‘I hear you.’ Bianca sounded weary, like she had heard it all before.

  Their captor heaved herself up from the swivel chair, came round the side of the desk and sat down on the floor in front of them, effectively creating a companionable circle. Rowdy, seeing this as an invitation to make another friend, carried his teddy across and dropped it in their captor’s lap.

  ‘Well, thank you, Rowdy.’ Their captor placed the gun on the carpet and ruffled his ears. Then she began searching her pockets. ‘Mind if I smoke?’ she asked.

  There was a chorus of assent.

  Ruby fidgeted.

  What else are we going to say?

  Yes, actually, we do?

  Since their captor couldn’t find her cigarettes, Bianca pulled out a pack from her bag and offered it around. ‘Camels, okay?’ When the business of lighting-up had finished and a trash can pulled over as an ashtray, their captor Cindy puffed once on her cigarette and passed it over to Ruby. ‘I cain’t have more ’cos of the baby’ she explained. She sat back. ‘Sean ain’t the first one to treat me mean,’ she began. ‘All my life I’ve bin kicked about.’

  Ruby tried to look interested. Nothing like a captive audience, she thought, taking a puff of the cigarette.

  Bianca blew smoke out on a sigh. ‘Me, too.’

  ‘Haven’t we all,’ Jezette agreed.

  The three women took in turns to cross-reference their lives of emotional and physical poverty, neglect and exploitation by fathers, boyfriends and husbands.

  ‘I’ve got a drunk of a husband waiting for me at home.’ ‘My fiancée walked out on me and left me with four thousand dollars of bills to pay.’ ‘My pa never talked to me.’ ‘I’ll give him his whisky then he’ll get mad for no good reason.’

  Cindy hunched forward. ‘My pop spent every cent on gambling, that’s why we ended up as trailer trash.’ She turned to Ruby. ‘How about your pa, was he a good man?’

  Ruby felt as if a massive searchlight had swung round to focus on her. She was now lit up, blinking and unsure. She rubbed her fingertips through the tuft of the carpet. She was fearful to speak, knowing that if she did, her words would spew out like vomit.

  ‘Come on,’ her captor coaxed. ‘We’re all buddies here.’

  Ruby looked up.

  What is this? Group therapy? This is crazy! Kansas folk are so goddam nice, even the bad guys are good!

  Before she knew it, she was listening to her own voice, low and resonant. ‘He hated me.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I don’t know why. Never will … he’s dead. My mum left when I was seven. Maybe she couldn’t take the hate. And she never came back for me.’ Perhaps it was nervous exhaustion, perhaps it was the thought of imminent death, but she spoke from the heart, releasing all the years of anger and hurt. When she had finished, there was silence.

  She sensed a movement and in the next moment she felt soft arms envelope her in a warm embrace, felt her head pressed against a downy chest that smelt of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. It was Cindy. ‘Let it go, baby, let it go.’

  Cradled in those arms, Ruby did what she had never done on her own, let alone in a stranger’s arms: she cried. The grief washed through her in waves, and the tears flowed, unchecked. She heard the keening sound of an animal in pain and realised that it was coming from her.

  While Rowdy licked her cheek, Bianca squeezed her hand. ‘Let it out, sugar.’

  After a while, Ruby’s sobbing eased; she hiccupped and wiped the drip from her nose. She felt all at once exhausted, hot-eyed, and numb. But at the same time, she felt a lightness - as if something murky had been cleaned away.

  ‘Is that better, honey?’ Cindy asked.

  Ruby sniffed. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘Have you never told no-one this before?’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘There was nobody to tell.’

  Jezette spoke to the group. ‘Oprah says that if you have a bad relationship with your pa, you choose a bad husband.’ She turned to Ruby. ‘You married?’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m not wearing his ring.’

  ‘You love him?’

  ‘I like him, but I don’t love him. In fact, I’m leaving him tonight.’

  ‘You’re leaving him? Way to go girl!’ Jezette whistled through two fingers and punched the air. ‘Let’s celebrate. I’ve got whisky in the truck. Only thing is, it’s my husband’s.’

  Cindy hooted delightedly. ‘Hey, Jezette, get it in here, gal.’

  Jezette scooped her car keys from her pocket and walked out. Alone.

  She’s going to do a runner! Ruby realised. She didn’t blame her fellow hostage for escaping; she just felt let down, knowing the woman had not been listening to her distress but, instead, had been planning her escape.

  Cindy went to the window, pushed apart the plastic strips and cupped her hands to the glass to block out the overhead light from behind her. ‘They’ve brought the goddamn circus,’ she murmured. Bianca joined her.

  Ruby stayed motionless, eyes on the corridor for the first sight of a crack shooter in a bullet-proof vest slithering silently into position. Instead, there was the sound of the front door banging and Jezette re-appeared carrying a cardboard box and a Hy-Vee shopping bag hanging from her wrist. Ruby felt a sudden rush of tenderness. Jezette had the chance of escape but had preferred to stay with them.

  C
huckling, Jezette dumped her shopping on the floor. ‘I’ve always wanted to be on TV.’

  Overcome with curiosity, Ruby went to the window. What she saw made her veins fizz. The world had become a kaleidoscope of lights against the night. Squad cars flashed red and blue; a helicopter searchlight swung slowly over the crowd; television cameras twinkled up on gantries, their silver spotlights pinpointing the news reporters below.

  This was momentous!

  With an adrenaline rush, she realised they were being watched by millions of TV viewers all over America. Beside her, Bianca started to laugh. ‘We’re fuckin’ famous!’

  Cindy hummed thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t bin expecting anything this major. It’s like ahm Jesse James. But why, when all I want is to talk to that dirt-hound Sean O’Leary?’ She grinned suddenly. ‘God, I’d love to see his face when the feds bang on his door.’ She turned from the window. ‘Who’s hungry?’

  They all were. After writing down their orders, Cindy phoned for pizza: Florentine, Four Seasons, Pepperoni, Mozzarella. Bianca wanted a side order of garlic sticks which prompted an avalanche of more side orders. Cindy didn’t place their order with CiCi’s or Pizzahut, but with the Federal Marshal. Then - for Rowdy - she ordered five prime steaks from Ruth Chris’s Steak House. This made them laugh.

  Jezette told Bianca to find some cups then reached into her box of shopping and brought out bottles of whisky and lemonade and set them on the carpet. They resumed their circle while Jezette handed out mugs of drinks.

  ‘You know what I’m gonna do,’ she said. ‘Ahm gonna do what Ruby’s gonna do. I’m gonna leave my husband.’

  ‘Way to go, girl!’ Ruby exclaimed. After a hefty slug of whisky and lemonade the tension was beginning to dissolve from her shoulders.

  Jezette pulled off her mustard-coloured hat to reveal mustard-coloured hair. ‘Yeah, I’ve got a cousin in Maywood, Los Angeles. I haven’t got the money yet, but when I do, I’ll go stay with her. I ain’t seen the sea for fifteen years.’

  Cindy refilled her mug with lemonade and turned to Ruby. ‘You’re leaving your husband tonight, yeah? So, where you planning on going?’

  ‘Taos, New Mexico.’ Ruby had a mental image of Payat’s jet black eyes. She saw his brown, muscular back, the tattoo that symbolised thousands of years of tribal lore.

  Wait a minute ….?

  Was that a motorbike? The tattoo appeared before her, perfect in every detail. She saw two wheels, an exhaust pipe and handlebars. But motorbikes had nothing to do with tribal lore! She felt a growing unease, realising how little she knew about this man. Yet she was prepared to go with him into the unknown in order to escape the memory of Hank.

  ‘What’s up, honey?’ Cindy asked.

  Ruby hesitated. ‘A few months ago, I met this Native American, Payat.’ As she explained what had happened, Bianca’s eyebrows rose t higher and higher.

  ‘He’s Pueblo. And he lives in a wigwam?’ Bianca repeated.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he hunts on horseback with a bow and arrow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry to burst your bubble, sweetheart,’ Bianca lit up a cigarette. ‘But that’s a crock of shit. Pueblo Indians live in adobes.’ Seeing Ruby’s bewilderment, she explained: ‘Mud houses. They stack them up four floors high. You can get ten families in one of them, including grandmas and grandpas.’ She continued. ‘And hunting? The men drive around on dune buggies blasting at prairie dogs - and that’s about it. And for trapping - forget it. The only thing he’s gonna be trapping is a tourist.’

  Ruby refused to relinquish her dream. If she did, she would be left with nobody. Nowhere to go. Abandoned. ‘You’re wrong!’

  ‘No, I ain’t. I bin there. You pay ten dollars to watch your Indian Chief dancing with a feather on his head. And The Great Powwow you just mentioned? That’s a gaming casino.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’

  ‘Because that’s all you get in New Mexico: gambling. And I hope you’ve got good eyesight ’cos you’ll be expected to sit all day stringing beads the size of an ant’s butt.’

  Jezette squeezed Ruby’s hand. ‘Seems he just told you what you wanted to hear.’

  Cindy jerked a thumb towards the door. ‘But you love him, yeah? So go to him.’

  But Ruby didn’t love him. In fact, she didn’t even know him. Suddenly, she realised she wasn’t alone. She had Edward! She jumped to her feet.

  ‘Edward!’ she cried. ‘I have to tell him we’re gonna stay married.’ She lurched to the desk and grabbed up the phone, but as her finger punched the numbers, she realised it was too late. Edward had Donna. Of course, he would take Ruby back, if she insisted. He was a gentleman and he would do the right thing by her, but his heart would be forever with Donna. Could Ruby do that to him?

  She dropped the receiver into its cradle. Again, she felt as if she were alone in a stormy sea. Payat had been her sight of land, and now that he was gone, she was floundering.

  ‘If you don’t love your husband. Why do you want to go back to him?’ Jezette asked.

  ‘Because I haven’t got anyone else.’

  Bianca stabbed a finger at her. ‘You have yourself. Stand alone. Be strong.’

  Ruby trembled. Could she stand alone?

  No.

  But she couldn’t go back to Vanessa and all that pressure. She couldn’t admit to yet another failure. Having a husband showed Ruby had succeeded at something, showed she had managed to achieve one of Vanessa’s ambitions for her - even if Edward wasn’t quite the calibre Vanessa had hoped for. Now, that marriage had gone belly-up – after only four months!

  She put a hand to her head. Christ! She couldn’t think of her future, it was all too much for her right now. She would concentrate only on this evening. She would walk out of the bank and go …

  Where? Where could she go?

  Naturally, she would be questioned by the police, but after that? She couldn’t face Payat and her broken dreams; she couldn’t witness Donna and Edward in love because it would only make her think of Hank, and the love she had lost.

  But she couldn’t stay sitting on the floor of a bank. It was New Year’s Eve! She had to go somewhere. Molly was at a “Hogmanay” party, but Ruby didn’t know the address. Mary-Jo was in Liberty. Ruby couldn’t remember the name of the hotel where Darlene was holding her disco party.

  As a child, Ruby had humiliated herself by trying to get invited to birthday parties. Now, for the first time in her life, she had been inundated with invitations: disco, fancy-dress, dinner, Hogmanay, and a survivalists’ shin-dig. Yet she’d thrown them all away, thinking she wouldn’t need them.

  When the telephone rang, Jezette answered it. ‘Food’s here,’ she announced. They went to the front door to collect the carrier bags and pizza boxes then returned to their room and started to eat, laughing as they watched Rowdy pounce on his twenty-dollar steaks. With the sofa cushions and coats and jumpers scattered about the floor, the room had become a Bedouin encampment. A copy of Time magazine lay on the desk. The cover showed two champagne flutes filled with honey-coloured liquid and the headline: “Why we’re saying no to the hype and opting for a quiet, meaningful evening”.

  Ruby considered this. She was certainly having a “quiet, meaningful evening” - as long as the feds didn’t open fire.

  She looked at her companions. Jezette, who was demolishing a stick of garlic bread, had a vicious drunk husband waiting at home for her.

  There was no-one waiting for Bianca. Just bad memories.

  And what about me? Ruby thought. I’ve cut all ties and I’m adrift.

  She had a sudden revelation. Out of all the women in America this New Year’s, Cindy had managed to find the only three who were quite happy to be held at gunpoint. I’m being absurd, Ruby thought. No, I’m not. We’re cosy, warm, and well-fed. We’ve analysed our childhoods. We’ve made a bond of friendship. And we’re on nationwide TV.

  ‘Hey! Cindy?’ She nodded towards the gun.
She was beginning to feel anxious, not for herself, but for her new friend. ‘You’re gonna go to jail for having a weapon.’

  Cindy’s mouth was connected to her slice of pizza by a long web of rubber cheese. Expertly, she wrapped it round her tongue and swallowed. ‘I bought it in a garage sale. The lady said it don’t work.’ Cindy picked it up, pulled the trigger and there was a click. ‘See?’ She offered it to Ruby. It was quite feminine; small, light with a short muzzle - and it fitted perfectly into the palm of her hand.

  Bianca chewed steadily. ‘But you’ve pretended it works,’ she reminded Cindy. ‘The authorities are gonna take that seriously. And Ruby, here, just put her fingerprints all over it.’

  Ruby dropped the gun as if it was a hot potato and everyone laughed.

  ‘I’ll be okay,’ Cindy assured them. ‘I’m gonna plead hormonal imbalance. I read that two hundred years ago in England you couldn’t be hanged for murder if you were pregnant.’ She tucked the gun in her pocket. ‘So, Ruby, tell us about your Queen.’

  Since Ruby had picked up a vast amount of information from her neighbours - who regularly trawled through gossip magazines - she could now talk at length on the various activities of the Royal Family - and what she didn’t know, she could make up.

  ‘The Queen does like a bit of Pinky and Perky.’

  Her audience looked shocked. ‘Pinky and perky?’ Bianca echoed cautiously.

  ‘You know: the cartoon? About the pigs?’ No, apparently, they didn’t know; but they seemed relieved. Ruby continued. ‘And she gets through sixty fags a day.’

  Again, her audience looked shocked. ‘Fags?’

  ‘Cigarettes. Fags are also junior boys at private school who do certain things for senior boys.’ Ruby hurriedly elaborated. ‘Tasks, you know, polishing shoes and tidying up.’

  Ruby felt she was walking a linguistic minefield.

  Bianca picked up another wedge of pizza. ‘Does the Queen have a plane like President Clinton? You know, Air Force One?’

  ‘Yes, but she calls hers Mildred.’ Her audience grinned, realising she was teasing them. Ruby continued loftily. ‘And Her Majesty has a ten-man Jacuzzi in Buckingham Palace.’

  ‘But has she got ten men to go with it?’ Jezette asked solemnly.