by Eve Gaal
“Then we bail.”
“How?”
“If you exit through the parts department, we can get on the roof pretty easy and then we jump down on the other side of the fence. There's a starlight blue pickup from Darin's back lot waiting with the keys in the ignition–out on the side road by the palm trees. What I'd really want is that black number on the showroom, but it's too complicated–getting it out and everything.” He grunted, contorting his face into a menacing scowl. “The worst part is, we'd have to leave all that good shit behind and we won't see our money–so I'm hoping we don't have to go on the roof.”
“Yeah, I don't like that idea either, besides we want our money.”
“Don't worry, I've done this shit before, remember?”
* * *
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Tina listened to her message from Darin while at the Hilo airport. “Legs, it's me. I can't talk long, but I want you to know I'm out on bail and the detectives said they'd go easy on me if I'd help them catch two of our goons. Anyway, I'm really sorry about everything and I also want to make sure you don't move out of our place in California. When you go home, could you just stay for a while? I hate coming home to an empty place. If you have to leave, I understand, but I really wish you would stay. Please.” Tina bit her lip to keep from laughing at his desperate bullshit. Thank goodness, it's a machine, she thought, yawning. His message continued, “If you need to call it your own place that's all right too, I'll sign anything you need and I'll send you money to help you find your own place. I know you don't love me anymore, and I don't blame you, but I need you to forgive me.” He stopped and took a long audible breath, “Shit, I'll even pay for that whole wedding you want for your artist.” He sighed, “I have to go but I will call you at Christmas. Bye Tina.”
Delighted with his promise to pay for the wedding, she turned to Ron and kissed him on the nose. “You should hear Darin's sob story—it's everything I've ever wanted from a man.” (She couldn't stop laughing.) “A confession of guilt, pleading for forgiveness, offers of anything I desire and promises for more free stuff on demand.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “What's his problem? He trying to patch things up?”
“No, baby, nothing like that. It's complicated, but I think he just wants to make sure his conscience is clear before he runs to midnight mass or something.”
“You're so funny,” Ron said, embracing her and holding the taxi door open for Carl and John.
“John, did I tell you Penny called the other day and I couldn't hear a word she said?”
“No, you didn't tell me. You didn't hear anything?”
“The airport noise made it impossible. I was at the airport and it sounded mumbled. Anyway, she just called and left a message while we were in the air.”
“Really?” Carl sounded excited, but John's demeanor and despondent behavior made everyone feel uncomfortable.
“What did she say?” John grumbled, watching the clouds float across the sky.
“Not much,” Tina said, snuggling against Ron in the cramped cab. “Something about Darin asking her to stop by the dealership and how she wants to take a few photos of the building for a 'Driving the Future' section we print every January. You know the one, Ron?” Ron nodded and smiled. “She probably wanted to ask me some details about that stupid insert.” Tina paused and then added, with a small shrug of her beautiful shoulders, “Oh well. The only personal thing she said was, 'Merry Christmas'.”
“Is she really going to that dealership where you were tied up?” John asked, trying not to shout. He watched her calmly search through her purse, as if nothing was wrong.
“Sounds like it,” Tina said, pulling out her compact and reapplying lipstick. “That's why we're going there right now. I guess she does have something to do with 'Operation Penny.' ”
Leaning his head against the window, John's stitches touched the cool glass. Huge top-heavy clouds reminded him of the mushrooms he once kicked into the air and how she had made him laugh worrying about displaced garden fairies. “She's in danger Tina, please tell the cab driver to hurry.”
“You tell him,” Tina said, acting miffed. “Can you imagine? After everything, I've been doing to get you two together, all she can say is 'Merry Christmas?' ”
* * *
Chapter One-Hundred
That night after Penny crawled into the four-poster bed, she had another dream about John, her handsome knight who wanted to carry her off to his kingdom. This time however, the details in her dream had dramatically changed. Though he came to rescue her, she felt independent and able to stay behind if necessary. She didn't cry and was optimistic about knowing which way to proceed. Facing wonderful surprises instead of fears, nothing would hold her back and the thought of traveling through unknown territory made her feel brave and ready to face the future.
“Don't call me Penelope,” she said to John who was on his knees next to her bed. “I'm Penny. Perhaps I am a warrior too. I may not know how to wield a sword, but my strength lies here.” She picked up his hand, removed his glove, placing his fingers over her heart. “You'll need encouragement and perhaps a navigator,” she said with confidence.
“What about your father?” John inquired, surprised at her tone of voice and the change he heard in her resolve.
“He's old, John. He has to come with us. I'm not worried.”
“But what if something happens to him while we are on our long arduous trip? The journey is long and winding. It twists and turns through narrow canyons above a dark hellish precipice that has claimed the lives of many.”
“He'll be fine, John. He is king, and the king is always guarded and safe. You will protect him, and I will shield both of you with my life.”
“You?” He laughed. “You couldn't protect a fly.”
“Of course, I could. As Queen, I will have many reinforcements.” They stood and looked into each other's eyes.
“I love you Penny,” he whispered.
“I love you too John,” she answered, before they kissed and the smell of fried bacon and waffles woke her up.
* * *
Chapter One-Hundred and One
At breakfast, Stephen shared his turtle paintings and interpretations of ancient rock formations with all the guests sitting around Beverly's giant bamboo table.
“This one is called Honu or green sea turtle. Hunted to almost complete extinction, they are finally making a comeback.” The photographers and journalists were engrossed in Stephen's presentation in a refreshing change from all the scientific lecturing they had heard from his wife, Dr. Okos. “The turtle symbolizes a return home,” he concluded, locking eyes with Penny.
Lastly, he held up his painting of the goddess Pele. Everyone was impressed by how interesting the obvious resemblance was to Penny and they all wanted to know if perhaps she had modeled for the portrait. Penny herself was shocked at the likeness. The painting had the same canary yellow dress, red hair, green eyes….
“Did you two really just meet for the first time?” several of the reporters asked in unison.
“See, Penny, I told you about your strength. I could see it even before I met you,” he said with a chuckle. Dr. Okos had to laugh too because the whole thing was so absurd.
“Something about the eyes, darling,” Ilona added. “I think it's remarkable.” She smiled at Beverly who refilled their coffee. “Don't you?”
Beverly's face looked motionless but her eyes appeared upset. It seemed like she'd say anything just to get them out of her house. Though it was a Bed and Breakfast, this was still her place of residence and the media mania had worn her nerves to a stub. “Yes, it looks just like Penny.”
“Do you think I could take a picture of you? I'd love to immortalize the model,” Stephen asked Penny.
“Of course, but I wasn't really your model. If you take my picture, no one will believe your art was created before we met.”
“She's right, darling, forget the picture and enjoy her company before
our flight home,” Ilona added, patting his arm and pouring cream into her coffee at the same time.
“I don't care if anyone believes me or not,” Stephen implored. “I insist we get a picture. Penny, do you think that would be all right? I'll even paint you a personal portrait of Pele.”
*
After breakfast, Penny thanked Beverly, wishing her a nice holiday before heading to the car. In the parking lot, Ilona and Stephen were packing the trunk of their white car and snapping photos of each other in front of a giant Bird of Paradise.
“Here she is,” Stephen said, smiling when Penny showed up to unlock her rent-a-car. “Smile,” he said, beaming and snapping a picture. “Thank you.”
“Cool. Just wish I wasn't looking so washed out this morning.” Running her hands through her messy mop, she threw her bag onto the passenger side.
“You're leaving too?” Ilona asked.
“Yup, have to pick something up and then I'm heading home.”
“Do you know where the dealership is around here?” Ilona asked. “We have to return our car. The guy who owns the place lent us this car for our research.”
“Would that be Darin?” Penny asked.
“Wow, you are a goddess, how did you know?” She seemed delighted that Penny knew Darin. Ilona's eyes lit up and she smiled like a young girl at the sound of his name.
“I didn't know. It's just where I happened to be going and it's the only dealership I'm familiar with around here. I do his advertising.” Penny turned around to retrieve her bag from the front seat.
“He's so charming,” Ilona gushed. “Do you know him well?” Penny felt embarrassed for Stephen who seemed to be studying a border of flowers near the road.
“No, not really,” Penny replied with a shrug before digging through her bag. “He has another dealership in California. Anyway, the operator gave me directions the other day. Let's see, here it is.” Scrawled on the back of one of her business cards was the address. “I can hardly read this,” she said, grimacing at her handwriting. “The operator was talking fast. Why don't you just follow me and I'll do my best to get us there. Is that all right?”
Stephen immediately looked up and said, “That would be fine. Let's follow Penny.”
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Two
The stooges didn't tie him up very well. After yanking his hands free, Glenn worked on the ties holding his legs and feet together. He took his sport coat off and tied it around his waist to cover holes in his blood-soaked pants and underwear. Scooting closer to the door, he saw something under the desk. A cell phone with pink rhinestones glittered in the dark. He opened it up and dialed Anne's number at the station.
When she didn't answer, he left her a message. “Anne, it's Glenn,” his voice shook like aspen trees in autumn. “I've been injured over at the Martin dealership. Some creeps tied me up and put explosives in the men's room. Do you think you could send the cameraman out here?”
A small pool of his blood formed a bagel-sized stain on the grey-blue institutional carpet. Attempting to stand, his legs wobbled and pain made him sit back down. He then leaned his head under the desk, hoping it would muffle his voice, while he dialed 911 a second time.
Quietly, he whispered to the dispatcher, “Have you sent anyone yet?”
“Excuse me? I can't hear you,” She answered. “Can you repeat yourself?”
“This is Glenn from channel…,” he groaned into the phone.
“Yes Glenn, I've been trying to call you back,” she cut in. “We can't send anyone. It's not our jurisdiction,” she said, typing everything into a computer. The Martin dealership is being handled by the FBI.”
Glenn heard her type and though he couldn't speak loud, he spoke firmly. “Stop typing. I'm bleeding, and I might be dead by the time the friggin' FBI gets here. This is an emergency. Send someone now!” His face felt warm and he heard his heart thumping loudly against his ears and against the cell phone.
“Please stay on the line sir. There are men in place near your location. I will continue to stay on here with you. Don't worry. SWAT team members are in the area waiting for the appropriate time to approach.”
Rolling his eyes, Glenn put his head farther under the desk. “How much more do I have to bleed before it's appropriate, lady?” he grumbled through clenched teeth.
“Listen, Glenn, we're doing our best, but a whole bunch of people are there right now,” the dispatcher replied, trying to keep up with other calls. Glenn wanted to cry.
* * *
Chapter One-Hundred and Three
Across the street, the plain-clothes officers had watched the maintenance workers leave. A few minutes later, the news reporter walked in through the service department and after what seemed like a couple minutes, they heard an explosion.
“What was that?”
“No idea, sounded like firecrackers.”
“Do you think they shot the news guy?”
“No, they can't. Besides, that was not like any gun I ever heard. If they shoot him, they lose everything. Remember the briefing yesterday? These two guys are waiting for money. They think Darin's coming to pay them.”
“Darin's in jail.”
“They kinda-sorta made a deal–his super crooked and disgusting friends for his freedom. You know how it is, 'money talks' ….”
“Yeah, yeah. But what about this news guy?”
“They probably tied him up and threw his ass into a van conversion. He'll be all right.”
“Are we getting backup?”
“They're all here. Snipers everywhere. One wrong move and bam, those two are toast. When I called to tell the chief about the reporter, he told me to stay put. I guess there's a bunch of money on the line. The guys at the station are betting Darin flubs the whole thing.”
“Why would he do that if he'll…” the young detective stopped talking and stared with his mouth open as a yellow taxi-van pulled into the customer parking lot. A young man with a plaid shirt got out from the front passenger seat, followed by a tall, leggy blonde-haired woman. After the blonde, a forty-something guy in a loud Hawaiian shirt assisted a very old man out of the backseat.
“What in flipping hell?”
“Who are they?”
“Customers?”
“Unbelievable,” he sighed, looking through his binoculars.
“What?”
“Those legs,” he said, staring at Tina and whistling under his breath.
Nodding in agreement the other one quipped, “Maybe we should check it out.”
“No way, I still don't feel like getting shot. Don't forget there are thirty extra riflemen out there aiming for the door. If Fist doesn't get us, one of our own will mistake us for an accomplice. They even have Port Authority here and dudes from the Coast Guard. FBI calls the shots. You and I can't do anything but wait.”
“So why are we here?”
“We go in later, after Darin. These guys worked a plan that could match Darwin's evolutionary theory. You don't listen very well, bud.”
“But those people are in danger.”
“I know, I know. I also know there's nothing I can do about it. So shut up.”
They both watched the group shuffle into the showroom and they watched the cab driver leave the parking lot. Just then, another car drove to the other side of the dealership and pulled into the service department behind Glenn's black sedan.
“Who's in the white car?”
“I don't know, maybe someone needing an oil change?”
“Older folks. Wait, they're taking luggage from the trunk.”
Stunned, they watched a tall bald man come out to the service department. Observing his body language, they could see he was frustrated and upset and then they watched him point different directions, gesticulating as if he wanted the older couple to get off the premises.
“Is that tall guy The Fist?”
“No, I don't think that's him. Shit.”
“What's he doing?”
“Tying them up.”
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Four
As John, Tina, Ron and Carl stepped onto the showroom floor, the Fist was waiting and laughing hysterically. “I guess you missed me,” he snarled mere inches from Tina's nose. The stench of his repulsive garbage breath made her look away. Then pulling his gun from his pants he turned to Carl, asking “This your daddy?” Carl's expression displayed disgust. Raising his eyebrows, Carl's knuckles prepared for mortal combat. Fist then moved over to John, “Oh– and here's another one I haven't met. Nice to meet you,” he grinned. So is this the whole family?” Waving his weapon, he started yelling for his bald friend who happened to be busy in the service drive.
“Is Darin here?” Tina asked, faking confidence, as if a gun didn't scare her. “Is Darin here?” Fist repeated, mocking her and laughing. “Do you think I would effin' still be here if Darin had showed up? Soon as we get our money, we're outta here. Now, get into this office here.” Shoving Carl and pushing John, The Fist managed to get them all into a small office next to the one where Glenn sat under a desk. Carl stumbled and fell on his hands. Grabbing Ron's arm, Fist pulled Ron into the office, before yelling at Tina, “Hurry up Lady-Long-legs, I don't have all day.”
“Leave her alone,” Ron said, watching The Fist rip the desk phone from the wall.
“Give me your purse lady. I know you have a phone in there. Either that or I have fun tying you up. Your choice,” The Fist sneered, yanking at her designer bag. When the contents spilled onto the floor, he bent down, picked up her cell phone and jammed it into his pocket. “Great, now how about the rest of you?” Moving over to John, The Fist asked if he had a phone. John quickly shook his head. “How 'bout Don Ho?” he asked, holding his gun's barrel against Ron's perspiring neck. “Where's your phone?”