Hit & Mrs. (27 page)

“I've lost someone.”

Candy slammed his fist into the steering wheel. Dumber wrinkled his brow. “What?”

“He lost someone.”

Dumber hit his own forehead.

“Who'd ya lose?” Candy shouted.

“Gracie and the brat.”

“
Again?
”

“Sorry, boss.”

“You fucking idiot. Take the two broads to the safe house. If you lose them, I'm gonna cut your nuts off and shove them down your throat, have you got that?”

Dumb closed the cellphone. “I have to take you somewhere right now.”

“That's the extent of your thinking? You call Candy and he tells you what to do? I'm not impressed, Jethro,” Gemma said. “Not impressed at all.”

“Stop yappin' and get movin'.”

“Where are we going?” Augusta asked.

“You think I'm gonna tell you?”

The women sighed and grabbed their purses. “Can we take our parcels?”

“No.”

“If they're here when the police come, they'll know you kidnapped us,” Gemma said.

He rolled his eyes and picked up the parcels. Then he pulled out his gun and pointed it at them. “Let's go.”

They walked ahead of him into the empty warehouse, their footsteps echoing in the vast space. As they crossed over to the van, Gemma whispered to Augusta. “Remember the license plate.”

Dumb herded them into the front of the van. “I can't risk leaving you two alone in the back.”

They looked at each other. Drat. No chance to use the phone yet.

Dumb got behind the wheel and started the engine. “Get down, the both of you.”

“But I have arthritis,” Gemma said.

“That's not my problem. Hurry up.”

So Gemma and Augusta scooted down in the seat as far as they could, with groans of protest from Gemma. Dumb revved the engine and off they went. They drove past the diner and headed for parts unknown.

Linda sawed at the rope for what seemed like forever. Her wrist was numb and so were her fingers. Bette took over for a while but didn't get very far. The angle of the blade was on a slant, and without being able to see where they'd cut, they only succeeded in whittling down some of the outer strands.

Finally, in utter frustration, Linda dropped the knife. “This is hopeless. They'll be back before long and we'll still be here. We have to think of something else.”

“Why don't we try yelling?”

So they did that for awhile, but got no response. Bette couldn't stand it any more and thrashed about. “IhatethisIhatethisIhatethis!”

She bumped the table leg and a half-empty glass of coke with two butts floating in it fell off the table and crashed to the floor.

Shards of glass scattered around them. They didn't dare move.

“Oh great, now we're going to bleed to death,” Bette said.

“No, this is perfect.” Linda jerked her head. “Do you see that big piece of glass? Come slowly my way and you might be able to grab it.”

“But we'll cut ourselves on this stuff.”

“Bette, honest to God, do you ever think positively?”

“Oh, shut up. You can afford meditation classes and yoga retreats.

I live in the real world, where people yell at you all day. It makes a difference, you know.”

“Just be quiet and grab that glass.”

Bette inched her hand forward and picked it up. “Now what?”

“Hold it firmly. I'm going to rub this rope back and forth. You can't move now, or you'll slit my wrists.”

“Now there's an idea.”

“I'm not going to dignify that with an answer.” Linda set to work and this time things sped up considerably. Before they knew it, they felt the rope start to give. With a final almighty yank, the rope broke.

“Oh, thank you, God,” Bette yelled.

“Quick, cut the rope around your ankles and then give it to me.”

It wasn't long before they were free, but because they'd been tied up for so long in one position, they could hardly move. And of course there was the dilemma of broken glass everywhere. Inch by inch they gingerly rose to their feet, and once they were up they gave each other a big hug.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you,” Bette said. “I didn't mean it.”

“I didn't mean it either. Now let's get out of here.”

“There's a phone. Why don't we call the police first?”

“We can't tell them where we are. Let's go before they come back.”

“Okay.”

They started for the back door and to their horror saw a car pull up into the back driveway.

“Oh my God, they're back.”

“No, that's not them. It must be the dealers, come for the coke. Quick, Bette, we have to hide.”

Linda grabbed Bette by the hand and pulled her out of the kitchen. They raced up the stairs just as two thugs threw open the back door. They yelled as soon as they entered.

“Give it up, Flea, I'm warnin' ya.”

Linda and Bette ran into the bathroom and hid behind the shower curtain. There was an almighty crash from downstairs, as if one of the thugs had turned the kitchen table on its end. Suddenly the shower curtain seemed too flimsy.

“Come on.” Linda grabbed Bette's arm again; Bette seemed incapable of making a move on her own. The yelling continued and Linda heard the dealers climb the stairs just as she and Bette made it into a bedroom. She yanked open the closet door, but there was not enough in it to hide behind.

“Shit.”

“They're coming, Lin. They're going to kill us. Oh God, I don't want to die.”

Linda yanked her arm. “Will you stop with the dying thing?” She looked around frantically. “The window.” She pulled Bette over to the windowsill and tried to open it. It wouldn't move. “Open, damn you.”

“It's locked.” Bette reached over and undid the lock at the top. Linda shoved at it again and pushed it up. The men were almost at the door.

“Get out, quick.” Bette went first and Linda was right after her. They had to hop down a few feet to a slanted roof, and then they slipped and slid towards the gutters. They made it to the edge and saw a six-foot drop into a bush. They looked at each other.

A roar of indignation came through the window. “They're getting away!”

“Okay, go.” Linda pushed Bette ahead of her and then jumped her–self. They landed in a heap of vegetation. Bette moaned. Linda had the wind knocked out of her, but she got to her feet quickly. She rushed over to Bette.

“Get up, get up.”

“I'm trying. It's my ankle.”

Linda grabbed Bette by the arms and pulled her up. “Lean on me. Hurry.”

They limped out of the bush and started up the back driveway. There was the car the dealers drove up in. Linda glanced through the window. “There are keys in there. Get in, quick.”

Linda shoved Bette into the front seat and ran around to the driver's side. She started the car just as two furious men crashed out the back door of the house. Throwing the gear shift in reverse, Linda stepped on the gas and the car fishtailed down the driveway. Linda had to turn around, so she yanked the steering wheel as far as it would go and shoved the car into drive.

The men caught up to the car and were clawing at the back bumper.“Quick!”

Linda floored it. The car hurtled out of sight and left the men in a shower of gravel.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Detective Ames got a call from his precinct that a Gracie Martell and her baby had escaped a kidnapping attempt and Bette Weinberg's name had come up. They thought Ames might be interested.

He was.

“Where's Gracie now?”

“They took her and the baby to St. Barnabas Hospital to check them over. She was pretty upset when we got there.”

“So she turned up in the Bronx? I think I better have a talk with her.”

Detective Ames left his partner to continue looking for Linda and headed straight for the hospital. He identified himself and was taken into a room where a girl of about eighteen was lying on a bed, a baby in a crib beside her. She turned her big eyes to him as he came in.

“Hello, Gracie. I'm Detective Ames from the NYPD. I'd like you to tell me what happened to you.”

Gracie told him everything she knew, everything she could remember, and anything that might help him at all. “It's my fault they're in trouble. I hope Candy didn't get Bette and Linda Keaton.”

“I'm afraid they've been taken as well.”

Gracie covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God. What am I going to do? How will they ever forgive me? They were so nice to me. They were on vacation, just minding their own business.”

She cried so hard that Detective Ames had to get a nurse.

Candy finally shook the drugged-out idiots in the other car by racing down back alleys and through stop signs. He knew this neighbourhood like the back of his hand, and when he was sure he'd lost them for good, he sped towards the safe house, where he'd told Dumb to take the women. He wanted to get there in a hurry; he didn't trust Dumb not to screw up again. He had to get rid of those women and find Gracie or his goose was cooked. The only thing that gave him a little satisfaction was the fact that he had a hefty package of coke he could sell for a little pin money. He didn't plan on sharing it with anyone. It was payment for the aggravation he'd been through in the last two days.

But his nightmare continued. When he and Dumber arrived at the safe house, the van was nowhere to be seen. They rushed into the apartment. Empty. They tried to call Dumb's cellphone. It wasn't on. Candy picked up an empty beer bottle on an end table and smashed it against the wall. “Where is that fucking idiot? I'll kill him.”

Said idiot was about to be tied up in the back of the van.

It was a delicate operation, but Gemma and Augusta's maternal abilities to instill guilt paid off. They hounded poor Dumb about everything under the sun as they crouched down in the front seat.

“Do you love your mother?” Gemma asked him again.

“What's it to you?”

“I think he loves his mother, don't you, Augusta?”

“I bet she made good things to eat. Did she bake cookies?”

Dumb stared straight ahead.

“Did she come and kiss you goodnight?” Gemma asked. “Did she make homemade soup when you were sick?”

He drove on.

“My kids love it when I make them cookies,” Augusta sighed. “Especially chocolate chip.”

“My babies hug me every night. They must be so worried that I haven't called. They're probably crying right now. They don't know where I am.”

“My girls, too. They lost their father, you know. He died in front of them. They've never gotten over it. Neither have I.”

Dumb looked down at them. “My father died in front of me too.”

They tsked and shook their heads. “Isn't that awful, Augusta?”

“That's awful. What happened? But don't feel you have to talk about it if it's too painful.”

Dumb hesitated. “No, that's okay. He…he…”

“Yes?”

“He tried to kill this guy, but the gun jammed. He shot himself in the face when he looked down the barrel to see what was wrong.”

Augusta and Gemma looked at him in horror. “And you were there? He dragged you along to an assassination attempt?”

“It was Take Your Kids to Work Day.”

Dumb unexpectedly pulled over to the side of the road and covered his face. He cried his heart out. Gemma and Augusta crawled up on the seat and Gemma put her arms around him. “There, there, sweetheart. It's all right. It was a long time ago and your father's in”—she rolled her eyes—“heaven.”

“The last thing he said was, ‘What's wrong with this fuckin' thing?' He never told me he loved me.”

Gemma patted his back. “I'm sure he did, dear. I'm sure of it.” She grabbed his gun. “Don't move.”

He looked up in confusion. “What?”

Augusta opened her door and the two of them scrambled out, Gemma keeping the gun pointed at his head. “Don't move or I'll kill you.”

Dumb wiped his eyes. “I thought you guys liked me.”

Augusta rushed to say, “We do. It's got nothing to do with you personally, but we need to get home. Being kidnapped is very inconvenient.”

“Toss me your cellphone,” Gemma said.

He threw it at her. She passed it to Augusta, who turned it off.

Gemma went around the front of the van to the driver's side. She noticed a man walking his dog out of the corner of her eye. Then she noticed the man scoop up his dog and run down the street.

“Gussie, open the back of the van. Dumb, do as I say and you won't get hurt. We're going to put you in the back. I'm afraid we'll have to tie you up.”

“This is just great.”

“
Move it
.”

He jumped out of the van and walked around to the back, Gemma's gun on him the entire time. Augusta opened the door and he crawled in. She picked up a roll of duct tape. “We can use this.”

Gemma gestured with the gun. “Dumb, use the tape to tie your legs together.”

“Aren't
you
supposed to do that?”

“Don't argue with me, unless you want a swat.”

Once he did it, they made him turn around so Augusta could tie up his hands. She also put a strip across his mouth. “That's not too tight, is it?”

“Get out of there. He's fine. See you later, Jethro.”

They slammed the door shut and hopped back in the van. Augusta looked at her friend. “You are without a doubt the smartest woman I know.”

“Tell that to my mother-in-law. Right, get on the phone and call the police.”

A car roared up the street, and they recognized it right away.

“Oh damn, it's Candy. Hurry, Gemma!”

Gemma threw the gear shift into drive and gunned it. Their heads flew back and then jolted forward as they careened towards Candy. Poor Dumb was crashing around in the back making a hell of a racket as he smashed into the sides of the van. They clipped Candy's car as they roared by.