by Beth Flynn
“Why do you need an alias, anyway?”
“Well, I could hardly apply for college with the name Grunt, could I?”
“College? You’re applying to college? How are you going to do that?”
“After I became Michael Freeman, I finished high school through a correspondence course.”
“How could you finish high school? What are you, in tenth or eleventh grade, maybe?”
“Well, I should be in eleventh grade, but I’m not. I’m a junior at Cole University.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re in college? You already go to college?”
“Yes, I go to college and yes, I’m young for that, but I’ve always been pretty smart and I want to make something of myself.”
“How can you be that smart? You told me what your childhood was like. How did you live like that and still flourish?”
Again, the raised eyebrow. He walked over and picked up the stack of letters and pulled one out. He opened it and handed me one single page. I’m certain my mouth dropped open as I read what was neatly typed. It was from a testing facility, congratulating Michael Freeman on his IQ test scores.
Apparently, my new buddy Grunt was a real honest-to-God genius.
Chapter Thirteen
Before we left Grunt’s room, he asked me what I was wearing the day I was abducted. After I described the outfit and he was satisfied I wasn’t wearing anything from that day, not even my peace choker, he picked up a baseball cap that had been sitting on his dresser. He had me tuck my bangs up under the cap and put my hair in a ponytail that came through the back. He then picked up a pair of sunglasses and told me, “You can wear mine until we get you your own.”
As we were leaving, I noticed his jacket slung across the back of his desk chair. “Aren’t you going to wear your jacket?”
“No reason to call undue attention to the group.” He picked up a wallet and a set of keys off his dresser, and we walked out.
I followed him around the side of the motel where the office was located. I’d never really explored over here before. When we got around the side, I saw two cars. Really nice cars. One was a black Corvette, which I knew was Grizz’s; he must have taken one of his bikes for his business trip.
We headed toward the other one. It was a light blue Camaro. I wasn’t sure of the year, but I knew it was an older model. Just old enough to be stylish.
“We’re not going to take your bike?”
I think I was disappointed. For some reason, being on the back of a motorcycle behind Grunt was appealing. Where was this coming from?
“Don’t have a helmet for you yet. I don’t think you want to borrow one either,” he laughed. “Actually, that’s something we can do. Let’s go get you a helmet.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t need any.”
He unlocked the passenger side of the car and let me in. After he got in and started the loud engine, he turned on the air conditioner. Then he took an eight-track tape and stuck it in the player. We were listening to Simon & Garfunkel as we pulled onto State Road 84. Simon & Garfunkel? I laughed to myself. I was beginning to think Grunt might be a nerd.
We didn’t talk as we made our way east on State Road 84. He made a left on U.S. 441 and we headed north. I was so close to home I could almost smell it. It was so strange passing by familiar places. After a few miles, though, we were out of my territory, and I started to feel less anxious.
“Where are we going?” I leaned my head back on the seat, trying to relax.
“Little shop up near Riverview. They have helmets.”
I watched the scenery fly by, feeling calmer by the minute. “So just out of curiosity, where does the gang have their meetings?”
He looked quickly over at me. “Meetings? You mean when they gather in the pit?”
“No. You know, the satanic rituals and stuff. The gang is named after the devil. Even Grizz’s dog’s names are pretty bad. I figured maybe you use one of the old unused rooms at the motel. You know, to worship.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Kit, we don’t worship the devil.”
“It’s on your jacket.” I think I blushed.
“Yeah, to scare the shit out of people. It’s not a religion.”
“You’re not devil-worshipers?” I’d worried about this for awhile and had even secretly wondered if Grizz had let me keep my black kitten for another, more sinister, reason.
“Hell, no!” He was laughing hard now.
“But you believe in hell, though. I mean, if it’s your logo and stuff.”
“No, Kit.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I don’t believe in the devil or hell. Don’t believe in anything, really.”
“What about God?” I turned to look at him. “You believe in God, don’t you?”
“No, don’t know much about anything that has to do with religion.”
“For all of your studying and schooling, you’ve never taken a class on religion?” My eyes were wide. “You know, world religion, religious philosophy, anything?”
“Nothing.” He paused, then asked, “That thing you do, before you eat, is that religious?”
“You mean blessing myself?” Being a Catholic, I’d always made the sign of the cross prior to saying grace before a meal.
“I don’t know what it’s called.”
It was my turn to smile. “You said you would teach me to play chess. Will you let me teach you something?”
He hesitated. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
And so began Grunt’s lessons in religion, specifically Christianity.
I let myself enjoy the rest of the ride as we talked. I even convinced him to turn off the air conditioning and roll down the windows. I felt oddly exhilarated. We got to the shop and I picked out a helmet fairly fast. The guy who worked there knew Grunt and never made any indication that he expected us to pay. We walked out of the shop less then fifteen minutes later.
I wasn’t really familiar with this part of town. To get to the shop, we had turned off U.S. 441 and were now on some shady-looking backstreets. It was an odd mixture of businesses and old houses, kind of like someone messed up badly with the zoning ordinances. Next to the shop, I saw a guy building a wooden fence. I wondered if it was his fence or if he was the hired help. He had given me a disturbing look on the way into the shop.
Now as we were coming out, he yelled, “Hey, sweet thing. You wanna spend some time with a real man, why don’t you come on over here? Tell your baby brother he can come back for you in an hour. Make that ten minutes.” Then he gave this awful laugh that turned into fits of coughing. What a creep.
I looked over at Grunt, who just ignored him. Well, that’s good. If I was with Grizz, I’d probably be an accessory to murder. Honestly though, if I was with Grizz, I bet Mr. Build-A-Fence wouldn’t have said a word. Still, it was probably a good thing I was with the youngest of the group. I didn’t want any trouble.
After we got inside the car, Grunt said he wanted the air conditioning on this time. We rolled up the windows, and he started the car and turned on the A/C. He took the Simon & Garfunkel eight-track tape out and stuck in Pink Floyd. Then he turned to me.
“Stay here. Do not get out of this car for any reason. You got it?”
Before I could answer, he blared the music really loud and got out of the car. He started walking toward Mr. Build-A-Fence. Oh no. Oh, dear God. Grunt is going to try to act all tough and get the crap kicked out of him. I looked around, wondering what in the world I was going to do if something happened.
They disappeared behind a part of the fence that was already built, so I couldn’t see anything, and with the music up so loud, I couldn’t hear anything, either. After a few nervous minutes, I decided maybe I should turn down the music. But before I could, Grunt came walking around the side of the fence. He looked okay. He didn’t look hurt. Maybe he told the guy someone was going to come back and kick the crap out of him. Grunt jumped in the car, and before I could say a word, we t
ook off. I decided not to mention it.
We spent the next couple of hours running errands—picked up some groceries, got gas, went by the drugstore. I even got some new sunglasses. Grunt was careful to pick out-of-the way places. By mid-afternoon, we got back to the motel, and he went to his room. I went to number four to check on Gwinny and make sure the dogs were fed. Grunt reminded me I could borrow any of his books any time I wanted. I thanked him for the day and I told him I would definitely take him up on his offer.
As evening approached, I decided to stay inside. The pit had no appeal for me, and I made myself a bowl of cereal and sat on the couch to watch TV. I decided to watch some local news. I was always hopeful of seeing something about me, but too much time had passed and I’m pretty sure my abduction never made the news in the first place. I was certain the police didn’t take it seriously, anyway. One visit with Delia and they would have assumed me to be a runaway. Of that I had no doubt.
I flipped impatiently through the few channels we had. Those were the days before cable and you watched what was in your viewing range. The volume was turned down, and I thought I saw a reporter standing in front of a familiar place. I turned it up.
“We’re at the house of Raymond Price,” the attractive reporter was saying. “Earlier today, Mr. Price was rescued by a couple walking their dog who heard muffled screams. When they investigated, they found Mr. Price had been brutally attacked. He was found standing with his back to a fence with his hands stretched out on each side.” The reporter paused here for effect. “Mr. Price’s hands were nailed to the wooden fence he had been building. There were several nails in each hand, making it impossible for him to get himself free without ripping his hands to shreds. A rag had been stuffed in his mouth making it difficult to call for help.”
The reporter then squinted as she listened to someone asking her a question from the small crowd that had gathered.
“I’ve just been asked if Mr. Price could identify the person or persons who assaulted him,” she said, her pretty face frowning. “In a strange twist, the Riverview Police Department told us Mr. Price has refused to tell them anything. They’re concerned he might have been threatened and is afraid of retaliation. Police say this particular area is well known for motorcycle gangs. One gang in particular has been known to frequent this shop next door.”
The camera panned over behind the reporter, and my stomach roiled. I now saw why the scene looked so familiar. Right there on TV, I could see the shop where we had picked out my helmet that afternoon, and the newly constructed fence dividing it from the house next door.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My heart pounded thickly. I swallowed and took a deep breath.
I had read Grunt all wrong. He was no defenseless runt.
He was one of them.
Chapter Fourteen
Just then, the door flew open and Blue came in, walking straight toward me.
“Get up. Now. You’re coming with me.”
Before I could ask anything, he walked past me to the bedroom and found my backpack hanging on a hook behind the door. I followed him into the bedroom, pelting him with questions about what was going on. He was too focused to talk. He kept looking around the room.
“Where’s your stuff, Kit? You got anything personal here? Like if you were going to stay overnight somewhere, what would you need?”
My hands were shaking. “Where am I going?”
“I don’t have time to explain anything to you. What would you have to have with you?”
Without answering him I went into the bathroom. I took my birth control pills, my toothbrush and my hairbrush. I opened a dresser drawer and grabbed some underwear and a nightshirt. I opened another dresser and grabbed some shorts and tank tops. I still only had my one bra, which I was now wearing. I guess that was one article of clothing I needed to try on for myself. I quickly stuffed everything into the bag.
“Good girl.” He saw my new helmet sitting on the coffee table and picked it up. “Get your shoes on. We gotta go. Now.”
I dashed to the kitchen counter and picked up my reading glasses. I shoved them in my bag along with a magazine as I slid my feet into sandals. I was still wearing what I had on that day. A pair of jeans and an unremarkable top. He carried my helmet and I followed him out.
“Gwinny!” I shouted, remembering the cat.
“She’ll be okay. Moe will take care of her and the dogs. Let’s go!”
We were on his motorcycle and I was still fastening my helmet when we sped out of the motel and onto State Road 84. My arms wrapped tightly around him as we drove off into the night. We took State Road 84 east and turned right at Pete’s. This was Flamingo Road, and as it was the seventies, just like on State Road 84, we were in totally undeveloped territory. Flamingo Road was mostly pastureland.
Fear began to fade. At one point, I even laughed to myself as we passed an old two-story house with a big sign in front of it. The owner had spray-painted in big, black letters on a piece of plywood propped up on his second-story porch: “Wife wanted. Must cook and clean. Husband will pay bills.” That particular wannabe husband has since sold that property. I’m pretty sure a shopping plaza is there now.
We headed south on Flamingo until we got to a little town called Pembroke Pines. We turned left onto Taft Street and were suddenly in a beautiful and tastefully landscaped housing development. After a few more turns, we pulled up to a very nice house. Someone inside must have heard the motorcycle, because the garage door opened as if on cue. Blue pulled the bike in and cut the engine.
As I lifted myself off the back, I noticed an attractive, tall and very tanned brunette standing at the door that led from the garage into the house. She had her finger on the garage door opener, and as I waited for Blue to get off his bike, the door went down. She walked toward me then and held out her hand.
“Hi. I’m Jan. Blue’s wife,” she said, smiling warmly. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
I couldn’t have been more surprised than I was the day Moe showed me into Grizz’s room. Blue’s wife? It had never occurred to me that Blue, or any other member of the gang, could have been married or actually lived somewhere other than the motel. I just hadn’t paid enough attention to what everyone else was doing.
Blue and I followed Jan into the house. Just then, two little boys ran toward Blue and grabbed him around his legs. They were both wearing matching overalls without a shirt underneath. They were young, and it looked like the smaller of the two was wobbly on his feet. He was probably just a little over a year old. His older brother was maybe three.
“Daddy! Daddy! Play with us,” the oldest roared.
“Let him have some dinner, boys, and then Daddy can spend time with you,” Jan told them, laughing.
“Who that girl is?” the oldest asked.
“This is Kit,” Blue said gently. “She’s my friend. You boys be good while we eat dinner and I’ll come see you in a little bit.”
They bounded away happily toward what looked like a very comfortable family room. The TV was on and toys were everywhere.
“I already fed them.” Jan explained. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”
Since my dinner of cereal and milk was interrupted, I was eager to eat the meal set before us. I made the sign of the cross and said a mental blessing. Then, while Blue talked, I thoroughly enjoyed the homemade meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. He explained the reason for our abrupt departure from the motel.
Moments before I had seen the news clip about Mr. Build-A-Fence’s attack, Blue was getting paged at work by Grizz. Grizz had been tipped off that the police were going to be visiting the motel. Apparently, Grizz had people everywhere, including the various police departments in South Florida.
Not everyone had pagers back then. They were relatively new, but I wasn’t surprised to know Grizz and some in his group had them. The key to communicating through a pager, though, was you had to find a phone to call back the number the pager digitally displayed. It wa
s easy enough for Blue to call Grizz back. He was on top of a telephone pole doing a repair. He’d tapped into a line and called Grizz immediately.
This was also something I’d been clueless about. Blue worked for the telephone company?
“But why would the police be coming to the motel?” I asked, pushing my other questions aside.
“After the little stunt Grunt pulled, there would definitely be a police visit,” Blue said, shaking his head.
“But how would they know it was Grunt?” I asked, confused. “We didn’t have a motorcycle. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Heck, we never even paid for my helmet so it’s not like there’s a receipt to trace. And anyway, how did you know it was Grunt?”
“Grizz has eyes everywhere.” Blue said. “And it doesn’t matter if it was Grunt or not. Just the mention of a motorcycle gang and there are certain police departments that jump on any excuse to come out to the motel and try and shake things up. They know our base, and Grizz wanted you out of there.”
Jan passed over some more mashed potatoes. “I saw the news. I could have guessed your baby brother had something to do with that,” she said to Blue with a smile. “Grunt is quite the creative tormentor.”
She said this with the attitude of a proud mother as she then helped herself to more green beans. I looked up from my plate. Creative tormentor? What an odd description. I looked over at Blue, who was watching Jan with an expression I couldn’t read. Before either of us could say anything or question her comment, she started talking about something cute one of the kids did earlier that day. I looked toward the family room where those two sweet little boys were playing. Yes, Mrs. Misplaced Pride, your son is the one responsible for blowing up that building. You should be so proud. These people were a mystery.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Will Grunt get in trouble with the police?”
“No.” Blue sounded casual. “There’s no doubt the guy won’t identify him. There’s nothing to tie him to the scene. Even if his car was identified, it won’t matter. They’d never think a kid could do that to a grown man. They’ll just go to the motel with their warrant and look around and try to dig up anything they can on Grizz. He’s the one they want anyway.”