George and Dewey were having a heated discussion about—of all things—splitting atoms. George argued that anyone with a high-quality blender could do it; Dewey told him if that were the case, we’d have all blown ourselves to kingdom come the first time we made a milkshake. But George, being married to Martha, and as the story goes, not once winning an argument in the fifty-seven years they’d been wed, was not about to give in on this one.
He needed a victory and if he could garner success by claiming that atoms could be split with a KitchenAid Five-Speed, then by golly, that’s what he’d claim.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Melanie gasped as White Suit grabbed Sadie by the arm and shoved her toward the room housing the bleeding guy. He was gonna regret that.
“Don’t try anything stupid, lady. Remember, I’ve got you covered.” He gave her another push.
Sadie jerked her arm away. “Yeah, and I’ve got you pegged, buster. You’re a big, brave man with that gun in your hand, but I’ll bet you wouldn’t be so uppity if you didn’t have a weapon to wave around in front of helpless old women.”
Melanie could hear Sadie as she walked to the room across the hall and spoke to its wounded occupant. “So what’s up with you, Sleeping Beauty? Get yourself shot, did ya? Guess that would make you Bleeding Beauty, now wouldn’t it?” Cackle, cackle.
If the man knew what was good for him, he’d throw himself out the window right now. Sadie could be relentless with people she liked; Melanie could only imagine the tongue-lashing this guy would endure before this fiasco ended. He’d be begging for capture.
Melanie turned her attention back to White Suit who had stationed himself in the doorway once again. “So, tell me, what happened to your friend? You mentioned a gunshot wound? Who shot him?”
“None of your business.”
“Excuse me, but I beg to differ. He’s in my house, bleeding on my bedding, you’re using my friend and my bandages to patch him up. If that doesn’t make it my business, I don’t know what does.”
Apparently, White Suit didn’t give a rippity-snort. “Too bad, lady. I’ve got the gun and that means I’m calling the shots.”
She smiled. “Very funny.”
He looked confused. “What?”
“Your play on words there,” she said. “Calling the shots. Get it? You’ve got a gun? Calling the shots?” More confusion. “Never mind. So you’re just going to admit to bullying your way in here, kidnapping us, and getting into gunfights with who-knows-who? Doesn’t that make you even the slightest bit ashamed?”
She watched his face. Still blank, as though he was still trying to figure out his play on words. Clever man. “I mean, how cowardly can you get—holding a bunch of women hostage? Are you the one responsible for defacing our church?”
“What if I am?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes someday trying to explain to God just why you thought it was okay to deface His House of worship. Given that any thought?”
White Suit glared. He still had the gun trained on her but used the back of his other hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“Yeah, I’d be sweating, too,” Melanie said. “Fact is, I have a feeling you’re going to be doing a lot of sweating in the eternal years ahead.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s it sound like, huh? Sweating? Hot? Eternity? Ring any bells?”
White Suit resorted to his usual cheerful banter. “Shut yer trap, lady.”
“Hey, that’s our pastor’s wife you’re talking to, mister, not to mention the hostess of this inn.” Winnie, her recent near-death experience behind her, spoke up. “Keep a civil tongue in your head or we’ll have to teach you a lesson in good manners.” She wagged a chubby finger at him. “And you can bet your sorry behind we’re just the ones to do it.” She swept her arm around the room to include the other women. “Aren’t we, ladies?”
Melanie thought they all looked as though Winnie should keep her threats to herself and keep them out of it, thank you very much. But they all nodded, and Melanie was proud of their enthusiasm, albeit feigned.
“You bet we are, Winnie,” Ruby Headley said as she raised her fist in the air. “We have right on our side!” Her compatriots agreed with varying degrees of fervor. Just to prove her point, Mel thought, Ruby continued, “And you don’t, buster!”
“Ya think, lady?” he said. He switched the gun from one hand to the other and swiped his bald head with the inside of his sleeve. “All of you—just keep quiet if you know what’s good for you. And I’m not kidding around here. I mean business.”
“Just what is your business, Mr. uh, Mr. White Suit?” Melanie dived in again. “Mind if I call you White Suit, or do you have a real name?” She gazed at him earnestly. “Probably don’t want to give it out, though, do you … considering you’re a felon and all. I’m curious, just how do you make a living? Wouldn’t think there’d be much profit in church-defacing and senior citizen-kidnapping, so … what? You in the business of drugs, car theft, prostitution? Or are you just a run-of-the-mill thug? Take your orders from some big boss, do you?”
White Suit looked apoplectic. “Reno! Get in here.”
Reno, a.k.a. Marshmallow Man, stepped into view in the doorway two seconds later. “Will you shut up? What’dya say my name for, anyway, you nitwit?”
“Shut up, Reno.”
“You two aren’t much for being polite, are you? What’s the matter, Mr. Reno? Mr. White Suit here give you away, did he? If you ask me—and I’m perfectly aware that you didn’t, so don’t bother reminding me—but I don’t think he has your best interests in mind.”
The ladies snickered at Melanie’s remarks and both men reddened.
White Suit gave Reno a shove. “Get out of here!” He motioned across the hall. “Find out what’s taking so long in there.”
His buddy turned to leave. “Sure thing, Mr. Benjamin. Whatever you say, Mr. Isaac Benjamin, sir.”
Benjamin swung the gun up to his associate’s neck and growled, “Shut up.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll just go check on your pal Sonny. See how he’s doing with that gunshot wound in his shoulder. You remember, don’t you, Benjamin? The bullet he took because you told him to go outside and blow away those two guys? You remember telling Sonny to get rid of ’em—right after one of ’em blew your precious Hummer sky high?” Reno threw back his head, his long blond hair dangling down his back in greasy hunks, and laughed.
Benjamin lunged and took Reno to the floor with him, smashing the underling square in the jaw and effectively stopping any amusement Reno was having at his expense. They went down in a tangle of white-clad arms and legs—one bald head, the other covered in dirty blond dreadlocks—tumbling and cursing their way up and down the hallway. Melanie motioned to the women to get moving and ten seconds later, they’d all scuttled behind the bed—not exactly safe from stray bullets, but at least out of sight.
Melanie was still making up her mind what to do next when she heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
Then things got weird.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Gaining entrance to the basement room at the inn wasn’t as difficult as I’d feared. After our walk through the dark, damp tunnel, we reached another area similar in size to the one at the base of the tunnel’s opening in the henhouse. If all went well, this one would lead us out of the tunnel and into the relative light and safety of the inn’s basement. And not a moment too soon as far as my claustrophobia-riddled, obsessive-compulsive brain was concerned.
The ladder leaned against one wall. “Still here after all these years,” Emma said. “We probably were the last ones to touch it.”
I reached for the ladder and propped it into position beneath the hole. “Right about now, I’d levitate out of here if I had to, but it’s nice knowing the ladder’s here just the same. Here’s hoping the trapdoor opens.” I put my hands on either side of the ladder and tested the bottom rung with my foot. “Seems
solid enough.” I glanced back at my motley crew, and took a deep breath. “Here goes.”
I could step up only three rungs before I was nearly folded over at the waist. Please, Lord, let this door be unobstructed. I reached up slowly and placed the palms of both hands over my head and against the wooden slab. I pushed. Nothing. Harder. Still nothing. “Rats. It’s not giving.”
“Try again,” Emma said. “I can’t imagine anyone ever going into that room, let alone moving anything around—no reason to. It’s probably just stuck.”
I had no intention of giving up. Any chance I had to get out of this tunnel was one I was willing to take, but I appreciated Emma’s encouragement just the same. “Hope you’re right.” I moved my hands a little farther apart before heaving upward again. It gave slightly. “Thank You, Lord.” Two hefty shoves later, the door gave way, and I could see a faint line of light between the door above me and the floor of the basement. “Got it!” I said. “Let’s hope I don’t knock anything over.”
I glanced downward. Emma turned toward the men and put her finger to her mouth. “Shush. From now on, no noise. None. No talking, no whispering, no sneezing, no arguing.” She glared at George and Dewey who both gave her that ‘What? Us?’ look. “I mean it. Nothing. Noises carry in these old places.”
Apparently satisfied for the moment that her charges would behave themselves, Emma gave me a thumbs-up. I twisted around, put my back into it, and lifted the door far enough to peek over the edge of the floor above me. Seventy years of accumulated dust and grime rose to greet me, but I welcomed their presence. At least I was above ground. If I had to suck in a little dirt to claw my way out of this tunnel, so be it. I pushed it up a little higher. The door hinges creaked only slightly. So far, so good. I took another step upward and maneuvered my left hand to the edge of the door. Two more steps and I was standing on the top rung. A quick look around the room, filled with several decades’ worth of dust motes and cobwebs, satisfied me that no one was there. I stepped up on to the floor and laid the trapdoor against the wall.
“All clear,” I whispered to Emma. I extended my hand to her, and she grabbed it and scampered up the ladder. Within a couple of minutes, everyone was above ground. I closed the door quietly and Emma led the way to the steps that would take us upstairs. I followed.
“Just where do these steps take us?” I whispered.
Emma twisted around to face me. “To the pantry just off your kitchen.”
“How come I never knew that?”
“No reason to know it, Hugh. But that’s where I was when they took Melanie and the other ladies, and I know there’s nothing blocking the trap door. Maybe just a throw rug—can’t remember for sure.”
I hadn’t given that any thought. Thank You, Lord. “Yes, there’s a rag rug in there, but it won’t stop us from getting it open.”
Emma was at the top of the stairs. She put her hands on the ceiling and pushed. It didn’t budge, so I reached up behind her and added my two cents’ worth. It rose without much resistance. The rag rug dangled over three sides then slid backward toward the hinges. A couple of minutes later, we were all standing inside the pantry.
“Dark as pitch,” someone said.
“I left a candle in here,” Emma said. “Just a second.” I could hear her fumbling around in the dark then the sound of a match scraping across the side of a box, and a small flame roared to life. She lit the candle and placed it on a shelf. A soft glow filled the room. “They took the women upstairs, I know that much. But I don’t know how many men there are or if all of them are up there with Melanie and the others. There could be somebody on this floor.”
I turned to the men around me. “Hear that, fellas? We need a plan.”
For once, George and Dewey were in agreement. “Yep, a plan. That’s what we need all right. Who’s got one?”
Nobody offered anything. I checked to make sure Frank was with us and still awake. He was, but barely. “Don’t ask me, Hugh,” he said, yawning. “I’m just here to add some muscle.”
“Well, let’s think about this. We know that Bristol’s still out there somewhere. Hopefully, he’s in the house by now, but even if he is, they might have him. So don’t go blindly shooting anybody without making sure you’re not aiming at him or the ladies, or one of us, for that matter. Everybody clear on that?”
They all nodded.
“All right then. Emma, I don’t suppose you’d stay here and let us take care of this?” I asked.
“You’d suppose correctly. I’m in this, too. Don’t worry about me, though. No one’s going to shoot an old lady.”
Maybe not purposely.
I looked into Emma’s eyes. She was determined, all right. There would be no talking her out of this one, but I sure hoped she’d have the good sense to stay out of the way. It was bad enough that I was leading several men to possible slaughter; letting a little old lady—I don’t care how spry she is—in on the action just didn’t seem like something I should be doing. But like so much other stuff in the last twenty-four hours, it was out of my control. Emma was in on this, like or not.
I placed my ear against the door. Nothing. But of course, that didn’t mean much. One of them could be sitting at the kitchen table on the other side of the pantry door drinking coffee and I wouldn’t know it until I opened the door “Oh, hello there. Mind if I just run upstairs and whack your partners alongside the head?” I gripped the door handle and turned it as slowly as I could.
After a minute or so, I could tell no one was around—if for no other reason than that I was still alive. I opened the door completely, motioned behind me for the rest of them to stay put, and stepped quietly into the kitchen.
For the first time, everyone obeyed. Once I got over my shock, I turned my attention to my dark surroundings. I was glad I had the candle; I’d have run smack-dab into a couple of kitchen chairs without it. As a precaution, I set the candle on the table and picked up first one, then the other of the chairs and set them back where they belonged. No sense taking chances. I picked the candle up again and started to move into the dining room then changed my mind and set the candle back down. The faint glimmer of light might bring me to the attention of anyone who glanced in my direction. I reached the doorway to the dining room and stood quietly, listening. It was quiet downstairs, but I could hear the hum of conversation coming from upstairs. I didn’t recognize the voices, but they sounded male. That meant at least two of them were up there. Thank You, Lord.
I backed into the kitchen again then turned and tiptoed to the pantry. Emma and the men were standing there quietly, still inside the tiny room. I put my finger to my mouth then leaned in. “I think they’re all upstairs,” I whispered.
“Then let’s go,” Emma said.
“Not so fast. We have to check out the rest of this floor. Why don’t you let me take a quick look around? Then I’ll come back and get the rest of you when I know the coast is clear.”
Emma pursed her lips. She didn’t look happy, but she had no choice in the matter and she knew it. The others nodded their agreement, and I headed back to the dining room. I moved a few feet into the room and stopped to listen. I heard the voices again, but it was a woman’s voice and she was yelling, “God’s army!” Hazel Parry? Then a man barked, “You! Shut up!” Sounded like the women were giving them some trouble. Good for you, gals. Good for you.
I reached the entrance to the living room and glanced in. Unless someone was crouched behind one of the wing chairs that flanked the fireplace, it, too, was empty. That left the library and bathroom on this level. A quick check of both rooms showed they also were vacant. Five minutes later I was back at the pantry. “Looks good down here. But I want to post sentries. We can’t all go upstairs, anyway. We’d just get in one another’s way.”
“I’m going with you,” Emma said.
I didn’t even argue with her. She was the lightest one, anyway, and the less possibility there was of making the steps creak, the better our chances. I nodded. “Oka
y. So Dewey and George, I want you to go into the living room and take up positions on either side of the door, okay? Frank, you stay here in the kitchen and help Leo keep an eye on the dining room. He’ll keep watch in the hallway. There’s no one in the library or bathroom, so we won’t worry about that. I doubt if anyone would try to crawl in through those windows from the outside, anyway.”
I looked around at the faces of my fellow rescue team members, four senior citizens in the house with me and several more still outdoors braving the elements. I really was a lucky man. Yes, I would have preferred members of an elite Special Forces unit with Uzis, or whatever they’re using nowadays, backing me up. But the people with me were just as unwavering in their desire to rescue the women and defeat the bad guys as any group of highly-trained commandos would be—perhaps even more so, considering the ladies upstairs were their wives and friends. Emma looked determined, maybe a little too determined, truth be told, and George and Dewey looked entirely too pleased with the situation for my comfort. But Frank—well, Frank surprised me. He was as alert as I’ve seen him in a long time. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” my dad would say. I reached over and slapped him on the shoulder. “Way to go, Frank.” He smiled. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Frank smile before. It looked good on him.
I turned to the rest of them. “Okay, folks, ready?”
They nodded.
I sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “This is it. Follow me.”
Emma, Leo, George and Dewey followed me into the dining room. Leo took up a position a few feet down the hallway where he could monitor the dining room and still hear what was going on upstairs. George and Dewey followed me into the living room. I pointed out where I wanted them to stand.
Misstep (The Road's End Series Book 1) Page 21