by Joyce Armor
He looked over his shoulder. Uh-oh. It certainly felt like a gun in his back and now it looked like a gun, too. “What are you doing, Sludge? Are you out of your mind?”
“Getting my comic back. Where is it?”
By now Ellie was out of the truck, unaware of Russell’s dire circumstances.
“You go ahead,” he called. “I’m going to see a man about a horse. I’ll meet you in there.”
“Oh, okay,” she said and started to walk off, but then she stopped. “Wait a minute. It’s not like there’s an outhouse. The facilities are inside.”
“Just go,” he said, cocking his head toward the building and trying to look as desperate as he felt.
That’s when she noticed Sludge and realized something was wrong. She needed to get help. Now. “Oh, um, uh, yeah, I’ll just go ahead.”
She took two steps before Sludge said, “Take one more step and I’ll shoot him.”
She stopped.
Russell shook his head. “You are a really, really lousy actress.”
“So I’ve been told.” Ellie slowly approached the two men. Russell was in some kind of danger. She made a split-second decision to go on the offensive. “What’s going on here?”
“I want that comic, and someone is going to get hurt if I don’t get it.”
Ellie put her hands on her hips. “You mean the comic you stole?”
That set off Sludge, who pressed the gun harder into Russell’s spine, and Russell winced and gave her the evil eye. She could pretty much read his mind. “Thanks a heap. Way to keep him calm” his eyes were saying.
“It should have been mine. They screwed me and I was just taking back what they owed me.”
Ellie was on a roll now and not cowed by Russell’s look. “In what alternate universe? How did they screw you? By having better heads for business? By being more creative than you? By knowing how to cooperate better to bring out the best in each other?”
Sludge again pushed the gun harder in Russell’s back.
“You’re not helping,” Russell hissed.
Ellie tried another tack. “You know the comic was sold at auction.”
Sludge scoffed. “And I know it takes a few days for the check to clear. Nobody ever lets their property go until that happens.”
So much for that brilliant ploy.
“Get back in the truck,” Sludge said. “You,” pointing the gun at Ellie. “Drive. Try anything and he’s dead. And maybe you, too.”
Oh, how she wanted to dive at Sludge and punch the daylights out of him. Just wail on him until he bled all over the pavement. Funny, all the stress of Brian, Russell, the comic, Roger’s heart attack, had her itching for a knockdown, drag-out fight. But she wasn’t dumb or foolhardy enough to put Russell’s life in jeopardy. Sludge was a putz and a sleezebag, but was he a killer? She didn’t know. She wouldn’t have been surprised, though. There was no telling what a desperate, drug- or alcohol-impaired man (or woman) would do. Well, if Sludge thought he was going to hurt Russell now or ever, that made her a desperate woman.
So Ellie drove, with Russell in the middle and Sludge riding shotgun, still shoving the pistol in Russell’s side. The whole thing was surreal, like she was in a movie or in a dream (or nightmare) from which she would wake up any minute. Or in a comic. Russell seemed surprisingly calm for someone at death’s door. For someone who bugged the hell out of her a few days ago, she was finding more and more to admire about him. Of course, a big reason he annoyed you was Tiffy. She scoffed, even though she knew that was true. Both men looked at her, but she just shook her head. As she drove the truck out the back exit, she turned to Sludge.
“Which way?”
“Turn right. At the light turn left and drive up the Strip.”
“Where are we going?” She could hear that her voice was higher than usual. Her palms were sweating and she had to concentrate to keep from hyperventilating. Russell might be Muskman, but she sure wasn’t feeling like Penelope.
“The Conchita Motel. Just head toward the MGM. I’ll tell you where to turn.”
Not wanting to be too obvious to Sludge, who definitely appeared to be under the influence of alcohol or some drug that made him even nastier than usual, Russell nudged Ellie with his hip. They locked eyes briefly. His said, “Don’t worry; I got this.” Hers said, “I’m too young to die. I haven’t had nearly enough love, not to mention sex, and I haven’t even written a bucket list. Oh God, I don’t think my underwear matches.”
Ellie thought about putting down the window and yelling for help or purposely crashing the truck or slamming on the brakes, and she might have made one of those cowboy moves if Sludge hadn’t seemed so, well, crazy. And even if he wasn’t, whether he was under the influence of some hallucinogenic or not, he could easily shoot Russell or both of them. As she went over the possibilities in her mind, it somehow eased her. She was starting to be not as terrified as she should be. She supposed that was also because of the calming effect of the hairy half man/half rodent seated next to her, acting like he was on a sightseeing tour. God, she loved him. Now probably wouldn’t be the best time to tell him, particularly if she was going to get shot down. Or just shot.
Are you really and truly sure about this? Absolutely and beyond a doubt? He’s arrogant, pushy, nosy, happy-go-lucky. Yes, and he’s caring and funny and fun-loving and talented. And brave. And smart. And about the cutest half man/half rodent you’ve ever seen. Way to let your mind wander while your life is slipping away from you.
She looked at him again and he raised an eyebrow.
Don’t let him know, fool. He’s still a player.
She turned back and concentrated on her driving. It was late afternoon and the Strip was hopping. For a few moments she indulged again in people-watching, trying to enjoy the international crowd and everything in dress from patent-leather miniskirts to saris and monk robes instead of thinking about her impending death. Or worse, Russell’s. She must have spotted more than a dozen Elvises in the last few days, including the fat Elvis and the skinny Elvis. Okay, you stop it right now. Focus!
That helped. She did focus. On Russell. Yet again. She had to wonder at the supreme irony. Somehow he had become her dream man. How had this happened? Gradually, she realized, as he had wormed his way under her defenses.
Maybe you just think you love him because you know you’re going to die and you don’t want to die without loving someone.
“Now that’s just stupid,” she said.
Russell looked at her. “What?”
“Shut up!” Sludge crammed the gun into Russell’s ribs.
“You know, the bullet is still going to hit me if you move the gun, oh, I don’t know, three inches back?”
In spite of the circumstances, he kept his sense of humor. Amazing man.
Sludge ignored him and looked around him at Ellie. “Turn left one street after the next light. And don’t try anything or your boyfriend dies.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” It wouldn’t do to let Sludge know they cared about each other. Or at least she cared about him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Russell smiled. They were driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic, it was about 100 degrees outside, an angry, insane man was jamming a gun into his side and he smiled.
Now who’s insane?
“Turn! Turn!”
“You want me to climb up that guy’s bumper?” She was starting to get pissed. Maybe there were worse things than dying. Like listening to this dipwad for one more minute. Ah, now you’re getting brave…just like Penelope.
The old Dodge Dart in front of her finally moved and she negotiated the turn, down a side street with a little strip mall on the left boasting a couple of sleazy-looking tattoo parlors, an adult bookstore and a gun shop. Charming. Hey, when this is all over, if you’re still alive, you know where you can get your tattoo. They came upon the slightly rundown Conchita Motel about a quarter of a mile down on the right. The huge sign, with a winking señorita wearing an off-the-
shoulder peasant blouse and red flouncy skirt, was faded and peeling. Rooms weren’t all that expensive in Las Vegas. Sludge must really be hurting to stay at a dive like this.
“Drive around to the back,” he ordered.
“Nice place,” Russell muttered.
“Shut up, Muskman.”
Once she parked the truck where Sludge indicated, Ellie could have bolted out and ducked down the nearby alley, but that wouldn’t help Russell much. In fact, her non-boyfriend was making odd motions with his eyebrows that probably meant she should do just that, which made her all the more determined to stay with him and make sure he was all right. The things we do for love.
“My room is up those stairs and down the hallway on the right. Number 223. Just walk to it. Don’t make a sound. Don’t even blink. One wrong move and you’re toast.”
Russell shook his head. “Did you hear that in some old gangster movie?”
“I told you to shut up.”
He shoved Russell forward and he steadied himself by grabbing onto Ellie, who somehow gained strength from the brief contact as they trudged up the stairs. Russell could see Ellie was thinking about making a big move on the stairs and held her off with a look. Too many ways for one of the good guys to get hurt. When they got to his room, Sludge held the gun while using his key to open the door.
“A key? Really?” Russell shook his head.
Ellie hadn’t seen one of those at a hotel or motel in quite a while, decades maybe. Once Sludge got the door open, he ordered her to enter the room and then pushed Russell in. The furry guy landed on her back again, and it had obviously been too long since she’d had physical contact, as it felt pretty darn good, imminent death aside. He grabbed onto her again to keep her from falling, held on a titch too long, then set her away from him.
Even though her pulse quickened at the contact, she tried to make it appear like nothing happened. Maybe nothing had happened to him, but it sure as hell happened to her. She looked around. The room was surprisingly neat and clean, although the furnishings had obviously seen better days and seemed to shout or at least whisper “brothel.” The décor included red velvet curtains and a Rubenesque painting of a big, wild party with a cooked pig with an apple in its mouth and lots of scantily dressed females cavorting around it provocatively. Ick. The only thing missing was the painting of the dogs playing poker.
Russell sat down on the bed, and Ellie looked toward a door that had to be the bathroom and had an idea. She tipped her head toward it. “Do you mind?”
Sludge thought about it for an uncomfortably long time. “Go ahead,” he said, waving the gun. “Don’t try anything.”
Right. You’ll attack him with the toilet paper roll.
She went into the bathroom and shut the door and locked it behind her, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. Even the glasses on the counter, encased in paper to indicate they were unused, were plastic. They wouldn’t put a dent in Sludge’s head. There was no plunger or pliers or hair dryer, and no shaving kit of Sludge’s with scissors or a razor. There was nothing, in fact, except towels, wash cloths, the glasses and toilet paper. She looked in the shower. Not even shampoo, although a wrapped little bar of soap sat in the soap dish. That explained Sludge’s appearance. He hadn’t used the soap. Okay, that was mean again, even if it’s Sludge. Maybe the maid replaced the soap today.
“Oh, come on.” She wasn’t ready to think kindly of Sludge. At least in the bathroom she could talk back to Head Voice without getting any funny looks.
While she was in there, Ellie took advantage of the facilities, then splashed water on her hands and face. As she was drying off, Sludge yelled for her to come out. She really wanted to pop him one. She walked out into the room and Sludge gave her a slimy, leering look. It took all her willpower not to shudder or cringe. The ick factor of the room had just risen exponentially, as had her gorge.
“She’ll stay here,” Sludge said, waving the gun again. “You. Muskman. You go get the comic and bring it back. If you bring the cops, I’ll kill her and then myself. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Russell didn’t want to, but he believed him. He hadn’t missed the look Sludge had given Ellie, though, and he thought fast. “That won’t work, Sludge.”
“It better work, or she’s dead.”
Russell put his arms on his waist. It almost looked like the famous Muskman pose. “I can’t get it because they don’t trust me. They already think I’ve scammed them. I’m not one of them. They won’t believe me, and they won’t tell me where it is. But Ellie knows or they’ll tell her. They trust her. She can get it.”
Sludge looked agitated, but he also looked skeptical, not to mention more frantic and crazier by the minute. Ellie was torn. She didn’t want to be left alone with Sludge, that was for sure, but she hated to leave Russell, too. Except at least he was most likely safe from sexual advances. Not from you, of course, but from Sludge.
“Stop it,” she said. Oops, talking to Head Voice in public again.
Who’s crazy now? Think, think, think.
Russell knew what he was doing. She’d have to go. “He’s right, Sludge. They don’t trust Russell. When the comic went missing, he was the first one they suspected. I don’t know precisely where it is, but I’ve got a good idea, and they’ll tell me. They’re not thinking about that, anyway. You know Roger’s in the hospital, right?”
“Well, nobody lives forever. What happened?”
“He had a heart attack.”
“Ha! He has no heart.”
“You could not be more wrong. He’s one of the kindest, most generous…”
“Shut it, Princess. Or I’ll shut it for you.” He looked around as if he was seeing someone besides them. That didn’t bode well, except maybe he’d shoot the invisible people instead of her and Russell. “You’ve got one hour. If you’re not back with the comic, the rat here is dead and I’m gone.”
She looked at Russell, trying to show in her eyes how much he meant to her. “I’ll be back,” she whispered.
“Be careful.” He wanted to kiss her but didn’t want to give Sludge any ammunition or ideas. If he knew Russell cared as much as he did, he could use Ellie as leverage.
“You, too.”
And then she was gone. Russell hoped she would just keep on going and not come back. He’d figure out some way to overpower Sludge. He had to before Ellie put herself in more danger. Russell turned to Sludge. “You wanna watch a movie? Or I could sing. Do you have a deck of cards? I know some tricks.”
“Don’t you ever shut up?”
Chapter 20
Ellie was trembling as she retraced their steps to her truck. This would all work out. It had to. Well, you wanted a life that wasn’t boring. She drove far enough away so Sludge couldn’t see her if he looked out the window. She stopped the truck and willed her hands to stop shaking as she dug out her phone from her purse. Why hadn’t Sludge taken it away from her? She could have surreptitiously stuck her hand in her purse and dialed 911. If she had thought of it. Sludge was a pretty crappy criminal, but she didn’t make a much better hostage, did she?
Okay, not helpful. Mind wandering again.
Fingers still shaking, she keyed in Bonnie’s number and quickly asked about Roger when Bonnie answered.
“He’s starting to complain, so I know he’s getting better.”
“I’m so glad. Listen, we’ve got a big problem. The brain trust needs to meet ASAP. It’s an emergency.”
“You’re in luck. We’re all in the hospital cafeteria. Well, except Roger.”
“Better to leave him out of this one. We don’t want to upset him. I’ll be there in about 10 minutes.”
It said something that Bonnie didn’t even question what the problem was. She wasn’t sure if that was encouraging or just sad. No doubt if you live long enough, you get used to the fires and floods of life.
She was already driving, a little too fast, hoping the inventive group of Full Court Press people she so admired could
collectively figure out a way to thwart Sludge and save Muskman. God, now she for sure felt like she was in the middle of a comic book story. They would save Muskman. They had to. The alternative was unthinkable.
* * *
In the few minutes since Ellie had left, Sludge was waxing non-poetically and decidedly grossly about Ellie and her various body parts until Russell wanted to rip his lungs out through his nose. But there was the gun to consider, and not a moment went by that the creep didn’t have it pointed directly at Russell. Finally, sick of the man’s description of Ellie’s breasts as “bulging melons,” Russell smiled slyly.
“Yeah, Ellie’s great if you don’t mind the rash.”
Sludge’s eyebrows furrowed. “Rash?”
“You know.” Russell looked down. “Down there.”
Awareness dawned on Sludge. “So you got to third base?”
Russell decided if he couldn’t clock him, it might be better to change the subject with this cretin. He sat on the bed, propped up a couple of pillows and leaned back. “So what are you planning to do with the comic?”
Sludge pulled out the desk chair and straddled it, still pointing the gun at Russell. “Whatcha think, stupid? Sell it. My cousin Stewie knows a guy.”
Russell grabbed the pillows and put them behind his back. “It's already awfully well-known and will be even more so when this is over. It’s going to be really hot.”
“I’ll find a buyer. I have to.”
Russell studied him, not wanting to feel sorry for him, but he was obviously in a desperate situation and Russell and Muskman didn’t like to see anyone that desperate. Especially if he held a gun on him. “Why? Why do you need the money so badly?”
“My company…It’s none of your damn business. All you need to know is that your ass is mine, and you’re dead if Rash Girl doesn’t get back here with the comic in…” He looked at his cheap watch. “…forty-three minutes.”
The deadline and what would happen if it wasn’t met was bad enough. Things might get even worse, though, Russell thought, if Sludge greeted Ellie by calling her Rash Girl.