by G M Eppers
Using the seat to pull myself up, I moved to the back of the bus and looked behind us. All this had happened so quickly, that I could still see Eyedeneaux shouting something at Billings and Ban, who were both shouting back, their little clouds of breath racing at each other like ghostly jousters. Their voices should have come through the walkie talkie, but Billings must have turned it off, or accidentally changed the channel. Eyedeneaux’s partner, Sylvia, and Fergie all took aim and fired at the bus’s tires, but bus tires are thick and plentiful, and the snow blocked most of their shots. Butte watched in horror, standing ankle deep in snow in front of the porch, probably not even remembering that he had a gun on him. And Roxy had her phone out, perhaps reporting to the rest of the team, but I couldn’t be sure. The bus moved away from them and we were quickly out of range. I watched my people shrink and fall away into the distance as my body swayed with the motion of the bus, where I was now trapped with Knobby, a mentally challenged man, a caged raccoon, and a madman with a gun.
Creature From the Crab Rangoon
Chapter One
I will never understand the criminal mind. In my job, I’ve dealt with everything from a pathetic addict to a cartel to even the Italian Mafia, but dealing with them, tracking them, arresting them and processing them is not the same as understanding. I know the textbook stuff. Greed. Passion. Money. Their motives are not complicated. But that’s not what I mean either. The kind of understanding I mean is a complete ability to empathize, an internal admission that given the right circumstances I could do those things, too. But I couldn’t. Ever. Maybe it’s my belief that I cannot be corrupted that helps me do a better job. But it still will not allow me to understand people like Gary Nonegan. What is it like to hold someone at gunpoint just for the fun of it? And it was fun for him, because he was smiling. Things were going well for him. He had a driver, his brother, and three hostages, although one was a raccoon. What I couldn’t figure out was why.
Sure Clara was worth money, but he had abandoned the ransom payout so it wasn’t about money. And what was the cryptic comment about someone not needing my ribs?
Clara, for the moment, was safe. Ross held the carrier on his lap and was making clicking sounds at her through the doorway. I could barely see her hunkering in there, watching her captor curiously. The confined space alone should have been getting her on edge, but she seemed calm. Maybe they’d let her out for exercise in the motel room. That would explain the spoor Sylvia had found. Perhaps it was just a rapport with the mentally challenged Ross. Animals could be like that sometimes. I imagined that if Gary took the carrier again, Clara would have something to say about it. But Gary stood with the pistol continuously pointed at Knobby, whose stunt of slamming on the brakes had aroused Gary’s distrust. Gary held onto the gear box that housed the door mechanism to maintain his balance as the bus rumbled down the freeway. Knobby drove. With the gun inches from his temple, he drove.
Not even the training at CURDS Academy will allow you to prepare for that, so it made no difference that he hadn’t finished the course. No one can be trained to be shot, or shot at, or held at gunpoint. And no one knows how they would respond to it if it happens. You can either handle it or you can’t. I’ve been shot twice: once in the butt and once in the gut. The gut was harder to deal with, but I recovered and got back in the game. Not everyone can. I’ve known people who’ve almost been turned into hamburger and are still working for CURDS, and there was a young man who got grazed on his inner thigh and washed out, went off to sell insurance in Boise or somewhere, afraid for his family jewels. The scores on the other tests don’t have any bearing on how well you’ll do when your body gets invaded by a bullet. Simply getting shot at can be a deal breaker. The number of desertions during wartime will tell you that, even for soldiers who volunteered for duty. All of them went through boot camp and intense physical and psychological training, but despite all that there are always some who, when faced with real life action, just can’t keep it together.
I usually don’t worry about it that much. As a coordinator, you can’t. You have to go in assuming your people can do it, and deal with situations as they come. Like I said, I’ve already been there, some of my team have been there, and those that haven’t are well aware that it could happen. But seeing Knobby in this position made me really hate Gary. Knobby didn’t sign on for this. He was supposed to drive and follow raccoon droppings. That’s it. Fearing for his own life shouldn’t have been in the picture. So I was amazed when it appeared he forgot to be afraid. Even though he’d felt sick at the cabin, with the impending life-threatening circumstances, that had been fear for the team, not for himself. That much became abundantly clear.
As the bus merged back onto the freeway, the walkie squawked. “Mom! Mom! Are you okay? We heard a shot! Don’t worry! We’ll be right behind you! Your STD is on the GPS, Helena.” Right behind us in what? I wondered. The pickup was disabled. It would have to be Agent Eyedeneaux’s car, I guessed, but it was going to take some tricky maneuvering to get it out of the trees. And from what I could tell of Eyedeneaux, he probably wasn’t willing to share his vehicle, which also wasn’t likely to hold all –how many now? Eight. If they got real friendly, the sedan might hold six. I didn’t see how this could possibly work.
When I finished my thoughts on Clown Car theory, my focus came back to the interior of the bus. Only a second had passed in real time and I looked to see Gary approaching me rapidly, his smile vanishing. I didn’t remember picking it up, but I was holding the walkie talkie and had the binoculars around my neck. He pointed the gun at me and put out his other hand. He didn’t have to ask. With Billings’ voice still shouting questions out of it, I put the walkie talkie into Gary’s hand, slipped the binoculars over my head, and handed them over, too, finishing with both hands palm forward in the air in surrender. He lowered the top half of the nearest window and tossed both items out, where they were crushed under traffic in the next lane. A couple of horns honked at the disruption. He could have caused an accident. It was only fortunate that the first vehicle to hit the equipment was an RV and its trajectory was barely affected. A Smart Car would have been sent into a spin, causing untold casualties. He blocked out the traffic noise and the cold by pushing the window shut again.
Not long after we got back on the freeway, Knobby quietly asked him, “Which way are we going?”
“North,” said Gary. “I told you.” He wasn’t happy about having to repeat himself.
“Can’t,” Knobby told him. “There’s a lake there.” Knobby pointed to the north, where we could still see the edges of Upper Red Lake.
Gary raised an arm as if to strike Knobby, but then let it fall. “Around the lake, wise guy.”
“Maybe you should drive. Since you know where we’re going.”
If the gunman had been Ross, he might just have fallen for that, even though, with his mental disability, Ross couldn’t possibly know how to drive. But not Gary. He leaned in until his mouth, framed by what had to be a two day beard, was so close to Knobby’s ear he could have bitten it. “If I’m driving it’s because you’re dead. And I hate driving next to a brain spattered window.”
Knobby kept his cool. “I just want to know where we’re going is all. So I can read the road signs right. Or do you want me to miss my exit?” Knobby turned his head so that the barrel moved from his temple to his forehead, then put his eyes back on the road.
Gary narrowed his eyes, considering whether to trust Knobby or not. Necessity seemed to win out. “Lake of the Woods.”
“Another lake. Betcha it looks a lot like this one.”
Gary grunted. “You like to live on the edge, do you? I’m going to sit down now, but I’m watching. You try anything, your lady friend gets a bullet to the throat. You get me?”
“I get you.” I saw Knobby’s eyes flit to the rear view mirror, where even I could see my own reflection. He’d adjusted it to favor the interior of the bus. It might be slightly less safe, but I couldn’t blame him fo
r it. The large side mirrors seemed more than sufficient, under the circumstances.
Gary sat across the aisle from Ross, sideways, with his feet in the aisle, ready to respond to any situation. I was sitting behind Ross just for brief glimpses inside the carrier. Ross had various kinds of food in his bulging jacket pockets. He pulled out a cracker and broke it in half to get the pieces through the grating. His left hand still had a bandage across the back of it. Clara grabbed one piece and ate it quickly, then scrabbled around inside the carrier in search of the other piece which had gotten under her feet. Normally, raccoons like to wash all their food, but if they’re hungry enough, and there’s no water around, they know how to make do.
“Look at that moron,” Gary told me. “That raccoon nearly chewed his hand off and still he wants to feed it.”
“You don’t sound very attached to either one of them,” I commented. “Why are you doing this?”
“He’s my brother,” he said. I suddenly got that he had used the term moron affectionately, the way girlfriends might call each other bitches, or more properly, beeatches. “And that raccoon is worth a fortune.”
I put one foot up on the seat and hugged my knee. “Your accomplice is in custody. You’re not getting the ransom.”
“I’m not talking about the ransom. Jeez, you’re slower than Ross.”
He was baiting me. I decided to bait him back. “Then explain it to me.”
Gary stopped for a moment, sizing me up just like he’d sized up Knobby. Apparently, I was found wanting. “Get to the back of the bus. Sit down and shut up.” Evidently, he wasn’t ready to explain himself.
I went to the rear bench and sat down. Immediately, I noticed Roxy’s crochet bag tucked against the wall, so I scooted closer to it and nonchalantly pawed through it for a weapon, keeping my head up where Gary could see me, pretending to scratch an itch. It wasn’t likely I could find something that could compete with Gary’s .38, but something would still be better than nothing. There was even a class at the academy on finding weapons when you have none: How to Disable Your Opponent With Everyday Objects. With the right technique, you can subdue someone with a hair scrunchie or even a piece of paper. How do you think origami got started? The Japanese were warriors, you know.
I found the crochet hook almost immediately, but upon examination it made a crappy weapon. Short and blunt, crochet hooks are about as dangerous as a tongue depressor. Scissors! I remembered that she’d had scissors on the plane. They weren’t huge either, but they were sharp. I dug deeper, but couldn’t find the scissors. Just a bunch of yarn. Even the muff was gone. She must have put the scissors in her HEP belt, I thought, before getting off the bus. Clever girl. Stupid, clever girl. Gary had a .38 and all I had was an unfinished glarf.
It was then that my cell phone vibrated against my ankle. I looked up to make sure Gary hadn’t heard the tiny rumble. I didn’t use a ringtone in the field because most often our surroundings were too noisy to hear it. Changing to vibrate is one of those things I did on the plane without even thinking about it. I slid over as close to the wall as I could so my actions would be hidden by the back of the seat in front of me, and pulled out the cell phone. It was Billings, but instead of answering the call, I went to messages and texted him. Text only. If Gary finds my phone it will be highway fodder like my walkie and Fergie’s binoculars. The bumping of the bus, amplified by my position on the back seat, forced me to do a lot of backspacing and retyping. That short sentence seemed to take forever. I knew I’d have to keep my texts as short as possible.
I waited for a reply, poised to shove it back into my sock if Gary approached. But he had banished me to the back of the bus and seemed focused on keeping Knobby driving. Maybe he felt he had too many plates spinning and had decided to take one off of the stick before they all fell. It didn’t seem to me like there was much going on. We were on the bus, the bus was moving, Clara was still under his control. So there was more to it that he wasn’t talking about. There were more issues worrying him, more plates spinning than I could see. As much as I wanted to get Clara to safety, I wanted to know what his game was at least as much. I hated it when a mission ended and we didn’t have all the answers, but it happened sometimes. I sat lengthwise on the bench with my back against the wall of the bus and stretched out my legs, keeping the cell phone on my lap, trying to look beaten and complacent. If I couldn’t get it back into my sock, I could easily drop it into the crochet bag where it would be buried in glarf.
Understood, Billings texted back. Are you okay?
Yes. Heading for Lake of the Woods. What is there?” On my phone, the apostrophe is accessed on a secondary virtual keyboard. I found it much easier to avoid using contractions.
It seemed to take a long time for a reply to come back. Fergie says there is a border crossing.
Border crossing? I looked up but no one was watching me. Escape?” I speculated.
A different text window opened up and I tapped it. It was Roxy. Won’t work. We’ve had extradition with Canada since 1976.
I started devising a way to communicate my situation to the border guards. I was sure Gary had a plan to get past them, but he wasn’t likely to share. I’d have to be really creative. Would they know Morse code? The only Morse code I knew was SOS, but you have to admit that these days that really is the only useful thing in Morse code. Maybe I could write the letters in the snow with a casual toe while Gary argued with the guards, or tap it out on the side of the bus feigning nervousness or impatience. I also had the thought that the individual texts from Billings and Roxy probably meant the people at the cabin were all close together, ready with their own phones to interject. Maybe they had managed to contact more local authorities. Now that it was actual people at risk and not just a raccoon, the response might be better. I glanced up at Gary again, nervous about getting caught, but he still had one eye on Knobby and one on Ross and the .38 in his right hand. I tapped back to Billings’ window. Ban wants to know if Clara is okay, he relayed.
Oh good. An easy question. Yes. Ross is feeding her crackers.
No sign of withdrawal?
I wasn’t sure what I needed to look for, so I asked. Like what?
Hissing. Trying to bite. Violent behavior.
No. Not now. Maybe she’s past it.
Too soon. She may get agitated. Be careful.
Understood. I didn’t want to push my luck, plus typing from the backseat of a moving bus was making my eyes cross. I was spending so much type backspacing and retyping that I should have been paid as a copyeditor. Will text more layer, I typed, then backed up to fix it before I sent it. I slipped the phone back into my sock. As I leaned forward, I felt a little twinge in my ribs again and cursed internally. The Tylenol Billings had gotten me had completely worn off, and it didn’t occur to me until now that I’d stored them in my HEP belt. I was getting really tired of these ribs. They take too long to heal. I decided to never break my ribs again. “Excuse me, Gary,” I said, taking what might be the last deep breath I would get for a while. “I’d really like to come back up and watch Clara with Ross. It’s kind of boring back here. May I?” I wasn’t sure how long before Clara would get violent and I hoped to get her away from Ross before he got hurt further.
“No tricks,” he said, introducing me to the barrel of his gun.
I put up both hands in surrender as I came forward down the aisle and slipped in behind Ross again, leaning forward to see inside the carrier. Clara was demolishing another cracker. “She’s going to get thirsty eating dry crackers. Do you have any water for her?”
“Yep.” Like a magician, Ross pulled a 20-ounce bottle out of his pocket. It was about a third empty. It had one of those tops with the push down seal. He pulled it up and held the tip inside the grating, tilting the bottle up. As Clara sucked on the tip, he gave a gentle squeeze, then another. Some of the water dripped from her mouth and she patted the puddles with her paws and then licked them. Withdrawing the tip, he pushed it back down to seal it and put
it back in his pocket, taking out another cracker as he did so. He broke it in half, gave Clara one piece and tossed the other into his own mouth. “Want some?”
People like Ross are always so generous. But I wasn’t very hungry yet, and I didn’t want to take either food or water away from Clara. I wasn’t sure how far we had to go or if Gary would let us stop someplace for a refill. I gave Ross a pat on the shoulder. “No, thanks. Save it for Clara. Take good care of her, Ross.”
“That’s my job!” He said proudly. “Isn’t it, Gary?”
“Sure, Ross. That’s your job.” Gary looked at me suspiciously, but I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I was just concerned for Clara’s welfare. But I wasn’t sure if Gary could see that or not. He looked at his watch, and at the road ahead. He seemed impatient and agitated about something. It’s never wise to take risks with someone in that state who is holding a .38 caliber handgun.
“So, Ross,” I said, deciding to do some fishing of my own. “You drew that heart back there? How long ago?”
“A bazillion years.” His attention was still on Clara.
“Who was A.W.?”
“Angela Wilcox.” He remembered that easily enough. “She isn’t here anymore.” The way he said it left no doubt that she had died. No one sounded like that if the person they were talking about had moved to Arizona or something.
“Did she die of Obstruction, Ross?” It was actually a safe bet.
But Ross shook his head. “Uh uh. She got hit by a car.” He looked up at me defensively. “She looked both ways and everything. I saw. But the car hit her anyway. It didn’t stop or nothing.”
“I’m so sorry, Ross. That’s awful.”
“Gary says she’s in Heaven. Gary says she’s going to wait for me and that she’s really patient and I shouldn’t worry about her missing me because time is different in Heaven. Gary says Angela is an angel and she’s watching me and taking care of me and wants me to stay here for a long time.”