by Diana Stone
“I’m going to get an hour of sleep. Call me when you get her. Call me if anything goes wrong. Call me for any reason…”
I hold up my hand, indicating he should stop. I lean over to give him a kiss, then quickly slide behind the wheel. “Please get some sleep. I’ll be safe for a while at least.” I slowly drive out the gate.
The phone rings. It’s Quinn. “Just testing the phone system.”
“Thanks.” That’s sweet.
And I test the car. Oh, wow, the handling is amazing. The stop, and go, and turning. It won’t pull a horse trailer, but that’s the only thing I don’t like about it.
It’s a comfortable drive to Santa Ynez. I’m keeping alert. The radio is off, the windows are down about 2 inches so I can hear outside sounds. They’re tinted dark enough to hide me. I drive around the neighborhood. I want to get a feel for what’s lurking. There aren’t many people out.
I’m driving at a medium pace, hoping not to attract attention by going too fast, or too slow. I make a right on Sagunto, and when I’m opposite the busy saloon, I roll down the window and look into the gully.
No one is running out to meet me. Where are they?
I make a second pass and cruise through the busy parking lot. I catch the raspy voice of Johnny Cash singing about his Folsom Prison Blues. There is a small crowd on the rustic porch, wearing cowboy hats and drinking pints of beer.
I don’t see the goons. I wonder if she’s inside. Maybe she feels safer with people, rather than in a dark drainage ditch.
Here’s a spot I can back the car into. No one is running up to me—either the good, or bad guys. I step up to the open wooden door which gives me a view of the inside. It’s like stepping back to the old west. Dollar bills are stapled to every centimeter of ceiling space. Everything is old wood and looks like it was used in the TV series Maverick.
I’ve already garnered attention from the cowboys. As I walk by I get a few compliments. “Miss, if you’re lonely tonight, I’d like to help.” “You’re just like the song: she’s a beauty in a BMW.”
“Thanks guys, but I think the song is about a woman in pearls and hundred dollar jeans.” I smile to show I’m not bitchy. “Speaking of women, have you seen a woman with short black hair, cut just below her ears? I don’t know what she’s wearing.”
“There are a bunch of gals inside. She might be there. If you don’t find what you want, come on back,” he has a drawl like a Texan.
“Thanks boys.” I smile and walk past.
Inside, it’s loud with music, and lots of conversation. The dance floor is in the attached barn. About ten couples are dancing the Cowboy 2-Step. My head is on a swivel, looking for her or Tony. I don’t see them. Maybe the restroom? I’ll check there.
“Nicole—are you in here?”
Hell, where is she? I head back out and there she is—on the dance floor with Tony. They’re both in cowboy hats and button-down shirts tucked into jeans. What on earth?
They’re ignoring me. Is there a reason for that? She sounded desperate on the phone, and now they’re dancing like they’re having fun in cowboy country. They’re in plain sight. This isn’t the time for frivolity—unless there’s another reason.
The song ends and another immediately begins. They’re out there, but I’m not. I don’t dare walk up, it’s too obvious. In case someone is watching me, I’m not looking directly at them. I need a partner to dance me up to them. The people at the bar are either couples, or smashed. A woman won’t work—that leaves the cowboy crew at the front. Ugh, the things one has to do.
I slink to the door, hoping the goons aren’t hiding in a dark corner.
I lean against the doorway to let the cowboys notice the fresh meat has returned. “Hi guys,” I reply when one waves.
“I’d really like to dance. Will one of you lead me around the floor?”
They don’t jump at my request. How embarrassing. “I’ll buy a drink for whoever dances with me.”
Suddenly I have four men to choose from. That’s more like it. Who is the least intoxicated—and while I’m at it, who is the cutest?
I pick the leggy Texan. He looks like the singer Alan Jackson, with an honest face, lanky frame and a fun accent.
I lead him to the dance floor. “It’s been a while since I’ve done the 2-Step,” I let him know.
“I don’t dance, that’s why I’m outside with my friends,” he adjusts his white Stetson.
“Darn it. Can’t you fake it, or do I have to get someone else?”
“I’m kidding! I can twirl you around, then sweep you off your feet on the second beat.”
“Ok let’s go easy until I figure it out.” He leads me onto the floor, while I’m looking for Nicole and Tony. I’m not concentrating on the steps, and it’s been a long time since I’ve done this. Boy, I’m a klutz.
There they are, on the other side. We need to get there. “Can you steer me over there—see that couple? No, don’t look. Just get me there.”
“We’ll get there. Hold your horses,” he chuckles.
This dance has me, the follower, walking backward. I see them directly opposite us, but we’re not catching up. We have longer legs, but we’re not getting there. “Can we go faster?”
“Nope. This is the step. No going faster, no going slower,” he drawls.
“Can we cut to the inside, you know—make a smaller circuit?”
“Look honey, this is my song, my dance. Live a little,” he smiles with gorgeous long dimples.
He swirls me into his arms for two strides while murmuring “Quick-quick, slow-slow.” That’s the step pattern I’m supposed to be following. He keeps saying it under his breath. I’m not sure if it’s for my benefit, or his. Fine. I will follow. He swings me in three quick full-turns. My eyes get vertigo and I lose my balance.
I’ve forgotten how to dance. I can keep a beat to music, but my feet forget the quick-quick, slow-slow step. “Get me to that couple, please.” I whisper, while moving to ‘Chasin That Neon Rainbow.’
His eyes crinkle when he smiles. He sweeps me into his arms, then twirls me out, then back against him in a crush; and suddenly, we’re directly behind Nicole and Tony.
“How did you do that?!”
I get another sweet smile as I try to tug him alongside. He won’t let me lead him. “Come on.” I try to step closer.
“No, you have to take it in stride.” He holds me back from following them during the change of songs.
“I need to speak with her,” I hiss.
“You need to take your time. There’s something not right about those two. Is she your friend?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been watching them, and something isn’t right.”
“How?”
He looks at me. “You seem like a nice lady, do you know what you’re getting into?”
“I thought I did. What are you seeing that I’m not?”
The next song starts and he strides me quickly past them. He’s no longer whispering the ‘quick-quick, slow-slow’ strides. Instead he says, “They were acting real friendly with two mean-looking dudes a while ago.”
“You saw them together?” What’s going on?
“The four were in the parking lot when my friends and I arrived. We tried to park in the empty space next to them, but they wouldn’t move over. Their friends are dangerous. We had to find another spot or get into a fight right there.”
“They were all friendly? Not afraid?”
He has me striding in a ‘grapevine’ move. I don’t know what it’s called in Country 2-Step, but it’s giving me a chance to think. I need extra time to figure this out.
He pulls me back for a couple of strides, then spins me out in front of him—in time with the music, and what the others dancers are doing.
The next time he’s walking me backward, and I obviously can’t see where I’m going, he says, “Don’t look now, but those dudes are at the front door, with their eyes glued on us. Oh, here they come. No, they just stopped in m
iddle of the dance floor. We have to move around them.”
I smile and falter a step. “Quick-quick, slow-slow,” he whispers. “I’ll guide us to the center of the floor. Would you like to leave?”
“I’m supposed to sneak the man and woman away from those two.”
“You may want to change your plans.”
“It feels like a trap.”
“Would you like a distraction so you can get out?”
“There you are!” Nicole shouts as she and Tony dance up to us. She reaches over and grabs my arm. “Let’s get out of here before the men find us.”
There’s no way she could have missed seeing the two at the door and on the dance floor, but she’s strangely loud and obvious. She’d never do this if she was trying to hide.
My brain kicks into gear. “I don’t have a car. I was dropped off—he’ll return in 30 minutes.”
“What? Well, that’s fine, let’s go out front and wait.”
We’re dancing around in a tight circle in the middle of the room. Both of us are moving backward, propelled by our male partners. The dangerous-looking men have stepped back to the door.
Without using words, all I can do is squeeze my fingers on the Texan’s hand. I have no idea what he’ll think it means. There isn’t a dance move for ‘I need to get out of here.’
He swings me around and has me promenade toward the bar. Then darts out the back door.
“Where to?” he asks.
I flash a look around, “I’m going over the fence. Thank you.” He lets go as I run for the chain-link.
“My pleasure, beautiful lady.”
It’s a good thing I’m not wearing my dancing shoes! I shove my toe into the holes in the fence and scramble up. The top X catches my shirt on the way over. Ouch, it stuck in my palm. I tear my hand away and miss the toe-holds on the other side—landing with a thump and wrenching my arm.
There’s no time to complain, here they come! The cowboy has one by the shirt, and lands a punch, before I turn away and run. Thank you good man!
I turn to the left, as it has more cover and concealment. There are houses on the north side of the street, and the backs of restaurants and businesses on the south. My car is on the south side. I’ll try to stay close. I have a good lead, but I don’t know how fast those two are. Always believe the bad guy has skills you aren’t aware of.
I’m staying in the shadows. There’s a two story building I aim for. But a few yards closer, I see they have steel mesh security doors. There’s no way in. There isn’t anything to hide behind. I whip around and see one man running down the middle of the street. The other may have gone back for their car.
My escape plan has to change. I race across the street and aim for the center of the housing block. There’s a low block wall next to a high wood gate. I can easily get on the wall, and it gives me a boost to clamber over the gate. I let myself drop to the other side. I hope to hell they don’t have a dog. I run straight for the back fence. My upper body strength isn’t good, so I have to jump high enough to swing my leg over. The splinters from the old fence imbed in my arms. I feel it, but keep going.
Now I’m in the yard of the house one block north. So far, no dogs.
I hear a speeding car on the street I just left. If I wait, he may come down the one I’m about to cross. I can run after he passes me and gets to the next street. And that’s just what I do. Thank goodness, this house has a little white two-rail decorative fence. I literally step over it. I’m out of breath with adrenaline.
Should I hunker down for a while, or…? I don’t know. I know the police lose suspects if they keep running and get out of the perimeter. I should probably do that. As long as I choose a yard without a dog that either bites me, or barks.
I run across the little dirt street to the house without a perimeter fence. Perfect.
Not so perfect. The motion detector goes off, blinding me. The back door opens and suddenly I’m face to face with a woman holding a shotgun.
“Who the hell are you?”
My brain is scrambling for the right words. “I’m running from two men. I’m trying to hide.”
My focus is the hole at the end of the barrel. I hope she has a steady finger and it’s not on the trigger.
“You don’t look like a crook.”
“I’m not.”
“Where are the men?”
“They just drove by. Can you turn off the light—please?”
The barrel lowers by a foot. “I will, but you’d better not be lying to me. I’ll put a hole in your chest a mile wide.”
“Yes ma’am.”
We both hear a speeding car on the next street. “What did you do? Why are they chasing you?”
“I got between someone who owes money and the man they owe. They blamed me for my uh-boyfriend shooting them when they were going to break my legs.”
“Hey, that works. So, they’re pissed and want revenge?”
“Something like that.”
I’m feeling a little better. She looks like a normal woman, not a psycho who is looking for victims. I hope.
“I won’t invite you in, but do you want the police?”
I didn’t have time for that. I had to run. “Yes, please!”
“You can wait here a few minutes, but I want you to cross the street. I don’t want the police meeting you in my yard, in case your problems get angry at me.”
“Thanks.”
She closes and locks the door. I’m here in the blessed darkness hearing the speeding car come back along this street. I doubt they know I’m here, but they must have guessed I wouldn’t keep running.
She opens the door without the shotgun in her hand. “The police will be here in a few minutes. Go now,” she nods toward the front yard.
“Thank you,” I wave and go.
I don’t hear speeding car sounds. I look both ways from beside a parked car, then dash across the street.
Shit—it was the wrong time. Here it comes! I leap the white decorative fence, fly to the back rickety wood fence, and scramble over it.
Now I hear someone following me. The car may have gone around, I don’t know. I run flat out across the street. I’m too weak to jump fences. Maverick’s and my car are at the end of the block.
I’m alternately jogging and walking. My jog is slower than my walk. I swear I’ll get in better shape after this. If I survive.
The police aren’t in sight. My best bet is to make it to my car and get out of here.
I look back and see the guy trying to catch up. There’s only one. Where is the other?
Now I’m directly behind Mavericks. I go for the chain-link since I’m too tired to keep jog-walking. He’s right behind me. My foot slips and slides back down to the ground. I jam it between the links again and get up and over just as he reaches for me. I pull away in time, and fall over the other side.
He’s bent over, panting. “I won’t hurt you. We have to talk,” he’s hard to understand between his gasping breaths.
I run straight for the saloon, through the back door, then across the dance floor, and out the front barn doors. My car is parked a few spaces away.
Digging my sweaty hand in my pocket, I click the key as I reach the Beemer.
I wrench the door open and slide in. My hand is shaking so badly it’s hard to get the key in the ignition. When I do, there’s a delay as I coordinate myself in a new car. The man is clawing at the door which hasn’t automatically locked. The car system alerts I have an open door. I see him in my peripheral vision, punch my foot down, and skid out of the lot, dragging him for several yards before he lets go.
I’m going 50 on the little street. I brake hard, and turn right, which isn’t the way home. I start a zig-zag pattern, making sure they aren’t following me. There are no other cars on the road, so my tail lights will be easy to see. I take side streets to Los Olivos, until I am far enough away to hit the main street and mash down the gas pedal.
39
Double Crossed
“What’s happening?” His voice rings with tension. “You haven’t been answering. I checked the location finder and it looks like you were behind the saloon for a while. But you’re going the wrong way to Santa Barbara.”
“Something is fucked up. I think it’s a double cross,” I’m panting, and my body is still jittery from extreme exertion.
“I’m tracking you.”
“I’m glad. Something went wrong. The asshole enforcers chased me through backyards. I barely got out of there.”
He’s quiet, and I’m concentrating on speeding as safely as possible. He doesn’t need to say anything, I feel better with him there.
He starts off hesitantly, like he’s thinking, “I wonder if they worked out a deal. Hold on, I’ll be right back.” He puts the phone down.
I hear him speaking in the background. His voice has a different tone. He’s speaking with the enemy. There’s a period of silence then he comes back on with me.
“It’s a double cross. C claims he spoke with Tony and was paid half the money. I don’t know if he told his guys to get you, or they’re acting on their own. He clammed up.”
“What do we do about that?”
“We’ll speak with the wife to see if she’s the one who part-paid them.”
“I’m concentrating on driving—can’t do it now.”
“That’s okay, I’ll stay with you until you get home.”
There’s silence for several minutes as the car eats up the miles. Finally, I tell him, “I’m okay now. You can hang up and do something important. I hate to tie you up.”
“You’re the important thing. I’d consider picking you up by air, but you’re making good time, and you’re not being followed… right?
“Right. There isn’t a headlight for miles. I’ve made so many turns there’s no way they’ll find me.”
A while later, he navigates me down unlit roads, until I make a right into his open gate. He’s standing there, waiting.
He directs me to park in the warehouse, around the back. I open the door, feeling the effects of adrenaline—shaky and exhausted. I can’t seem to get out of the seat.
