Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers) (38 page)

June set her eyes on Reagan, ignoring Georgie working with the phone in front of her and Clinton at her side. Mostly, she did her best to ignore the hard metal pistol muzzle pressed against her nieces’ heads. But the imagery of a bullet spiraling down the muzzle before crashing through two young skulls dominated her mind anyway. Nerves were getting stretched thin.

Scrolling through numbers one at a time for several minutes, Georgie said, “There’s nothing here with her name.”

“Try the first one again.”

Georgie found ‘sis’ and dialed.

June stared down at the phone as it rang a dozen more times.

“She went out of town for the weekend,” June lied. She knew if the men found out Amy was home right then, they might go straight there for their second home invasion of the day. But she was as confused as they were why Amy wasn’t answering her calls. It wasn’t like her sister to pass on answering a call from her, especially if the kids were staying with her. “She probably turned her phone off.” 

“Why isn’t it going to voice mail?” Reagan asked.

“I have no idea. Maybe she saw my number and just doesn’t want to talk to me?” June asked. “I mean, there are more interesting people to talk to than me.”

Reagan was obviously pissed that the call hadn’t gone though. His neck had broken into a full sweat and he tugged at the edges of the rubber mask. He dropped his cigarette to the hardwood floor and stepped his toe on it. “If you’re screwing with us…”

“What? What can I be doing? I’m tied up with a gun to my head, you have my phone, George found the number and called. What could I possibly be doing?”

That’s when she remembered the last thing Amy said to her, that she had got a new phone and number, and that she wrote it on a slip of paper at the desk. Amy even mentioned that both girls already had it memorized. The number George had found under ‘sis’ was the old number, and June hadn’t taken the time yet to correct it. The correct number in the phone was labeled only as ‘new’.

Mostly she was ambivalent if she wanted to help the three men with the sudden recall, or just let them flounder for a while. If they got frustrated enough, there was the chance they would just give up and leave. She couldn’t allow them to go to Amy’s house when she was there, but she was also putting her nieces at risk by not divulging the new phone number. Either way, she had the growing dread deep inside that the afternoon was going to end poorly.

Reagan tapped one of the girls’ heads with the muzzle of his gun. “Hey brat, what’s your mother’s name?”

“Hey! Leave her alone!” June shouted.

Reagan aimed the gun at June for a moment. “You were saying?” He turned the gun back to Koemi’s head. “I asked you, what’s your mother’s name?”

“Mommy…” the girl mewed softly.

Reagan sighed. “Georgie, look for mommy in the phone.”

“Auntie…” one of the girls began to say.

“Be quiet, please, Ruka.”

The little girl turned her head a bit to look in June’s direction. “But mommy has…”

“You’re making me very angry, Ruka!” June said, barely holding her temper.

“Not to interrupt the soap opera, but could the two of you shut the hell up?” Reagan said. His gun hand shook, the one that held the pistol to the side of the girls’ heads.

June turned her sights back on him. “Don’t even think of hurting them,” she said with as much control as she could muster.

Both girls burst into tears.

Reagan shoved the butt of his pistol into a girl’s head, nudging it to the side.

“God damn you…” June muttered.

She got a backhand across her face from Clinton.

“I told you to shut up!” bellowed Reagan. “I won’t put up with this hysterical female shit!”

Georgie had his gun in his hand again, aimed then at June’s chest from point blank range, the phone call forgotten. He began to grunt, stress noise.

They all remained that way for some time, the girls whimpering, Reagan’s gun hand shaking, Clinton pressing his pistol against June’s head, Georgie grunting, and June fighting swirling numbness in her mind. She could taste blood in her mouth from being backhanded by Clinton. 

Maybe because of the stress, Reagan’s voice was falling into a southern drawl. And the way he called the man in the George Bush mask Georgie, June figured that might be his real first name. Just as she figured, the men were beginning to crack. She was getting some power back from them.

She had to continue to push.

After a couple more minutes of the tense standoff, Reagan lifted his pistol away from Koemi’s head, put the safety on, and stowed it in his jacket. He nodded to the other two men and they slowly put their guns away.

“Okay.” He pronounced his words carefully, but his voice warbled with cracked nerves. “Now that everyone has their heads out of their butts, we’re all gonna start playin’ nice again. Everything is going to be just fine.”

June knew she had to distract the intruders from trying to call Amy again, and to keep Georgie from snooping through her phone numbers too closely. It would only be a matter of time before he found the heading called ‘new’ and figured it belonged to Amy. Or for one of the girls to let it slip that they knew the number by heart. If she let on with the right number then, they’d never believe she only just remembered it. She also needed to find a way to distract the girls from the drama that was unfolding in front of them. 

“I have to make lunch for the girls.”

“Forget it,” Reagan told her, taking a seat again. 

“Then I gotta sit down before I fall over. My feet are numb from standing here.”

“Help yourself. The floor looks very comfortable.”

She bent her knees and sank down. Without the use of her hands, she fell to the hardwood floor with a clunk. She pushed up to an elbow, and then struggled to a sitting position. 

“Okay now?” Clinton asked, glaring down at her. 

“Never better.”

As soon as she settled, June inspected the skin on her wrists being abraded from the plastic ties. The one on her right hand was much looser then the other, loose enough that she might even be able to jerk that hand loose if she had the chance. She decided to leave it alone for the time being. 

“Georgie,” Reagan said. “Try sending a text to that number you called before.”

Georgie found the number. “What should I write?”

“Send, call ASAP,” Reagan said.

Georgie wrote the message. But before he could send it, June got his attention.

“That’s not what I would write to her. ASAP means something else to us,” she lied. 

June had no choice but to pretend to go along with their captors. Part of the plan she had been working out was to lie, deceive, and manipulate dialogue, if only to create as much confusion as possible. If she could do that, she might just be able to turn them against each other. Then all she could do was try and separate them. And she had to do it soon.

Georgie looked down at where June sat awkwardly on the floor. So far, he had been the only one that had acted reasonably toward her and the girls, if aiming a gun at her chest could be called reasonable. “What would you write to get her to call right away?”

“Something like, prob with kids.”

He started tapping that into a text message.

“No! She’s lying,” Reagan said suddenly. “That will just bring her here. Put in that ASAP thing instead.”

“I’m telling you…” June started. She knew that whatever he put in would never be read by Amy, but that didn’t matter. Annoyance and confusion mattered.

 Clinton leaned down to her level. “You’re telling us nothin’,” he said into her ear. “We make the decisions around here, not you.”

“Suit yourself,” June muttered.

“What’s A-S-A-P mean then?” Clinton asked.

“Alert, send all police.”

The three men looked at each other for a moment, until Reagan broke into a grin.

“Bull shit. Just send it, Georgie.”

He sent the ASAP text. Georgie took the phone to where Reagan sat in his chair, both waiting for a reply. When none came, Georgie wandered off.

June looked at Reagan. “Look, the girls need lunch. May I make them something, please?” She was barely able to mask the hostility in her voice as she feigned courtesy.

“If you can cook with your hands tied. Otherwise, forget it.”

“Then one of you knuckleheads is going to have to make something. One way or another, those girls aren’t going hungry.”

Reagan laughed. “Clinton, you know how to make a roast beef? What about you, Georgie? Want to fire up the barbecue and grill steaks for us?”

“I ain’t no chef,” Clinton said.

“And we don’t eat meat,” June said back.

Georgie sat on the couch and worked with the phone. The girls huddled together, still sniffling, the silly antics of cartoon characters on the TV barely holding their interest. They had curled up with each other as far from Georgie at the opposite end of the couch as they could get.

He finally tossed the phone aside. “I still can’t find a number for the woman. Maybe I should go get a pizza?” 

“What is this, a pajama party?” Reagan asked. He asked Georgie for the phone and it was tossed to him. He began scrolling through numbers, June watching him. 

“Just let me go in the kitchen to make sandwiches for them,” June offered. “It won’t take any more than five minutes, and then you can tie me up again.” 

 Clinton snorted a sharp laugh out his nose. “Sure, so you can get a gun you have hid in there? Or a knife?” He laughed again. “That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Okay, you can come and watch. Since you’re so helpless, I’ll even teach you how to make a sandwich. You wouldn’t even have to undo the zip ties on me.”

“She’s up to something, Clinton,” Reagan said from the living room easy chair. “Don’t trust her.”

“You’re hungry, aren’t you Clinton?” she said to him. “I bet a strong guy like you gets hungry a lot.”

“I’m a little hungry too,” Georgie said. 

“Fine. We’ll get a pizza for all you ladies, just so y’all don’t start cryin’. Is there someplace around here that delivers?” Reagan finally said.

“Not here in the hills,” said June back to him. “There’s a place down the road at the base of the canyon that has take out. One of your clowns can go pick it up. I’ll even pay.”

 Clinton took a handful of her hair in his fist and twisted it around, wrenching her head sideways. “You’re in no position to do any name callin’, understand?”

“Just trying to get you something to eat…” she said, grimacing.

“Knock it off, Clinton.” Reagan tossed the phone down on the table again. “I don’t want either of you being away for that long to pick up a pizza from town.”

Clinton let loose of her hair and tossed her down again.

“I saw a minimart down the road a few blocks,” Georgie offered. “I could swing down there and be back in just a few minutes.”

June craned her head up to look in Georgie’s direction. She had to keep her agenda moving forward. “Get money from my purse. They have sandwiches there. And get some juice also.”

“Can I, Reagan?” asked Georgie.

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Just don’t drag your feet. As soon as we get that combination, you and I are out of here.”

Georgie went to the things dumped from June’s purse on the desk, and got her wallet. June watched him, not at his hands picking though her money, but in fear that he might find Amy’s new phone number written on the desk pad of paper. He stayed focused on her money, wadding all her cash and stuffing it in his pocket.

Reagan picked up the phone and began scrolling again. June watched Georgie reach for the front door knob.

“I wouldn’t open that door if I were you,” June called from across the room.

Reagan looked up. Georgie froze and turned. “Why?”

June had to think fast, only hatching the idea that moment. The biggest problem in getting her idea to work was to make it sound plausible. “When you came into the house through the door and then closed it, it activated the alarm system.”

“So?” Reagan asked.

“So, see that little red light on the alarm system control box?” All their eyes went to the alarm box mounted on the wall next to the front door. “That means the system wasn’t set properly, and will send a message to the authorities if the door is opened again. Now, if you let me have use of a hand, I can reset it.”

“Fuck you,” Clinton said in a drawn out way. He remained leaning against the wall. “Nice try.”

“But what if there’s a fire and you’re just running out the door? How does it know which authorities to send the message?” Georgie asked.

“The alarm has a carbon monoxide monitor and smoke alarm built in. If it doesn’t sense smoke and the door opens, the message is sent to a security agency, and then to the police. You’d get out of the house but not down the hill before the cops were coming up. There just isn’t much traffic on the road down at this time of the afternoon.”

“Yeah, but how do we know it wasn’t set correctly? You could be lying to us,” Clinton said.

“Have I lied to you yet? Every step of the way I’ve cooperated, right? Anyway, if it was set properly with the right code number, a little green light would show.”

Clinton rushed to behind her. He sank his fingers into her hair and wrenched her head around, twisting her neck hard. “You fucking with us, bitch?”

June tried glaring at him but said nothing.

Georgie inspected the control box. “Hey, there is another little light on here. It looks like it would be green also, if it were lit up.”

“What is it with you women? Codes and safes and everything locked up tight,” said Reagan before turning his attention back to the Disney movie that had started on the TV. “Clinton, let her loose so she can give Georgie the code number.”

“Needs a thumb on that touch pad, the correct thumb.” She looked at Georgie, the most gullible of the group. “Flip open that front cover on the alarm box. See that shiny black square inside? That’s the touch pad.”

June could see Georgie’s eyes flit from her face to her hand secured at her waist. He looked at the box again, trying to figure out the logistics of getting her hand up to the box without cutting her arm loose. She couldn’t let him figure it out.