The Dimple Strikes Back (10 page)

Nicolette plopped her forehead on the table. It was a common gesture for this particular evening. “I’ll go,” she said, “but only to guard Ellen.” She whipped her head up. “Your boy is your problem.”

Guilt, fear and anger swirled in the cauldron of my stomach as if stirred by a witch named regret. I butted, “But—but—”

“But me no buts!” Ellen pointed in the air majestically. “I do what I want to do—I love you, and I’m going to help you. The three of us are smarter than some douchebag art thieves.” Nicolette quirked one eyebrow in doubt. “Well, at least two of us are.” She let that dangle. Of course, she meant me and herself.

Of course, she meant herself and Nicolette. I was the moron charging into danger for the sake of a criminal, when I could be meeting a nice lesbian who enjoyed terrible eighties hits. But I already had one of those, God bless her crazy self.

Into the fray! My only hope was that the heroines would not piss their pants in terror.

Oh, and not die.

Chapter Six

Belgium? I Hardly Know Him!

With a hastily-packed suitcase and a slump in my step, I boarded the train to Bruges, connecting through Brussels. The scenery probably would have been lovely had it been daylight, or had my eyes seen anything but worry and Sam’s face. I sprang for the first class car, and we sat at a foursome of seats facing inward towards each other. We situated ourselves as far away from the other passengers as possible. The only plan was to get there, rush to the little hotel Ellen had spontaneously booked for us then email the bastards again to find out what to do next. I figured the possible scenarios were as follows.

One. The rat bastards wanted money, and I’d be able to supply it. They’d give Sam back to me.

Two. The rat bastards wanted me, and I’d walk into a trap. They’d demand money from the movie studio. Studio would pay for me, then fire me. I’d never work in this town again.

Three. The rat bastards wanted me, and I’d walk into a trap. They’d demand money from the movie studio. Studio would not pay for me. The story of my disappearance would make a fabulous
Lifetime
movie.

Four. The rat bastards wanted me, and I’d walk into a trap. They’d kill me and Sam. Ellen and Nicolette would take a beautiful picture in the most scenic spot in Europe.

The odds were not in my favour. I was Katniss Evermess.

About an hour into the journey, a woman plopped down beside me, scaring the bejesus out of us and causing me to scatter my bag of potato chips. I gritted my teeth, as the chips were the only thing keeping my anxiety at acceptable levels, i.e. not barfing in public. She was an Amazon, six foot at least, and Nordic-looking, as if she could carve a boat herself and sack England with it. “You are famous actress Samantha Lytton, yes? You match picture in magazine.” She showed us an English tabloid. “I am big fan.” She stated these things in a flat, accented voice—the most underwhelmed fan encounter I’d ever had, and that included the countless times someone had thought I was Emma Stone and only realised the mistake up close when they saw my wrinkles.

“Yes,” I replied. I gave her a smile as half-hearted as her enthusiasm. “How are you?”

“I am have gun and you say nothing or I shoot you friends.”

Well, that woke up the table.

She peeled back her coat to show us the gun. Ellen appeared outraged. Nicolette went calm—cop mode, I guessed. I took a deep, shaky breath and laughed.

“What funny? Why you laugh?”

“What accent? Why you talk like?” Really? I was being kidnapped—fucking
again
!—by cartoon Natasha. I couldn’t believe anyone actually spoke like that but, then again, I was a stupid American who only spoke one language. My mangling of French likely sounded as idiotic to the entirety of the Gauls.

The lady whipped out the gun and held it under the table. “I am here to watch you. I am take you to meeting place in Bruges. Give me purses.”

We complied. The kidnapper glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then proceeded to go through our stuff and remove every piece of electronics.

“Great,” Ellen said. “Do you have a name, stretch?”

“My name is not stretch. I am Dina.”

“Dina…” I leant back to see the gun. It was pointed at Ellen. Oh, God. “Let my friends go. Please. I’m the one you came for.”

“No. You all come with me, even Blacky.”

Nicolette’s eyes nearly bugged out. “Did she just call me ‘Blacky’?”

Ellen grabbed her girlfriend’s hand and pulled it into her lap.

“And why ‘even Blacky’? Like it’s my honour to be kidnapped with the White folks? Like I need to be sent to the back of the kidnap bus?”

“Quiet!” Dina nearly yelled this and pushed the gun into my side. I hissed out the remainder of my breath and retreated to the window as far as I could. Not far enough. At this distance, there would be little difference between ‘blew her head off’ and ‘blew her neck
and
head off’. I mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ to Nicolette, who nodded and pulled Ellen closer. How pathetic I was—apologising for the ignorance of our kidnapper.

Why? Why’d they come with me? What was I even doing here? I’d landed an amazing job! I had good hair!

Cosmo
had lied to me. The world told me that if I were rich and successful and lost ten pounds, everything would be okay. Everything was most certainly not fucking okay!

We spent the next ninety minutes staring at each other in silence. I’d never wished I was an X-Man so much—capable of telepathy, or of making some ignorant woman’s head explode with my brain.

Impotence became my new best friend. I couldn’t do anything to Dina—if I did, Sam would likely die, and they’d probably find me all over again anyhow. How easy it was for them. My vulnerability made my armpits sweat. This must be what testicles feel like. How did men live like this every day, wondering when a swift kick would come? And why do we pretend that balls are much stronger than a nice vagina? Vadges take a licking and keep on ticking!

At Brussels-Midi station, Dina ignored Ellen and Nicolette and kept close to me like a large, Russian skin. I kept my sunglasses on inside, eager to not be spotted by friend or foe, although that last part was too little, too…whoops. We boarded the next train, which would take an hour to get into Bruges.

Being kidnapped on a train was nothing like they make it out to be in the old movies. No Gene Wilder to be seen. No madcap porters. Just the numbing anonymity of modern-day hurry up and wait, with a side of heeeeeeelp!

As tour guides go, Dina performed at a C- level. We hurried out of Bruges Station and into the Belgian night. A white van awaited us, and I reared back for a moment before a decisive shove from Dina sent me sprawling. Nicolette helped me to my feet with a reassuring arm squeeze. Her presence simultaneously flooded me with confidence and regret. I didn’t recognise the driver of the transport, a blond guy, but the creepy white van itself reminded me of another that had picked me up as I fled on roller skates. Jane had orchestrated that particular kidnapping.

So many snatch-and-grabs. If I were kidnapped twice more, would I get one for free?

Jane. She was supposed to leave us alone. Such was the mutually beneficial bargain Sam had struck with her after I’d saved her from certain death by being highly functional in the aforementioned skates. She was Sam’s ex-thief-boss, and we’d parted ways by promising not to tattle on each other. Sophisticated, elegant and smarter than hell, Jane reminded one of the great Black supermodels at Studio 54. I simultaneously wished she’d give me life lessons, and that I would never see her again.

I got neither of my wishes.

We arrived at some part of the old, medieval city—tall rows of houses with gorgeous façades of brick. The streets of stone glittered in the evening sprinkle of rain. Between the darkness and the mist, the city appeared to have been unchanged by the past six hundred or so years. The fresh smell of precipitation lingered strangely in my fearful nose—it was too comforting a scent. A canal sparkled besides us, beautiful for an instant before they hustled us into a door beside a chocolate shop. Up a narrow stairway we went and into an apartment. Dina pointed to a brown 1970s couch, and the three of us sank into it simultaneously.

My psychic instincts were four steps behind, naturally, for in breezed Jane, resplendent in a white pantsuit. Relief almost flooded me because Jane wouldn’t want our brains or blood splattered all over that designer masterpiece.

Then again, Dina looked as if she accessorized with vile substances all the time, and she still pointed the gun at us.

Nicolette said, “Lady, your racist associate here could do with some education.”

Jane whipped her head towards Dina, currently gnawing on her fingernail. “She’s local help. You’d think Europe would be more advanced than America, but unfortunately…”

Well, at least no one would die because of skin colour, or sexism. One step forward…

“Jane,” I began as nicely as I could manage, “to what do I owe this latest unwilling, yet charming, visit with you?”

“I’ll let Sam tell you, so that you understand this is his doing.”

The blond dude brought in Sam. I clapped my hands over my mouth to see him bound and bruised, his face blooming in shades of black, blue and a charming reddish-purple. He squeezed his eyes shut at the sight of me, and swore when he took in Ellen and Nicolette.

“The feeling is mutual, asshole,” Ellen snipped.

Sam grimaced at Ellen, but turned his attention to Jane. “Jane, why the hell are you doing this? We had a deal.”

Jane ran her hand across her short, stylish white hair. “You broke it, not me. You went to the Feds.”

He blinked, shades of confusion, not denial, shaping his face. “Neither your name nor your…anything has been given to any law enforcement.”

She laid her best ‘you’re full of shit’ look on him. “Hedging at its best. Care to elaborate?”

Blond guy let Sam go, and he nearly fell into a dirty upholstered chair beside the couch. Sam glanced at me, and his dark, dark eyes held such sorrow that my terror redoubled itself. His gaze was the sort you give to your beloved when they tie you to a post about to be set aflame. In this metaphor, I was pretty sure I was the kindling at his feet.

Sam closed his eyes, one of them only partway because it was already pummelled half-shut, and said, “What are you going to do with us?”

“I’m going to kill you all unless your story is very, very good.”

I gasped. Jane wasn’t the murder-y sort! What the fuck had Sam done? I grabbed Ellen’s hand, to my left. I saw her grab Nicolette’s hand on the far end. I squeezed Ellen twice, the signal.

We were not going down without a fight.

I bolted off the couch and launched myself at blond guy. Ellen slammed into Jane, and Nicolette had the joy of going after Dina, closest to her.

Blondie was a lot bigger than I was, but I had surprise on my side, and my head butted him smack in the solar plexus. He went down like the Titanic, except cussing in a language I didn’t understand. The hiss of the curse word is universal, however. It stopped when Sam kicked the guy in the head.

Ellen had belly flopped on Jane and stayed there, and the older woman twisted on her back like a turtle. I grabbed the gun from Blondie’s pants and pointed towards everyone still fighting. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” I yelled in an original fashion. Jane sighed, elaborately, but stilled herself. Nicolette didn’t need any help. She’d forced Dina into some sort of awesome wrestler chokehold from behind and appeared delighted to not let go. I’m pretty sure I heard, “How you like my ass now?” muttered.

“Ellen,” I said, “grab this and shoot anyone not on our side if they so much as frown at you. Where you shoot is up to you. Feel free to be creative. I’m going to untie Sam, and we’ll search the rest of the place for more bad guys. Good?” Everyone nodded, and I handed Ellen the gun.

Sam started to talk to me and I said, “Not here,” and pivoted him around to see a zip tie binding his hands. “Damn, I’ll need scissors or a knife. Nicolette, kick Dina’s gun over this way.” She did, and I caught it mid-slide on the wooden floor. “Okay, we’re going to search now. Sam, have you seen more of them?”

He shook his head. We set off in the direction from which he’d been dragged. Just a kitchen with a table, chairs and a lot of empty cupboards which yielded nothing to help cut Sam free. We crossed through the living room, where my ladies had everything under control, and into the single bedroom and bath. There we found Jane’s handbag with a Tiffany Swiss army knife inside. If you’re going to stab, do it in style.

I sliced through the plastic and he rubbed his wrists. The tie left an ugly red welt in its wake. Pity overcame me—then I remembered why we were here.

I avoided his gaze and examined the room. “Ah-ha!” Vertical blinds. I cut the long cords used to lift the blinds and used them to tie up Jane, Dina and He Who Curses in Dutch Maybe. My stomach finally dropped from its temporary home in my lungs once everyone was bound and sitting on the couch where we’d been.

“It worked!” Ellen whispered to me.

“I love you both. Nicolette, I know I’m not in your top ten people, but you are a righteous friend.”