How to Successfully Kidnap Strangers

by Max Booth III

  “You wanna come with me to the gas station?” she asked, zipping her jeans.

  “What for?”

  “I’m not using the bathroom here. It’s too disturbing. Plus, we can get some cappuccinos.”

  “What happened in the bathroom?” Stephen stood up and headed toward it, but Louise grabbed his shoulder and held him back.

  “The Lord of Darkness wouldn’t even step foot in that bathroom. Trust me, dude.”

  He rubbed his head. “Ugh. Last night was crazy. What I remember, at least.”

  “Not much to remember. We drank, we laughed, we threw dildos at strangers, then we came home and you fell asleep on top of me.”

  “Oh.” He looked at his feet for support, but they didn’t offer any. “Sorry about that.”

  “Whatever. That’s why God gave me fingers, right?”

  “I . . . I guess.”

  “So, gas station? Yes or no?”

  “You paying?”

  “Nobody’s paying. That dude with the huge nose is the cashier in the mornings, the one who wants to bang me.”

  “Oh, okay, cool. Maybe we can score some muffins, too.”

  “Hell yeah, son.”

  8. PREVIOUSLY ON HOW TO SUCCESSFULLY KIDNAP STRANGERS

  Billy sped through town with no apparent destination in mind. Normally Eliza would lecture him on his driving, but she was too distracted with the whole “body in the trunk” dilemma. There were a few bites left of her burger, but she was no longer hungry. She dropped the remainder of her food in the Sonic bag and balled it up at her feet. Confetti littered the car floor. Did this car belong to a clown? What the hell?

  She groaned, wishing she’d never called her brother today. She should’ve just stayed home, kept formatting and boiled some ramen.

  “What do you mean, you ‘kidnapped somebody’?” she asked, thinking maybe she was just hearing him wrong, thinking maybe she was asleep and this was all some stupid dream, thinking this couldn’t possibly be happening.

  “I feel that’s pretty self-explanatory.”

  “Billy, seriously, who is in the trunk?”

  Billy stayed quiet for a moment, like he was in deep concentration.

  Eliza rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

  “I just need to think for a moment.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Who is in the trunk?”

  “Now, sis, you can’t get mad . . .”

  “Billy, who the fuck is in the fucking trunk?”

  “Harlan Anderson.”

  Eliza laughed before she realized she was laughing. “No he fucking isn’t.”

  Billy nodded.

  She let his silence sink in and listened to the thumping from the trunk. Billy was serious.

  “How did this even happen?” she asked.

  Billy shrugged. “One thing after another, you know?”

  “No, Billy, I don’t fucking know, that’s why I’m asking you.”

  “Okay, so, like I said, after last night at the bar, I left everybody and went off to this different party. We stayed up all night doing . . . you know, stuff. Then I left to get us all some coffee and cakes. And I’m standing in line, trying to decide what to get, and the motherfucker comes strolling in like he owns the joint.”

  “How did you even know it was him?”

  “I just knew, okay? We’ve seen his stupid, smug-ass face on his blog before. Come on now. It’s him.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Well, he’s standing behind me in line, right? And he’s just acting like a total asshole to everybody.”

  “How so?”

  “Hmm. Okay, maybe he was just waiting patiently in line. Whatever. He’s still an asshole. So, anyway, I got a lemon pound cake and left.”

  “How uneventful.”

  “No, dammit, listen. So, I’m waiting outside, eating my cake, watching the fucker through the window. And he’s trying to find a place to sit down, right? And, okay, now get this, all right, so he’s trying to sit down at this one table where Crazy Rita’s at. You know Crazy Rita.”

  “Yeah.” Bitch was crazy.

  “Yeah, right, so he’s talking to her, maybe he’s asking her if he can sit down, maybe he’s asking for a blowjob, who the fuck knows? Regardless, Crazy Rita takes one look at him and spits in his face.”

  Billy started laughing hysterically. Given different circumstances, Eliza might have joined him. But her stomach was knotted up with dread. She’d always been the more responsible one. Growing up, when they were getting high and leaping off sheds, she always aimed for trampolines or swimming pools. Billy would just fly for concrete. Cement in the ground and cement in the head.

  “Billy? What happened then?”

  “Right, okay. So Crazy Rita spits in his face and he starts freaking the fuck out, right? Drops his coffee and comes running out of the shop, just screaming and way overplaying the whole situation. Although, to be fair, I probably acted the same the first time Crazy Rita spit in my face.”

  Eliza nodded. “We all do.”

  “Yeah, right? It’s like a rite of passage or something. Or a write. Like, you know, with a double-you. Heh. Oh, speaking of, have you heard from Nick about royalties? I’m fucking broke as shit, spent the rest of my cash last night at that party. I’m pretty sure Attack of the Chlamydia Kamikazes has sold at least ten to twenty copies, easy. Well, at the very least, I know Mom bought a copy.”

  “Billy, you’re getting side-tracked. What happened next?” She didn’t want to bring up how full of shit he was. Everybody knew he hadn’t sold a single copy and probably never would.

  Billy paused for a moment like he’d completely forgotten what they were talking about, then he smacked himself in the face. “Oh! Yeah. Right. Okay, so Harlan comes out screaming, and I’m standing there watching him, so I walk up to him and I’m like, ‘Yo, are you Harlan Anderson?’ and he’s like, ‘What’s it to you, cocksucker?’ So I’m all like, ‘Yo, how ‘bout some fuckin’ manners?’ and he’s all like, ‘Suck my cock, you cocksucking cocksucker.’ So, I’m all like, ‘Prepare to die!’ And then I started beating the shit out of him.”

  “Did anybody see you guys?”

  “Well, yeah, there was a huge crowd. That’s why I picked him up and got the hell out of there, before the police showed up.”

  “Why didn’t you just leave him there?”

  “I don’t know, sis. It was all in the heat of the moment.”

  Eliza sighed. This was going to be a long fucking day. “So, is this his car, then?”

  “Nah.”

  “Well. Whose car is it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How can you not know?”

  Billy shrugged. “I don’t fucking know, okay? I mean, the driver’s in the trunk and all, but I don’t know him or anything.”

  “I thought you just said this wasn’t Harlan’s car.”

  “Right.”

  Eliza let that sit for a moment, pondering the situation. Then it clicked.

  “Holy shit, Billy, how many fucking people are in the trunk?”

  9. BLUE BALLS FOR JESUS

  After briefing the detectives with the information he’d collected, Officer Joseph Nous continued his patrol. He was looking forward to idling at a speed-trap and reading his copy of Sergio Placid’s The Cumming of Christ.

  The free doughnut the barista had given him was settling nicely in his stomach. He kept thinking that he didn’t eat enough doughnuts, being a cop. He should have received free food every day, yet this was a first. Nobody ever treated him with respect. It was always “fuck the police” this and “kill all cops” that. Joseph had never done anything to anybody. Maybe that made him a bad cop. But then again, maybe that made him the best cop.

  He arrived at his speed-trap, blasted the air conditioning, and opened up his wrinkled copy of The Cumming of Christ. The book was disgusting and obscene and he couldn’t get
enough of it. He’d never read anything so insane in his life. If he’d been introduced to these kinds of books when he was a kid, he would’ve definitely read more growing up. Maybe the same could be said for a lot of the kids of his generation. It wasn’t a lack of interest in reading altogether, it was just a lack of interest in the same old vanilla, school-friendly crap teachers forced onto their students. If someone had handed Joseph a copy of The Cumming of Christ when he was ten, reading would have had a whole new meaning to him. Maybe he would have pursued education after high school. Maybe he wouldn’t be some lame cop with nobody to love him but a wiener dog.

  His speed-trap was between two abandoned fast food restaurants. Before he began parking here, the spot was primarily inhabited by drug dealers and prostitutes. But thanks to his recent presence, they’d all scattered elsewhere to perform the inevitable. His squad car was like a mobile “no crime zone” flag. People avoided him more than they did the homeless psychos located on nearly every street corner of this city. Being a cop was the best occupation for anybody who just wanted to be left the hell alone. And Joseph did indeed want to be left the hell alone. He didn’t enjoy having to confront people. How was he to know if somebody was packing a gun or a blade? Hell, even a needle would do the trick. Anybody could have a warrant out for their arrest. Nobody wanted to go to jail. Most people would do whatever it took to escape imprisonment, and that included shooting police officers in their faces.

  The fast food restaurants had been an Arby’s and a McDonald’s, and they’d closed down on the same day. A few years back, it was discovered that the employees at both establishments had been dealing various drugs through their drive-thrus by using elaborate code systems hidden in meal orders. Arby’s grew increasingly frustrated with the low deals given by McDonald’s, which stole most of their customers. One day, after the announcement of a $20 family pack meal of two quarter pounders, two fries, and twenty chicken McNuggets, the fry cook of Arby’s propped open the drive-thru window and opened fire at their competitor. McDonald’s did not hesitate in returning the favor. It was a complete bloodbath and an utter embarrassment to the fast food industry. Both businesses shut down immediately and moved on to new locations. Nobody seemed to have the guts to rent out the buildings, so there they sat, infested with bullet holes and abandoned hamburger buns now a part of an undiscovered species of fast food fungi. It was rumored the Burger King down the street had taken on the leftover drug clientele.

  Someone knocked on the driver’s window and Joseph nearly screamed. Heart beating fast, he turned to the side, expecting to find himself face-to-face with the muzzle of a pistol. Instead, he found a young girl standing outside his car, smiling. She was dressed in a yellow blouse and couldn’t have been any older than fourteen or fifteen. He rolled down his window.

  “Hi there. Is everything okay?”

  The girl laughed, blushing. She looked behind her, then turned back toward him. “I was just wondering if . . . uh . . . well, I was just wondering if you’d want to marry me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She continued giggling. Behind her, across the parking lot, someone else started laughing. The girl shook her head. “I’m sorry. My friend dared me to ask you that.”

  Joseph tried to laugh, but the realization that this little girl would probably be the only female to propose to him hit like a brick to the gut. “Very cute,” he said. “I’d love to marry you.”

  The girl raised her fist to the air and shouted, “Yes!” Then she noticed the paperback in Joseph’s hands and her eyes widened at the extremely graphic front cover. “Oh my God.”

  Joseph closed the book and threw it on the passenger seat. “No, it’s not what you think.”

  The girl shook her head in disgust. “You sick fuck.” She ran across the parking lot, giggling with her friend about the perverted cop reading porno books.

  Joseph considered chasing after her and trying to explain himself, but decided it would only make matters worse. He picked up The Cumming of Christ and resumed reading. He made it two sentences in before his radio went berserk. Apparently there was some type of brawl going on down at the Pic-n-Pac. And he was the closest vehicle to the gas station, so it was his lucky day.

  He dropped the paperback on the passenger seat again and drove away, disappointed. He was really looking forward to reading about Jesus Christ’s pornography career.

  10. THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A FREE CAPPUCCINO

  As it turned out, the cashier with the huge nose who wanted to bang Louise no longer worked at the Pic-n-Pac. He’d been fired a few days ago after his assistant manager caught him violating a Hostess cupcake.

  Louise hadn’t noticed the huge-nosed cashier’s absence until she attempted to walk out of the gas station with two cappuccinos and a shit-ton of muffins. A cashier, a woman with a perfectly normal-sized nose, shouted, “Hey! You haven’t paid for that!”

  Louise paused at the door, taking her time to turn around. Stephen was behind her, holding his own share of muffins, looking at her and mouthing, “Oh shit.”

  The cashier walked toward them, pointing and shouting. “Who do you think you are? You can’t just walk in here, grab whatever you want, and leave without paying.”

  “Why not?” Louise asked, biting down on a muffin. She figured she was already busted, so fuck it, might as well have some fun.

  The cashier seemed dumbstruck by her ignorance. “Because . . . it’s against the law. You’re stealing.”

  Louise shrugged. “Well, I never agreed to that law.” She finished off her muffin and watched crumbs fall to the floor. Louise wondered if she should feel guilty, since somebody would have to eventually sweep that up, but decided that if this dumb bitch with the normal-sized nose hadn’t interrupted her in the first place, then Louise would have waited to eat until she was outside the gas station.

  “I’m calling the cops,” the cashier said.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Stephen said, trying to smile the same kind of sad puppy dog smile he used whenever he was trying to guilt Louise into anal. “This is all just a misunderstanding.”

  The cashier raised her eyebrow, ready to disbelieve any bullshit he was about to make up. “How so?”

  “Uh, well, Louise here—”

  “Don’t use my real name, jackass.”

  Stephen gave her an ugly glare, then looked back at the cashier with his “can I puh-puh-puhleaze put it in your poop chute?” look. “I mean, uh, Betty, she thought I had already paid for the stuff, and I thought she had already paid for the stuff. It was a simple case of miscommunication, I can assure you. Of course we’ll pay for all this. Right, Louise? I mean, Betty.”

  “Sure,” Louise said. “If you have money.”

  Stephen broke his innocent persona. “I thought you had money.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Well, shit.”

  Stephen threw one of his muffins at the cashier. It missed her completely and smashed into a small child’s face behind her. He fell down for the count, crying his stupid little head off. The boy’s father, standing well over six feet tall and wearing motorcycle gang threads, turned around to face the cause of his son’s unexpected muffin attack.

  “Well, shit,” Stephen said again.

  The motorcycle guy walked across the gas station, pushed the normal-nosed cashier out of the way, and glared at them.

  “Did you just throw a muffin at my son?”

  Stephen stood there for a moment, holding in his breath and trying to avoid eye contact. Louise noticed the biker’s hands balling into fists. She also noticed his brass knuckles.

  “He sure did,” Louise said. “And now I’m going to throw a hot cappuccino in his father’s face.”

  He looked at Louise, confused. “What?”

  Louise pushed her handful of muffins and cappuccinos into the biker and gasped as the hot liquid splashed into his eyes. He started screaming and backing up, then tripped over his own son.

  “Holy shit,” Stephen s
aid. “That was hardcore.”

  “Fuck yeah it was,” Louise said, feeling horny.

  “I’m calling the police!” the cashier screamed, climbing to her feet and scrambling for the phone by the register.

  “Uh, we should probably go,” Stephen said.

  “Fuck that,” Louise said. “I’m not making this all be for nothing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m getting another cappuccino.”

  “Christ, you’re crazy.”

  “Crazy in love!” she shouted, laughing and running to the cappuccino machine.

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Hell if I know. It just sounded cool.”

  “Oh shit, Louise, the cops are here.”

  “Crap. Already?”

  “I have some . . . stuff in my pocket, Louise. This isn’t good.”

  “Relax, we’re cool,” she said, joining him with two more cappuccinos. “Let’s get a-goin’, honey badger.”

  “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Whatever.”

  They walked outside the gas station just as the cop was getting out of his squad car. He was a huge son of a bitch, and when he was finally out of the vehicle, the car’s suspensions lifted up and relieved themselves like a fat gut relaxing over a newly loosened belt buckle on Thanksgiving night. He rushed toward them and Louise pointed inside the store.

  “Oh, Officer, you have to do something! There’s a crazy biker in there attacking everybody! I think he has a gun!”

  “Step aside, miss,” the cop said. “I’ll handle this.”

  Louise gave Stephen a look like she couldn’t believe that had actually worked. Then she handed him one of the new cappuccinos and told him to get his ass in the car.