Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Elle Casey

  Several heads swivel around to stare at me as I begin to walk again.

  As I hitch Felix’s bag up higher on my shoulder, his head pops out and he takes a look around.

  “What do you think, Fee?” I ask softly, my voice a little too high. “Feel like having a brewski?” Instead of blazing into the back room demanding my sister leave at once, I decide that playing it cool is the best way to handle it. Sometimes she can be stubborn. I’ve seen her cut off her nose to spite her face on more than one occasion, and I don’t want this to backfire on me and end up being one of those somebody-call-the-cops-another-divorcée-has-gone-rogue situations. I’ll stand here at the bar for a minute or two and work up the courage to have the showdown that’s sure to come.

  Felix pants excitedly. I take that as a maybe to my beer question.

  My phone buzzes as I make my way over to the bar, telling me I have a text waiting.

  Jen: Where the hell r u?

  Me: Keep your bra on. I’m here.

  Jen: Where? All I see is a bimbo with a purse dog.

  My jaw goes off center as I stare down at her message. Now she really has lost her mind. Bimbo? Since when am I a bimbo? She knows I graduated summa cum laude. My fingers fly over the keys.

  Me: U better chillax or ur rescue party’s going to start some boob punching and yours r def on the kill list.

  Jen: Consider yourself a dead man. I warned you about that boob thing.

  I snort. She must be wasted. I cancel my plans to order a beer and turn to head into the back room instead. Nervousness has taken a back seat to indignation. My loving sister just called me a bimbo and a dead man. She’s obviously drunk in front of her kids, so forget nicey-nice, loving, younger sister interventions. Shit just got real. I crack my knuckles, getting ready for that boob punch I promised her.

  The back room is darker than the front of the bar. There’s no dance floor, no couples, and nothing resembling decor unless you consider broken beer signs and nicotine-stained walls interior design. The place is totally empty, but I see what might be bathroom doors near the farthest corner of the room. They must be in there.

  I’m in the alcove between the front of the bar and the back room when a loud boom sounds behind me. I don’t have time to even turn around before I’m being shoved in the spine.

  “What the hell?!” The words fly out of me as I do a slight backbend and trip, falling forward.

  I smell smoke. Adrenaline surges into my veins as I gain my feet under me. Felix is barking like a very angry, devil-possessed half-Chihuahua. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack.

  The person who pushed me grabs me by the upper arms and practically lifts me off my feet, forcefully moving me into the back room, whether I like it or not.

  “What are you doing?!” I yell, twisting to get out of his grip. Now I’m scared and pissed. I have no idea what’s going on, but I don’t like being manhandled. It reminds me too much of that mugging that left me with a black eye, a skinned knee, and a stolen purse.

  When I can finally turn around, I see a mountain of a guy standing there behind me, sporting a big black beard and a pile of matching frizzy hair encircled by a folded-up blue bandana. He could be anywhere from thirty to sixty years old; it’s impossible to tell with that much of his face and head obscured in . . . ugh . . . grizzly bear fur.

  “Getting you out of here,” he growls, shoving me sideways.

  I lose a few feet of ground before I can dig my heels in. “I have to find my sister and her kids!” I struggle against his grip, trying to reach into my purse so I can get my Taser and teach this beast-man a thing or two about how to treat a lady. Forget being scared. My sister is here somewhere and she needs me. Crazy brain chemicals have turned me into some kind of superhero. I even have a sidekick named Felix. We should have matching capes.

  “There’re no kids in here—are you nuts?” He’s not taking no for an answer. I’m halfway into the back room before I can even process what he’s said. I give up on finding my Taser under Felix’s fuzzy butt in favor of trying to control any further advancement.

  He’s right. I haven’t seen my sister yet, but that doesn’t mean she’s not here. She could be in the bathroom or in another part of the bar I can’t see from here. She texted me, and I came, and I’m not leaving here without her and those babies.

  “Why are you pushing me?!” I try to grab the back of a high-top chair as I go by, but I lose my grip on it and it falls with a crash in our wake. The sounds of people yelling in the other room grow louder. Screams from the front bar area join the mix, and not all of them are female.

  “Exit,” he says. “You need to leave.”

  I grab the edge of a table that’s thankfully nailed into the floor, stopping our progress.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I grunt out, bending in half as he tries to pick me up by my waist. “I need to get my sister.” I kick out at him, catching him in the shin.

  “Oooph!” He bends over, surprised by the pain, letting me go.

  I hear a crack and a ping. My eyes open wide as I notice a huge gouge in the wood next to me where there used to be a mostly smooth surface. When I look up, I see a man standing in the entrance of the back room with a gun raised in our direction. My hear stops beating for a second or two, and it feels as though my chest is caving in with fear.

  I’m not ashamed to say that I screech pretty loudly at that point, and it isn’t one of those really cute lady-screams either. More like a crazy chicken being unsuccessfully strangled.

  The mountain man who’d been trying to get me out of the bar grabs me by the purse and yanks me down to the floor. I crumble to my knees, shaking uncontrollably.

  Felix thanks him by biting his hand.

  “Mother fu—!” The guy shoves his hand into his mouth for a second and then pulls it out. “Let’s go!” Crouched in half, he takes me by the hand and drags me out of the room, using tables and chairs as cover. I’m half-tripping, half-running, trying to put more distance between me and the nut job who actually had the gall to shoot at me.

  More cracks and a couple pings follow us, making bits of wood fly up and hit the side of my face. They immediately start stinging like a mofo.

  “I’ve been hit!” My free hand flies up to my face, finding something wet and sticky. When I pull my hand away and look at it, I see something dark smeared there. Holy shit, is that blood? “Oh my god, I’m bleeding?!”

  There’s a roaring in my ears now, but it’s not coming from outside my body. I think my heart’s about to explode. This is the worst sister rescue ever!

  “Just keep running!” my rescuer shouts, shoving me out a door.

  I fall to my hands and knees out in a stinky, slimy, dirty alleyway, my purse landing next to me. Felix spills out and then gets to his feet, barking like he’s possessed by the devil himself. I know exactly how he feels. I think I’m going to vomit.

  The door slams shut behind me. “Shut that dog up,” the guy yells.

  “You’re still here?!” I’m shouting. I’m not happy because I know for a fact those bullets were meant for him, not Felix and me. We’ve never inspired anyone to that level of hatred. Maybe a few strong words about tiny dog poops left on a neighbor’s lawn, sure, but bullets? Never. This guy is dangerous. Anyone can see he’s a motorcycle gangster guy or a drug dealer, and I don’t want him anywhere near me.

  One second I’m smelling what I’m pretty sure is someone else’s stomach contents on the ground, and the next, I’m flying through the air. I’m only a little disoriented when my feet hit the ground and I’m right-side up.

  “What just happened?” I whisper, my tone way too high for a normal human. A half-second later I realize I’m standing because he lifted me to my feet as easily as if I were just a piece of paper.

  “Get your dog and let’s go.” He has his hand on the back door under a glowing exit sign, holding it shut. If I weren’t so scared for my life, I’d be impressed with his chivalry. He probably could have been a
mile gone from here if all he’d been worried about was his own hide.

  My entire body, including my voice, is shaking. “Come here, Felix. Get in the bag.”

  Felix is barking at everyone and everything, real or imagined. His entire body is bouncing up and down with angry energy. “Get over here, Felix! We have to go!” When I finally get my hands on him, I’m almost impressed with how much his outrage is completely possessing him; he’s humming like a recently twanged guitar string. I’m already moving, even before I have Felix situated. That beard guy is right; my sister’s not in that bar. Why did I think she was? Maybe she’s drinking at home and drunk-texting me. I’m going to kill her.

  “Come on, Fee, get in. Stop messing around.” I shove Felix into my bag headfirst and close it with my arm against my ribs. “Time to get the hell outta here.” And leave this gangster behind. As I start fast-walking to the end of the alley, I’m once again grabbed by the elbow.

  “What?!” I yell, spinning to face the man-beast who obviously doesn’t believe in personal hygiene or basic manners. “What now?!” My heart is hammering away in my chest as my gaze darts between the door and my captor. I know that lunatic with the gun is going to reach that door any second, and I don’t want to be hanging around here in the alley when he comes out.

  “You can’t go that way—they’ll be waiting for you. Follow me.”

  I feel just the tiniest bit sorry that I was having bad thoughts about him, since he’s obviously trying to help me out. But when he takes off at a jog, leaving me standing there, my guilt disappears. So much for chivalry. He doesn’t even look back to see if I’m following, the jerk.

  My feet start moving of their own volition. “Who’s they? Why are they waiting for me?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns a corner several yards ahead, leaving me alone in the garbage-strewn, vomit-y alley. When I look in the opposite direction toward the street where my car is waiting, I swear I can see the outline of a bad man with a gun, so I take off running after the guy with the horrible beard, praying I’m not going to regret this decision as much as I regret coming to a rescue that was never needed in the first place.

  CHAPTER THREE

  After I catch up to the bearded gangster, he leaves me shaking in the shadows of a dumpster four streets over, promising to return. Felix isn’t concerned anymore. He wanders around my feet, leaving p-mail for any dog who might come by in the next few days, while I text my drunk-ass sister and slowly get my respirations back to a normal rate. I can only imagine what his messages say. Something like: “Dude, you would not believe what happened to me tonight!” I know I’m pretty much shell-shocked over the whole thing and I’m not even a Chihuahua mix. I hunker down where no one will see me and keep a sharp ear out for footsteps. The only thing I can hear are my own heartbeats for a while, going like crazy, but then there are sirens too, and it’s like music to my ears when I realize they’re coming from the area by the bar.

  I pray my sister is okay. I didn’t see her or the kids, so that gives me some measure of comfort. She hasn’t answered any of my latest texts, though. I check the screen again just to be sure. All the messages showing are still from me. No more of her crazy messages are coming anymore. She must have passed out on her couch. It’s so unlike her to do anything like this. I need to get to her place as soon as possible and make sure everyone is okay.

  Where are you?

  Are you safe?

  I hope you’re not in that bar.

  I’m going to kill you for dragging me out here.

  Please text me back. I’m getting worried.

  The big fancy truck from the same lot where I parked earlier pulls up to the curb, and its interior cab lights come on, revealing the bearded beast inside. Color me a little surprised that the grossest guy in the place has the most expensive ride. My phone beeps, alerting me to a received text message. As I bend over to retrieve Felix, I read it.

  Jen: We’ve been made. Don’t go back. Meet up at the next drop point in thirty.

  I’m staring at the screen as I stop at the passenger door. It opens from the inside, and I look up to see my rescuer’s face.

  “Get in,” he says. He glances down at his phone as he waits for me to comply.

  “Uhhh, no thanks.” I look over my shoulder. The dark cover of the dumpster is looking pretty good right now.

  “You can’t stay out here where you could be seen by someone driving by.”

  “But I should get into a car with a gangster drug dealer who’s probably going to kill me and dump my body in the Mississippi River?”

  He hisses out a sigh of annoyance. “I’m not a drug dealer or a gangster. Come on—stop messing around. I don’t want to be seen here.”

  “Because you’re a drug dealer.”

  His voice carries exaggerated patience. “No, because drug dealers will see me on their turf and probably not like it too much.”

  I look around me, new fear rushing into my body, making it feel like something is trying to suffocate me. “This is a drug dealer’s turf?”

  He gestures out the window. “Look around. What do you think?”

  Random people on the street corners, drinking out of paper bags. Groups of men standing around looking at us. Yeah. Not good. I bite my lip as I consider my options. I could call the police and then wait around for who knows how long to be picked up—hours if my past experience is any measure—and in the meantime be a sitting duck. I could get in the car with this guy and maybe get raped and pillaged and then even murdered. What other choices do I have left? There are no businesses I’d consider safe nearby, and no way do I want to start walking the street. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.

  “I’ll take my chances,” I say, holding Felix more firmly under my arm.

  The guy lifts up a butt cheek. “Here. Take a look at this.”

  I back away, sure I’m about to see the wrong end of a gun.

  Instead he pulls out a wallet. From that wallet he takes a card and hands it to me.

  I read the writing on the front of the white business card. There’s just a company name and address on it, no name: “Bourbon Street Boys Security.” Looking up at him, I squint my eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a good guy?”

  “That’s it. Now get in.”

  Holding the card out, I take a picture of it and type out an email to myself, attaching the photo.

  “Okay, Mister Bourbon Street Boy person, I have just sent an email with your business address to my sister and myself, so if anything happens to me, you will be held responsible.”

  “Great. Get in.”

  I know my plan isn’t foolproof, but it’s the best I’ve got. I can still plainly see that shooter’s face in my mind, and it gets more menacing by the second.

  First I take my Taser out and slide it surreptitiously into my waistband. Then I put my purse and Felix inside the truck’s cab, and with the help of the door itself and a handle inside, I climb up too. Once I’m settled, I buckle myself up and quickly tap out a response to my sister’s message. I thought I’d calmed down, but my pulse is still pounding away. I can literally feel it hammering away in my neck.

  Me: You have got to be drunk. Where are the kids?

  I hear a beep beside me, a two-second pause as the beard-beast man checks his phone, and then he roars and punches his steering wheel.

  I cringe, squeezing myself into the corner of the cab, as I realize that the business card he gave me means nothing. I’ve jumped out of the frying pan and landed right in the fire. Is he nuts? He has to be. Who punches their car when they get a text? And who is he so mad at? Must be a girlfriend or something, although I can’t imagine what kind of woman would date a guy like this. Maybe one of those weight-lifter chicks with a really thick neck and beard hair from all the steroids she puts into her protein shakes. I slowly pull my Taser from my pants and hold it down at the side of my leg. If he makes a single move to hurt me, I’m going to light him up like a Christmas tree.
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  He throws his phone on the dashboard and hisses out a long breath, shifting into drive at the same time.

  “Where do you live?” he asks. “I’ll take you home.”

  I laugh as I tremble. I think maybe it’s the pent-up stress or something, but whatever it is, it’s powerful stuff. I can’t stop. I’m about to pee my pants. Apparently, when faced with impending death, I completely lose my shit.

  He stops at a red light. “I don’t see what’s so funny about asking for your address.” His beard wiggles with every word, which only makes things worse. Or better. I can finally stop shaking, anyway.

  I pause to try and breathe normally. “What’s funny is you thinking I’m actually going to give you that information.” A snort escapes my nose. “Yeah. Right. Here, Mister Crazy Mountain Man Grizzly Bear Person, why don’t you come on over to my house and murder me in my living room? That sounds like fun.” I cross my eyes with the ridiculousness of it as I stare out the front windshield. “You must think I’m the dumbest woman alive to fall for that crap.” Forget the part where I actually got in his truck on the basis of a business card that probably isn’t even his. Hell, for all I know, it could belong to the last guy he killed! I need to have my head examined. Being lost and confused about my life has made me completely stupid. Thank God, I have my Taser.

  The light turns green and he steps on the gas. The engine roars, but we remain at the speed limit. I guess he’s some kind of Boy Scout. Or maybe he’s a murderer who doesn’t want to get pulled over by the cops. That’s probably the more likely scenario.

  “Would I have bothered to rescue you from the bar if I planned to kill you?”

  “How am I supposed to know? I’m not a crazy person.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I mumble under my breath. I point to an all-night diner down the street. “Just drop me off over there. I’ll get a ride back to the bar and get my car from there.”

  “Whatever you say.” He changes lanes to be able to turn into the parking lot. The sense of relief that fills me is intoxicating. It’s like being at the end of a really wild, really awful roller coaster ride as you pull into the station to get off. It’s a little dizzying, actually.