1 Take the Monkeys and Run

by Karen Cantwell

  “Aye, Captain.” Colt saluted and was gone when relieved of his duty.

  Once the FBI agent had Joey safely in his care, Howard kneeled next to me, laying down his gun and radio, and started cutting the ropes with a blade he’d pulled out of his pants pocket.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Now I am. You?”

  “Yeah.” He was struggling to cut the fibers.

  Frankie, evidently relieved that the tough stuff was over, looked to Howard. “Hey, Sammy—did yous know that Tito was alive?”

  Howard stuck his finger in Frankie’s face hard and furious, as if he’d practiced it a thousand times. “My name isn’t Sammy anymore—you got that? Sammy Donato doesn’t exist!” he screamed, his face so red, I feared he would stroke out. From the look on Frankie’s face, I guessed he’d never make that mistake again. Although, his question was a valid one.

  The ropes binding me to Frankie were loosened at about the same time another FBI agent entered the door, slick and ready for action. He was low to the ground, pointing his long and sleek firearm in all directions. He was right behind Officer Brad and moving forward, when without warning, I saw him go down on top of Tito. During the fall, his legs must have knocked Officer Brad’s legs out from under him, because he went down, too. It all became a mass of pandemonium, with agents and Howard yelling.

  From the moment I saw that Tito was conscious, everything moved in slow motion. Him reaching and snatching with unbelievable ease, the gun from Officer Brad’s hand at the precise moment he lost his grip on its handle. My realization that Howard was standing, completely open and vulnerable. Seeing his gun on the floor next to me. Tito turning over his fat body from under the pile of men on top of him, and taking perfect aim at Howard.

  Without any forethought, I picked up Howard’s gun with my shaking hands and pointed it straight at Tito.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, you fat-assed, greasy goombah, mother-fucking son-of-a-bitch!” The profanities just spilled out of my mouth, and even though I sounded like a George Carlin routine, it sure did feel good.

  Still on the floor, I gripped the gun with both hands and worked very hard to look like I knew what I was doing. Which I didn’t.

  “Marr! Tell me what’s happening!” Agent Smith yelled in my ear. The scene was too tense to answer. She’d have to hear for herself.

  Tito laughed. “PETA, huh? Nice one.”

  “Barb . . .” Howard started to reach for my gun.

  Tito stopped him quick. “Wouldn’t do dat, Sammy.” He inched the aim of his gun to me and smiled.

  “Don’t, Tito. This is between you and me,” Howard pleaded.

  The agent who had been tripped by Tito started to crawl toward his lost rifle.

  “Tell him to stop!” Tito screamed.

  “Stop!” Howard obeyed. The agent went still.

  “So it WAS a vendetta,” said Tito, appearing precarious on the floor. “You know, I took care-a you good, Sammy. Dis is how you repay me?”

  “What?”

  “Ax Frankie.” Tito put a hand on the floor and pushed himself up slowly.

  Howard looked at Frankie, who nodded. “It’s true Sa-, I mean Howard. Gave your Ma money every month. Paid for your college.”

  Howard’s eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them before, but he didn’t bat an eyelash.

  “But I got a proposition for you,” said Tito, standing upright now.

  Howard didn’t answer.

  “I know tings you don’t. Tings you wanna know, trust me. I tell you these tings, you let me go.”

  Howard still didn’t answer. It was an Italian standoff. Finally, Howard’s radio buzzed live.

  “Marr!” yelled Agent Smith. “Make the deal now. I’m ordering the choppers out of here. High winds and two confirmed tornado sightings. One in Herndon and one in Oakton heading our way. I’ve got more ground support coming in, but I want you to get those people out of there. NOW!”

  “Howard,” I said, panicked. “The girls are in Herndon. And my mom.”

  Howard didn’t even look my way. His cold, icy stare was focused on Tito.

  “You heard it,” Tito said, “make da deal.”

  Howard looked ready to lunge when the engine of a departing chopper started to scream as if it was out of control. The screaming noise intensified as the thwump, thwump, thwump of the blades slowed but became louder and louder. Something was very wrong, and it showed on everyone’s faces. Even Tito’s.

  Suddenly it became clear the chopper was coming down, possibly right on top of us. “Brace yourselves!” screamed Howard, as the house shook with an explosion that could have rocked the Richter scale. The screech of metal against metal was so loud, I had to cover my ears. Dust and sparks flew, pieces of ceiling fell, smoke filled the air. It was like a scene out of a Michael Bay movie.

  When the screeching stopped, I found myself on my stomach, holding my head. No one was talking, but the coughs told me others were alive. Wind whipped through the house. I turned on my side just in time to see Viviana unwrapping coils of rope from around her while crawling toward my gun, which was now within her reach. Scrambling quick, I grabbed at the gun, but not before she did. I was only vaguely aware of others moving and yelling while I fought Viviana for the firearm. Her fingernails were lethal weapons, scratching my hand to pieces. I felt around on the floor with my other hand, and as luck would have it, found one of Viv’s spiky heels. Grasping it tightly, I brought the pointy tip of the heel down hard.

  Her scream told me I'd made contact.

  It worked. With the gun firmly in my own hand, pointed at Viviana, who was clutching her fingers in pain, I scanned the room. Dust and debris flew through the air on currents of wind. Officer Brad had a gun on Tito, while struggling to open the door. No Toes and Joey were safely in custody, as well, and Frankie was pulling a large piece of wall off of Howard.

  “Marr!” yelled Officer Brad. “The propane!”

  “I know!” said Howard, brushing himself off. “Frankie, help Elvis.” He looked at me. “You good?” I nodded. “Everyone out of here!”

  “The door is jammed,” Officer Brad grunted.

  “Out the windows,” said Howard. Two of the three large windows had shattered. Officer Brad, moving Tito toward one of them, knocked at the remaining shards with his shoes, then pushed Tito through. They were followed by agents guiding No Toes and Joey, then Frankie and Elvis.

  Howard was kneeling next to Maxine’s body. “Barb, go now!”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll follow you.”

  “You heard him,” I sneered at Viviana, my gun making its point. “Move.”

  She coughed and stood up slowly. “I’m movin’, I’m movin’.” I followed her through the window, stepping over sharp pieces of glass. The exit was difficult, as I fought gusts of wind and rain while gripping Viviana and still trying to hold the gun steady enough to keep her from running. Once onto firm ground, we moved quickly out onto the sloping front lawn, trying to put distance between ourselves and the house. Black smoke billowed out of the windows, but Howard hadn’t appeared. The helicopter, which was engulfed in flames, had hit the house from the east side nearest the driveway, demolishing Elvis’ Town Car and half the garage. One of its blades had snapped free and pierced clear through Tito’s car.

  “Howard!” I screamed. The smoke cloud grew and a small explosion from inside shook me. “Howard!”

  Finally, out of the smoke, Howard appeared, climbing through the window, Maxine’s limp body flung over his shoulder. When he was a safe distance from the house, he laid her on the ground. I took a deep breath, relieved that everyone had made it out safely.

  Then I realized that not everyone had made it out safely. My heart stopped. Agent Marjorie Smith appeared at my side, taking Viviana by the arm and relieving me of my firearm.

  “My friends,” I babbled as she dragged Viv away. “Howard!” I screamed. “Colt and Peggy and Roz!
They’re still inside!”

  But my last words were drowned out by the explosion that ripped through the house, blowing out windows and sending glass, brick and fire in all directions. As I turned to shield my face, the heat from the blast felt like fire on my back. I struggled to remain standing through it all, and when it felt safe to turn back around, the devastation floored me. The house, the helicopter, tree limbs the size of trees themselves littered the area. The wind and rain had died down quickly, and I stood aching, wet and mortified that my friends were dead inside that roaring heap of rubble.

  Falling to my knees, I was too weak to take anymore. This nightmare was too much for me. I covered my eyes and cried. All around me, people were yelling and sirens were blaring.

  “Hey!” a shout rang out in the distance. “You guys forget about us?”

  I didn’t need to look up to know that voice, but I looked anyway. From the far side of the house, limping up an embankment appeared Colt, holding Puddles the Poodle in one arm, and supporting Roz with the other, and Peggy holding her on the other side.

  Howard smiled at me. “See,” he yelled over the chaos, “I knew he’d get them out alive.”

  Emergency vehicles arrived by the second, filling the night sky with strobing red lights. Howard was waving someone official over to Maxine, when I became aware of a disturbance behind me. With all of the pandemonium and thinking my best friends were dead, I hadn’t been aware at all of what was happening behind me. I had no idea where Frankie or Elvis were or where the FBI had taken the motley crew of gangsters. I had been peripherally aware that people were behind me but that’s about it.

  Slowly, I sensed something was wrong. Still on my knees, I looked to Howard first. He was standing and talking to an EMT, but also keeping one eye on the activity behind me. With my danger meter registering above normal, I turned my head to see what he was looking at.

  A black van had backed up onto the lawn next to the driveway, its back doors open. Frankie and Elvis were inside. A large man with FBI printed in white on the back of his jacket was guiding Tito inside, his hands cuffed behind his back. Another smaller FBI agent had a handcuff on one of Viviana’s hands, but was struggling to get the other one secured while Viv ranted wildly. Something about her shoe. With one spiky heel still on the other foot, it appeared she was asking to get it off. When the agent relented, she reached down with her free hand.

  By now, Howard was next to me and heading toward the scene. “No!” he yelled.

  But it was too late.

  Viv whipped that pointy heel right into the agent’s face, and when another agent came in to apprehend her, she whipped it around and nailed him too. Two agents downed with a four inch heel. She grabbed the second agent’s gun with one swift move and screamed, “I’m gonna get that snoopy little bitch if it’s the last thing I do!”

  Howard moved in front of me, arms spread and posed to guard, while shouting to Agent Smith. He had no gun, no vest.

  Viviana was snarling like a rabid dog. It was all happening too fast. “Outa the way, Sammy, or I’ll take you, too!”

  I don’t remember taking the time to consider jumping in front of Howard to shield him. I don’t even remember moving. But I must have, because the next thing I knew, I was standing in front of him, arms stretched wide.

  I heard a shot and a scream.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I WAS ON A RED carpet. The Academy Awards. I was up for Best Director of the action thriller, Terminated Mission to Die Hardly, produced by Steven Spielberg and starring George Clooney and Brad Pitt, with Sarah Jessica Parker as the heroine who saves the day.

  Of course, action thrillers are rarely considered in these categories, but the beautifully scripted subplot about an AIDS-stricken, paraplegic orphan girl who wanted to save the world from global warming won the heart of critics and the Academy alike. It became the most talked about film in America.

  A stunning, blonde with a microphone in her hand and a neckline plunging to her navel waved for me to come speak with her. “Barbara! Barbara Marr! Over here!” I moved to her side and she put a microphone in front of my face. “Barbara—you’re the talk of the town! Soccer mom turned director—handpicked by Steven Spielberg. Now your first film is up for Best Director and Best Film! How does it feel?”

  “Dreamlike,” I smiled.

  “And who are you wearing tonight?”

  I looked aghast. “Holy cow—no one, I hope! I’m not in the habit of wearing people.”

  She laughed a practiced, made-for-television laugh. “You are just a riot, Barbara!”

  “Seriously, now,” she continued, “who’s the designer?” I looked frightfully, once more, down at my torso, arms and legs. What WAS I wearing? Jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt from the This-is-Cheap-and-Will-Suffice Collection at Target. Unable to answer her question, I realized that my apparel barely even met the dress code for the local Irish pub. Giving up on me, the beautiful woman guided me in the direction of the Kodak Theatre.

  “Good luck!” she said, moving on to bigger and better stars.

  The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the front row next to Jack Nicholson, sunglasses and all, who smiled at me and called me “Sweetie.” Ordinarily, I’d be inclined to deck any man who dared refer to me as “Sweetie,” but this was Jack Nicholson, so I laughed a jocular laugh and patted him on the arm. I realized the seat on the other side of me was empty.

  Music started playing and the lights dimmed. I was so excited, I could barely contain myself. Billy Crystal made a grand entrance on the stage and I joined the audience in a standing ovation. Everyone was so excited that Billy was back to save the ratings. When we sat back down, Jack had turned into Meryl Streep. I was embarrassed because Meryl was up for Best Director, as well—her first nod in that category. I smiled sheepishly at her, thinking I really should be bowing or genuflecting. Meryl is a goddess, after all.

  Turning to my other side, I also saw the empty seat was no longer empty—it was filled with my mother’s hulking frame. Even sitting, she had to look down at me, which she did now, with an angry scowl.

  “Barbara,” she scolded me, “what are you doing here when you should be fixing that dent in your van? And what about your girls, leaving them alone in that hotel room like that. You’re a very lucky woman to have me around—I suggested to Eric that he call his friend at Phone-America to track your cell phone location. How else do you think he found you? That is, of course, because I was the brainchild of the satellite and cell phone revolution.”

  I was speechless and angry that she made me miss Billy’s monologue entirely.

  Suddenly, Billy Crystal was morphing before my eyes, his body growing taller and skinnier. He was holding an Uzi with one hand and a cigarette with another. Before I could register that Billy Crystal had transformed into Viviana Buttaro, Howard, Amber, Bethany and Callie appeared in front of me, playing Ring-Around-the-Rosy. No! Viviana had a rocket launcher and was aiming it right at us! I needed to do something fast, before she killed us all—including Meryl. The world would never forgive me if Viviana Buttaro whacked Meryl Streep on national television.

  Noooooooooooooo!!!!!!!! I yelled at the top of my lungs.

  When I opened my eyes, my heart was racing and my vision was blurred. Someone was holding my hand.

  “Howard?”

  “Thank God,” he said. He was rubbing my head and kissing my cheek, leaving behind a few of his own tears. “How do you feel?”

  “My chest hurts. And my arm feels like it’s on fire.”

  “You took three shots to the vest at close range and another grazed your right arm.” He was wiping tears away from his face, but they came faster than he could wipe. “I’m sorry,” he sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.”

  “You have a way with words,” I mumbled, half-dazed. I really wanted to go back to sleep. “Howard?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Howard?�
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  “Yeah?”

  “Would Ripley be proud?” My mouth was so dry I could barely form the words, and my eyes were drooping terribly, but I had to know.

  “What?”

  “Lieutenant Ripley. Sigourney Weaver in Alien—did I do good like her?”

  He laughed. “Better, I think. If I remember right, she only saved herself and the cat. You came out with zero casualties.”

  That was the last thing I remembered until they wheeled me past a screaming Viviana strapped down on her gurney and flanked by two of the biggest men I had ever seen wearing jackets with the letters “FBI” clearly spelling out their duty.

  While a motherly little nurse cleaned the wound on my arm with tender care, I could hear someone on the other side of the curtain ordering an IV and ibuprofen for Roz.

  “Is she going to be okay?” I asked the nurse.

  “Don’t you worry about her,” she said, patting me softly on the hand. “She’s very dehydrated. The fever will probably come down nicely once she soaks up those fluids we’re giving her. She’ll be good in no time.”

  On the other side of me, I could hear a woman consulting with Peggy on the dangers of Post-Traumatic Stress in situations like hers, and recommending an antidepressant to stave off the inevitable. Peggy told the woman in no uncertain terms that the only antidepressant she needed was the love of her husband and three boys, and if the woman didn’t let her see them, then and there, she’d have to sue for medical negligence. Besides, her mother’s best friend’s sister had taken those things and that was how she lost all of her hair. She also gave the nurse a quick education on the subject of corrupt pharmaceutical companies only caring about the holy buck, and did she know those companies actually do business with the Mafia? Eventually, the woman acquiesced, calling in the Rubenstein clan, probably still not convinced that Peggy didn’t have a few screws loose.