All kinds of crazy-ass ideas zoom through my brain. I can do the room service thing. Disguise myself as a waiter pushing a cart. Or would it be better if I hid under the tablecloth and got pushed into the room? I saw that in a movie once and it worked great. No, wait, that was an I Love Lucy episode. Better not try that one.
I think through every action movie I’ve ever seen and realize that it looks so easy when they do it but in reality it’s scary as hell. And what do I do once I get in the room? Try to overpower P.C.? He’s a pretty big guy and the reality is that he’d probably take me out. Not to mention the damn goons. If I had a gun... But I don’t.
I need to think outside the box. Instead of me going in, can I get them to come out? That might just work. If I can get them all out and maybe...maybe get everybody in the hotel out then I could grab Viv and get lost in the crowd. Before I lose my nerve, I reach out and pull the fire alarm. I run down the hallway, madly pulling all four fire alarms.
Alarms scream and overhead sprinklers douse water everywhere. People in pajamas open their doors, peek into the hallway and shut their doors just like a game of whack the mole. I run to the elevators and punch the button.
The doors slide open and I find myself face-to-face with Prince Charles.
Oh, shit damn.
The two goons are flanking him and one of them has Vivian in a neck hold. They’re all wet and mad as hell. But at least the element of surprise is working in my favor. P.C. looks even more surprised to see me than I do him.
I throw a big roundhouse punch and connect with P.C.’s perfect chin. I hit him so hard the shock wave of pain shooting up my arm almost sends me to my knees. Fortunately, the only one of us who actually falls is him and he crashes to the floor like a limp doll.
Vivian kicks out with her pointy shoes and lands a neat groin shot to the goon who’s not holding her. He grabs his crotch, yelps like a puppy and falls across his boss’s body.
That leaves just one more goon to deal with and Viv and I give it all we’ve got. She’s elbowing and kicking like a wild woman and I’m punching anywhere I can get a clear shot...but the sumbitch just won’t turn loose of her.
I’m grabbed from behind and wing-locked. Prince Charles rises up in front of me and muscle goon holds me. The last thing I see is a giant fist with hairy knuckles coming right at my face.
Fuck me, not the nose again.
When I come to it’s pitch black and the only way I know I’m awake is because of the intense pain. I blink my eyes and even that hurts so much that I wince out loud. I run my tongue over my dry lips and taste the metal tang of blood. My nose is clogged with dried blood and snot and I have to breathe through my mouth. I try to sit up and after a few seconds of seeing stars, I realize that my hands are tied behind my back and I’m crammed into a very small space.
Son of a bitch, I hate small spaces.
I hear the roar of an engine in my ears and tires chewing and spitting gravel. Shit. I’m tied up and shoved into the trunk of a car. The car’s a Mercedes from the sound of the engine. Knowing where I am doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Lee?” I hear from behind me.
“Viv?”
I feel Vivian’s warmth behind me.
“Please tell me this is all part of your plan to help me escape,” Vivian says.
“This is all part of my plan to help you escape.”
She doesn’t laugh. I can’t blame her.
“You okay?” I whisper.
The car careens to the right and we’re tossed against each other. I grit my teeth against the sudden jolt of pain. When the pain subsides, I try to even out my breathing and will myself not to cry.
“I’m okay,” she answers after a moment. “But they beat the shit outta you pretty good.”
“Where’re they taking us?”
“I don’t know. Probably somewhere where they can torture us and kills us in private. But that’s just a guess.”
“You’ve watched too many TV movies.”
“Yeah,” she says. “They’re probably just taking us to a surprise birthday party.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But I just don’t want to think about being killed right now. If I’d known I was going to die this early in life, I would’ve done some things, lots of things, differently. But I don’t want to make out a bucket list just yet. “Maybe now’s a good time to think about giving the money back,” I say.
“Yeah, if I hadn’t spent it all,” she says. “They wouldn’t let us go anyway. Not now.”
“Half a million dollars!” I shout. “You spent a half a million dollars?!”
“Screaming at me isn’t going to make it come back!”
“How in fuck’s sake can you spend half a million dollars in just a few months?”
“Well, we can’t all be dykes with simple needs!” she spits into my neck.
“So now I’m a dyke?”
“You’ve always been a dyke,” she mutters.
“You didn’t mind the dyke part that once,” I spit back.
“Oh, great,” she says. “You don’t really think I enjoyed that.”
“You can’t fake that shit.”
“Spoken like a true man. You’re just in it for yourself and can’t tell when a woman’s faking it or not,” she says.
“You are such a bitch,” I say. “And if I remember right, you’re the one who started it. You seduced me.”
“Fer chrissakes. It was a thank you present.”
“A THANK YOU PRESENT? If I weren’t tied up right now, I’d strangle you!”
“I left you money,” she says. “I’m not all cold.”
“Yeah, well, I was faking it, too. How ’bout that?”
“You were not.”
“Sure I was,” I say. “You were a lousy fuck and I just wanted to get it over with. Thank God, you were gone when I woke up.”
“You’re such a lousy liar,” she says.
“And to think I came back to rescue you,” I say.
“Yeah. How’s that working out for you?”
We’re quiet for a long time. I feel her body shaking a little against mine and she sniffles into my neck.
“You’re not fucking crying, are you?” I ask.
“No,” she blubbers.
“Why the fuck are you crying?” I ask a little softer.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because you hate me,” she says.
“Why do you care?”
She doesn’t answer. She’s crying harder now and getting snot and everything all over my back. I heave myself around until I’m finally nose to nose with her.
“Tell me why you’re crying,” I say.
“Because I’m going to die,” she says. “Isn’t that a good enough reason?”
“I’ve just never seen you cry,” I say.
“Well, contrary to popular belief, I do have feelings. And I’m getting ready to be killed and you hate me.”
“Okay, I don’t hate you,” I whisper.
“Really?”
“I love you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. And that’s the real truth.”
“I love you, too. And...” she cuts herself off.
“And?”
“I seduced you because I wanted to. And I didn’t fake it. It was all right and—”
“All right?” I interrupt.
“Okay,” she laughs and sniffles at the same time. “It was fuckin’ great. But I had to leave. I had to.”
“Why?” I ask simply.
“I had to leave you before you left me.”
“I wouldn’t have left you.”
“Sure you would. They all leave. And I know that and I get over it. But I don’t know if I could get over you leaving me. How’s that for truth?” she asks.
“As long as we’re being honest,” I venture. “I’ve realized since we’ve been apart that I don’t really need you.”
“You really know how to cheer me up, you know that?”
/>
“Listen to me...I don’t need you. But I do want you in my life. ’Cause I really missed my friend. I didn’t know it was a choice, friend or nothing. And if it is, then...I choose to have my friend.”
“Well, you could’ve realized that to begin with and saved us a helluva lot of trouble.”
“I know, right?”
We both laugh. “I can’t believe we’re going to be killed any minute now and we’re both laughing,” I say.
That thought sobers us up good and we’re quiet for a long moment.
“Lee?”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s don’t die today.”
“There’s my cheerleader.” And as soon as I say that I have a knowing that if she cheers loud enough and long enough maybe we can get out of this alive. I’ll do anything I can and maybe some things I can’t, just to live long enough to make this right.
“Just one thing,” I say.
“What’s that?”
“You’re Sundance. I get to be Butch.”
“You’re not nearly as butch as you think you are,” she says.
“I am too.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am so butch,” I say adamantly.
“I’ve seen you be pretty damn girlie. ‘Fuck me, Vivian, please fuck me!’” she says in a high falsetto.
“Shut up!” I say too loudly.
Vivian laughs her ass off at my expense.
“Okay, then, you be Butch,” I say.
BZZZZZ. BZZZZZ.
“Is that your phone?” we both ask each other at the same time.
“I don’t have a phone,” Vivian says.
BZZZZZZ.
“Oh, my God,” I suddenly remember. “It’s Chopper’s phone. It’s in my bra.”
“Get it out!” Vivian yells right in my ear. She drops her voice to a harsh whisper and adds, “Talk to this Chopper person and get us out of this mess!”
“It’s in my bra,” I explain. “My hands are tied behind me. You’re going to have to get it out for me.”
“My hands are tied behind me too,” she whines.
“Vivian...” I say, stifling a giggle.
“...you don’t expect me to use my mouth,” she mind-reads.
“Only if you want to live.”
She sighs deeply. “Okay, but if you get off on this, I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.”
“No promises,” I say.
Vivian rips open the front of my shirt with her teeth and noses in between my boobs. After a few moments, she looks up at me with the phone between her teeth.
“Use your tongue to speed dial number one,” I say.
“Ferchwissakes,” Vivian mumbles around the phone. She sets the phone down and lowers her head over it. It’s light pops on and the next thing I hear is it’s ringing.
Chopper’s voice answers, “Lee?”
“Chopper!” I shout. “They’ve got us in the trunk of a car. They’re gonna kill us.”
“Where are you?”
“I have no idea. We’re on a gravel road so we must be in the country somewhere.”
“Don’t turn the phone off, Lee. I’m going to hang up and call the crew, but keep the phone turned on. Stick it in the trunk somewhere and hide it from view. I’ll see how well the phone’s tracking system works.”
“Thanks, Chopper,” I say.
“Lee?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, kid. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, Chopper. I know that.”
“Bye.”
He hangs up.
“Bad news,” I say. “Really bad news.”
“Why?” Vivian asks softly.
“He told me he loved me. He’d never say that unless he thought he wouldn’t ever see me again.”
The car stops and the engine cuts off. I hear the doors creak open and close and footsteps crunching back toward us.
“You scared?” Vivian asks.
“Nope.”
“Liar,” she breathes.
The trunk lid opens and I twist my neck to see three dark shapes in the moonlight staring down at us.
“All cozy, are we?” the shape I think must be Prince Charles asks.
“Fuck you,” I say.
“Still feisty then, are we?”
“Cut the ‘we’ shit. Just let us go,” I say.
“Get them out,” Prince Charles orders, stepping out of the way.
The two bigger dark shapes lean in the trunk; one grabs my feet and the other my shoulders and they lift me up and out.
As soon as my feet touch the ground, I head-butt the closest goon with everything I’ve got. I connect solidly and he goes down with a big thud. The other goon kicks my feet out from under me and I fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I see a glint of something metal and shiny arcing through the moonlight and then all I see is a billion stars dancing in my head.
Chapter Seventeen
All this getting hit upside the head can’t be too good for my brain. I open my eyes to slits and don’t see anything but a wash of colors that don’t make sense. At least my nose is unclogged and I can breathe through it again. Except when I do, I am overwhelmed by a god-awful smell.
“Chicken shit,” I utter. “I smell chicken shit.”
“We’re in some kind of old vacant chicken factory,” Vivian replies.
“We must be in Arkansas.”
I blink my eyes hard a couple of times until I can see pretty good. Vivian’s right. Chicken roosts are everywhere. Old feathers scattered about. It looks like I slept through a giant pillow fight.
Vivian helps me get to my feet. We both still have our hands tied, but now they’re retied in front of us. I’m so shaky I have to lean against her in order to stay upright.
“They retied our hands,” I say.
“I told them to do it so we could pee. Impossible to squat with our hands behind us,” she whispers.
I throw her a weird look.
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Where are they?” I ask.
“Right here,” Prince Charles says, stepping out of the shadows of a chicken roost scaffold. “The other chaps are outside digging your graves.”
I stumble toward him a few steps, just to test this guy’s mettle when he doesn’t have his muscle flanking him. “Why don’t you and I settle this,” I say. “Just us. Man to man.”
Prince Charles laughs in a relaxed kind of way like he’s not nervous or scared at all. Like he’s done this type of thing before. I get goosebumps up and down my arms and my nipples harden. Not in a good way either.
He unbuttons his jacket, reaches inside, pulls out a good-size gun and aims it right at my head, smiling all the while.
“You think you’re big just ’cause you got a gun?” I ask in the calmest voice I can muster while he’s pointing a fuckin’ cannon at my face. “Let’s see how big a man you are without it.”
“Lee...back down,” Vivian warns.
“He’s a pansy,” I retort. “He’s one of those British fags who can’t get it up without a fluffer.”
P.C. glares at me, but swings his gun to Vivian. “Last time, Vivian dearest. Where’s the money?”
“I told you. I spent it,” she answers.
“Where?” he asks.
“WalMart,” she smiles sweetly.
He raises the gun and points the business end at me. He walks toward me like he’s Cagney in The Public Enemy. He presses the gun hard against my temple and smiles with his crooked fucking teeth and I actually throw up a little in my mouth. This is one cold mother.
“Vivian,” he scolds. “Tell me where you’ve hidden my money or I’ll be forced to shoot your lezzie girlfriend.”
“How’d you know she was a lesbian? How come everybody but me can tell she’s a lesbian?” Vivian asks, throwing her bound hands in the air.
“This is what you left me for?” P.C. asks, pressing the gun even harder against my head. “A dyke in some Hell’s Angels gang?”
>
“You’ve been watching too much American TV,” I say. “I’m not in a gang.”
He continues, “You steal my money and leave me for this?” He traces the gun down my neck and across my chest, stopping it right at my left tit. “A dirty, ugly woman who dresses like a man?”
“She’s not all that ugly,” Vivian says.
I hope she’s just buying time and doesn’t really mean that.
“Did you have sex with her?” he asks me. “Have you been fucking my Vivian?”
I don’t know how to answer that question. I could tell the truth, but he’d probably shoot me on the spot. I could lie and say no, but he’d probably shoot me anyway. I try answering by not answering.
“Depends on who you ask,” I say.
“What does that mean?” he asks, perplexed.
“Some people, who shall remain nameless, thinks if there’s not a penis involved...” I ramble, “...then it isn’t really sex...”
I see headlights blink off in the distance. P.C. and Vivian don’t see them because their backs are to the front windows. I hope it’s somebody, anybody, coming this way. The headlights disappear and my hope for rescue along with them.
I continue my time-wasting ramble, “...that it’s just more like heavy petting which doesn’t really count. ’Cause of the no penis thing. Kinda like how, say you, for instance, could get a blow job from a really tall, black transvestite, but you wouldn’t consider yourself homosexual or that it was really sex because you—”
He shoves the barrel of the gun in my mouth and yells, “Enough!”
I try to talk around the gun, “Iknoyheefyou.”
“What?” he asks, removing the gun and placing it under my chin instead.
“I said, I know why she left you.”
“Why is that?”
“I saw you naked, remember? My dick’s bigger than yours.”
He flinches just the tiniest bit. Good. I hit a nerve.
“Is it just you? Or do all Englishmen have tiny uncircumsized dicks?” Where is my courage coming from anyway? I remind myself that there’s a thin line between stupidity and courage. Oh, well, I shrug and pile on more stupid, “I’ve seen bigger dicks on infants.”
Headlights again. Motorcycle headlights? This time they’re closer.
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