In the Unlikely Event...

by Saxon Bennett

  “I’m covering our tracks,” Bud said.

  Chase turned around in her chair. “Don’t talk to your mother in that tone of voice.”

  “Perhaps we could have this family discussion elsewhere,” Gloria said. She was sweating from the effort.

  Chase regretted having that cheesecake yesterday. She would have abstained had she known she was going to be carried across a field. Donna tripped on a rock and they nearly dropped her.

  “Gitana, you and Bud go get my car and we’ll meet you on the bypass. Bud, dig in my pocket for the keys,” Donna said, as they stopped for breath and the car key removal.

  Bud complied and they both took off running. Bud still had the TM900 on her shoulder, and Chase knew that she’d never be able to watch that scene without getting motion sickness.

  Chase kept glancing behind her. She sniggered. Lacey and Chino hadn’t spent much time in the library or they’d know there was a back exit door.

  They reached the bypass as Gitana and Bud sped into the empty dirt circle that marked the end of the road. The dirt cloud and spinning of tires alarmed Chase, who reprimanded Gitana. “Do you know how dangerous it is to drive fast on gravel? The tires slide over the top of the gravel and create a hydroplaning effect.”

  “Do you want to be recaptured?” Gitana said as she got out of the driver’s seat so Donna could take over. “And God-only-knows what she’d give you for reading material after this shenanigan.”

  “Well, no, of course not. What the fuck?” Chase said, alarmed as Donna and Gloria tipped the chair on its side and shoved it in the backseat.

  Gloria patted her ankle, the only part of her that was accessible. “No worries, buddy. I’ll keep you all posted on the activities here.” She shut the back door.

  “Chase, I thought as a family we would use the letters WTF instead of the F word,” Gitana said.

  “Please, can’t we discuss family politics after we’ve completed the mission?” Donna said, her voice laced with exasperation.

  Poor Donna, Chase thought. She was feeling generous toward her until Donna took off at high speed and motion sickness kicked in. “I’m going to puke,” Chase said.

  “Hold on,” Bud said, digging around in her backpack and pulling out a first-aid kit.

  “Where’d you get that?” Chase asked.

  “Addison set it up for me.” Bud pulled out a Dramamine patch and slapped it on Chase’s wrist. “This will help—just give it a minute.”

  “Please, don’t puke in my car,” Donna said. “Vomit is extremely difficult to remove.”

  “And it smells disgusting,” Bud said.

  “What did you have for breakfast?” Donna asked.

  “An omelet,” Chase replied. Just thinking about it made her queasy.

  “Double disgusting,” Donna said, turning off the bumpy dirt road and onto Highway 41.

  “I’m so glad everyone is concerned with my welfare.”

  “Oh, we are, baby,” Gitana said, patting Chase’s head.

  “Now, I understand how Jane feels when she’s going to puke in the car and I pat her,” Chase said.

  “Who’s Jane?” Gitana said, glancing over Chase’s head and out the rear window.

  “Our dog, duh,” Chase said.

  “Oh, that Jane. Well, at the moment your head is your most accessible part.”

  “We need a plan,” Donna said, as she exceeded the posted speed limit, Chase noticed.

  Gitana noticed as well. “What about that police officer we…uh saw on the way in?”

  “We’ll just have to take the risk,” Donna said.

  “So do you have a plan yet?” Chase said, hoping five seconds was long enough for Donna to come up with something. She felt less nauseous. The Dramamine must have kicked in.

  Donna hit the steering wheel with her palm.

  “Eureka!” Bud said.

  “I’ve got it. Louie can pick the lock on the handcuff. Fuck sawing the chair.” She glanced at Gitana apologetically. She slowed down and flipped the car around.

  “Where are we going?” Gitana asked.

  “Santa Fe, to see a friend of mine.”

  “A friend who picks locks? Is he a locksmith?” Chase said.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Donna said.

  “Can he get me out of them?” Chase said.

  “I’m hoping,” Donna said, still holding the car at a solid eighty miles an hour and periodically glancing in the rearview mirror.

  She did slow as they approached the outskirts of Santa Fe, which Chase thought prudent considering how difficult it would be for Donna to explain why she had a woman handcuffed to a chair in her backseat.

  “Are you feeling any better?” Bud asked, taking Chase’s free hand and squeezing it.

  “Yes, thank you for being concerned.”

  “We are ALL concerned,” Donna snapped as they exited onto Old Pecos Trail.

  “I wasn’t saying you weren’t,” Chase said.

  “I’m sorry,” Donna said. “I’m just so stressed out. What with the dildo thing and now this.”

  “The dildo thing?” Chase said.

  “Let’s not get into that just now,” Gitana said.

  “What dildo thing?” Chase said, looking at Bud and wondering if she should be asking about dildos in front of Bud.

  “I’ll show you the footage later. It’s pretty funny,” Bud said.

  “You’re filming dildos?” Chase said, her voice getting high-pitched.

  “Stop talking about it, right this minute,” Gitana said, shooting both Bud and Donna warning looks.

  “She’s right. We’ll explain later,” Donna said. She glanced in the rearview mirror and then made a quick right into a narrow street that resembled an alley. It dead-ended at a solid adobe wall. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  “What is this place?” Chase said.

  Donna was out the door before Chase could make any further inquiries.

  Bud piped up, “It looks like a den of iniquity.”

  “I’m thinking Donna has a checkered past,” Gitana said, rolling down the window and peering out to get a better look. Chase wished she could see.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Bud said.

  “Why?” Gitana asked.

  “Because we’re under survelliance,” Bud said, scanning the building and then pointing discreetly to the small video camera hidden by a ristra.

  “What the fuck kind of place is this?” Chase said, squirming around in the chair trying to get a better look at the place. This proved futile. “Goddamnit!”

  Bud dug around in her backpack for the Mentos, located them and gave one to Chase. “Only for medicinal purposes.”

  “I know,” Chase said, her anxiety and distress abating. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Chase’s heart swelled. Not only did Bud have a great vocabulary, she had good manners. What more could a parent want? Excepting a Pulitzer, but there was time for that.

  Donna quickly returned. She slid into the driver’s seat and said, “It’s all set. Louie says it’s no problem.”

  “Louie the locksmith,” Chase said dubiously.

  “Look, the guy is a pro—he can pick, crack and blow up any lock on the planet. I thought you’d be grateful. Bud, you need to put the camera away, though. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I am grateful, well, I will be when he gets me out of this chair.”

  “Donna, is Louie a criminal?” Gitana said.

  The adobe wall swung inward and Donna maneuvered the car through it. “Define criminal.”

  “Is the wall supposed to shut behind us like that?” Gitana said, alarm registering in her voice as she gazed out the back window.

  “We’re trapped inside a compound with a criminal or criminals,” Chase said, her voice growing high-pitched again.

  “I think we should let Donna explain about Louie before we go jumping to conclusions,” Bud said.

  �
�Thank you, Bud,” Donna said as she slowly drove the car to the rear of the compound. There was quiet.

  “So?” Gitana said.

  “Louie is retired.”

  “From?” Chase prodded.

  “He worked for some corporations of, shall we say, less than upright business dealings,” Donna said.

  “So he’s a criminal,” Chase said, starting to wiggle in her chair again as images of The Godfather popped into her head.

  “No, he worked for criminals.”

  “There’s a difference?” Chase said, her agitation growing. Bud handed her another Mento like she was a seal at the zoo.

  “Actually, there is,” Bud said.

  “How so?” Gitana inquired her left eyebrow raised in a gesture of I-can’t-wait-to-see-how-you-are-going-pull-this-out-of-your-ass. Chase was undecided if this was an inappropriate gesture to give your child.

  “He could have been forced into this criminal life through blackmail or circumstances such as the bad guys holding his only begotten son for ransom or a threat to his own life if he did not perform the criminal tasks set before him,” Bud said.

  “Please don’t talk like that in front of these people,” Gitana said.

  At least now, Gitana was on the bandwagon about keeping Bud’s IQ in low-profile mode, Chase thought.

  “Is that the case?” Chase said, the Mentos clicking against her teeth. She hoped talking with a mouthful of Mentos didn’t fall into the bad manners category.

  “Well, not exactly,” Donna hedged.

  “How not exactly?” Chase inquired.

  “Like I said, he’s retired,” Donna said as she pulled the car around the side of the massive adobe house where a six-car garage was located. One of the garage doors opened slowly and Donna pulled the car inside.

  Now, Chase was completely creeped out. “So you like really know this guy?”

  “It appears you have a somewhat checkered past,” Gitana said.

  “Actually, he’s a relative,” Donna said, turning the car off.

  “A relative?” Chase screeched.

  Donna turned in her seat to look at Chase. “He’s my uncle. Chase, how do you think I get all the stuff I do? I’m well-connected.”

  “You’re part of a Mafia family?” Chase said.

  “Not all of them are Mafia, but suffice it to say as a family we assist one another from time to time.”

  Chase’s mind shot back to the first time she met Donna. It was at a Halloween party where Donna was dressed as Dorothy from the The Wizard of Oz complete with blue and white gingham dress. She compared that Donna with this one who had mobsters for relatives.

  Could this really be happening? Perhaps she was dreaming that she was handcuffed to a chair while in reality she was caught up in the sheets. She almost had herself convinced until two large men dressed in identical black suits and looking physically identical—strong, dark features and the kind of facial hair that needed to be shaved twice a day—peered in the backseat at her.

  “This is Huey and Dewey, my cousins,” Donna said.

  Chase looked up at them, terrified.

  Bud hopped out of the car and greeted them. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Bud.” She stuck out her hand.

  Good God, now Chase wished Bud wasn’t so polite.

  Huey offered his giant paw and took Bud’s and then said, in the highest, squeakiest voice Chase had ever heard outside of CD recordings of whales, “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “That’s why they’re house guards,” Donna said, patting Dewey’s arm.

  “It proved to be a disability in our particular line of work,” Huey squeaked.

  “I can understand that, but I’m sure your work here is very important,” Bud said.

  “This is Gitana, and Chase is the one in the chair,” Donna said as if they were at a company barbeque.

  “Nice to meet you. Would it be too much to ask to be removed from the car?”

  “No problem,” Huey said.

  Huey and Dewey pulled her out of the car as if she were no heavier than a grocery sack full of bread and eggs and set her down.

  “I’m much obliged.” Chase felt better now that she was upright and could straighten her shoulders and crack her neck.

  Dewey peered down at the handcuffs. “Oh, my, it’s a Santini.”

  Huey nodded.

  “Is that a bad thing?” Chase asked, feeling the panic arise again at the prospect of spending the rest of her life imprisoned in a library chair courtesy of her best friend. She did find satisfaction knowing Lacey would be furious and worse, frustrated by Chase’s escape. Fury, Lacey could handle. Frustration was an entirely new beast for Lacey since opening the Institute. Lacey hated when things didn’t go her way, and Chase’s defection would rate high on Lacey’s list of transgressions. So far as Chase knew there were only two other people who had qualified for inclusion on the list. The first one was the attractive Asian plumber who had come as a volunteer to teach household plumbing to a class of do-it-yourself lesbians as part of the curriculum for Empowerment. DIY could not only save a homeowner money, but it was a source of pride and self-reliance. The plumber, during a demonstration, had dismantled the first floor restroom sinks and flooded the Vegetarians’ kitchen because she neglected to turn off the water to the restroom, and this had not been the worst of it—the plumber was a fraud. After checking her records, Lacey had discovered the farce.

  The other incident also involved the Vegetarians’ kitchen. Which made them wonder if they weren’t being picked on, facilitating another discussion group-panel thing in which the Vegetarians aired their grievances about the general hostility toward non-meat eaters living in a carnivorous world.

  The debacle as Chase remembered it revolved around the slipping of lard into the Mexican food entrée and real hamburger being substituted for soy crumbles in the chili. This was done by a new cook who had also faked her credentials. Her goal was revenge. Her girlfriend had dumped her for a vegetarian, citing that she couldn’t possibly share bodily fluids with a person who was stewing in animal flesh. The ex-girlfriend had been making the rounds of lesbian communes and restaurants like a Typhoid Mary of meat, spreading “bit-o-meat,” as the woman called it, “into those creepy, hemp-wearing, Birkenstock-shod lentil heads.”

  After these two debacles, Lacey was as thorough as an FBI agent when she screened potential candidates for the Institute. This helped the employment-related debacles, but not the residence-related incidents. Yes, Chase thought the Institute was suffering some cracks.

  “Well, Steve Santini is the master inventor of handcuffs and is renowned for making handcuffs that are virtually impossible to get out of,” Dewey said.

  “He published a book, Devices of Human Restraint, in which he describes the history of restraints, and the book includes many of his own inventions,” Huey said.

  “Your particular handcuff is a Hiatt Hinge with a spring-loaded key cover,” Dewey said.

  These guys do not talk like thugs, Chase thought. What? Did thugs go to Harvard now?

  “What’s so unusual about the Hiatt?” Bud said.

  “Handcuffs have what is known as a ‘universal’ key, but the Hiatt key cover requires that you have two keys because the key hole is covered by a sliding metal shield,” Huey said.

  “This means that you have to hold that part open while using the other key to open the lock,” Dewey said.

  “Oh,” Bud said.

  “Let’s get her inside so Louie can take a good look at them,” Dewey said.

  “This isn’t something you guys can do?” Chase asked. Huey and Dewey with their equally squeaky voices no longer intimidated her, but what about this guy, Louie—master criminal and mobster?

  “The Hiatt requires a steady hand and a unique set of tools to re-create the key that we do not possess,” Huey said.

  Dewey nodded his agreement.

  “I thought you guys said there was a universal key?” Chase said.

&
nbsp; “There is, but unfortunately this set has been rekeyed,” Huey said.

  “I’m going to fucking kill Lacey when I get out,” Chase said. She glanced up. “I mean figuratively.”

  They picked up Chase and carried her inside like a Maharani with her entourage following. Passing through the house, Chase noticed the expensive bronze sculptures of Indians, bears, elk and the like—massive pieces that lined the tiled hallway that led to Louie-the-mobster’s den of iniquity. Chase glanced over her shoulder at Gitana, who smiled at her with her we-can-do-this look. Chase felt like smiling back with her we-wouldn’t-be-in-this-situation-if-I-didn’t-have-a-lunatic-for-a-best-friend look.

  “Huey?” Bud asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Do you think Louie might show me some tricks of the trade? I am, by no means, denigrating his skills as a master in his field of expertise—I am certain that the picking of locks has a long history. But what one man or person, I’m sure it is predominantly a male-dominated field, can lock, so another can unlock.”

  Dewey looked at Huey and then said, “I am a great admirer of fellow savants. I would be most pleased to inquire on your behalf.”

  Chase frowned at Bud, who shrugged. Who the hell were these two? They looked like Sopranos, talked liked Alvin and the Chipmunks and were overeducated. No wonder they didn’t fit in with the other mobsters. “Did you guys go to Harvard or something?” Chase said.

  “We attended Harvard followed by two years at Oxford,” Dewey said.

  “Actually,” Huey said, “there have been some very good women pickers throughout history. Women are not as noticeable. People don’t expect them to be—”

  Donna gave him a warning look.

  “Engaged in unlocking things,” he finished.

  Dewey took it up. “Some women reached the pinnacle of the trade, picking some difficult locks as well as becoming safecrackers, which is by far the most difficult lock to pick, as well as having the highest monetary gain.”

  Donna forgot to be taciturn about her relatives’ job description. “Really, I didn’t know there were women safecrackers.”

  “Can we Google them?” Bud asked.

  “Of course. Ah, the beauty of the Internet,” Dewey said.