Lemons 02 A Touch of Danger

by Grant Fieldgrove

  “Oh…well shit.”

  “Yeah, you see, we’ve already filed the complaint of you stalking me. I just have to shoot you two after saying you both broke in to my house. Easy as that. No one will think twice about it because I am Motherfucking Brad Jackson!”

  “Yeah, so I’ve heard,” I said. “Let me ask you this. Whose brilliant idea was it to tie us to these chairs?”

  “That was me,” Gibson answered. “It wasn’t the original plan but I had to improvise.”

  “I read up on you, Mr. Lemons,” Brad said. “I know that you’ve been in this predicament before, yes?”

  “You’re right. How clever of you. I guess this is what you in Hollywood would call a remake? Fuck, you guys really are all out of ideas, aren’t you?”

  “Call it what you like,” Brad said, “but the big difference in this one is that you won’t be escaping this time.”

  “So I guess it’s more like a sequel? I dunno, this is pathetic. I wouldn’t pay to see this. This is what is called sequelitis. It’s when part two of a good first movie is fucking terrible and unwatchable and just reuses the exact same plot, beat for beat as the original. Congrats on that though, you’re now in Caddyshack 2 territory now. Or Grease 2. Doesn’t matter, they both sucked as much as this plan. ‘

  “Very funny. But you did stumble upon me doing something that was very private, and for that, I must terminate you.”

  “Terminate us? Jesus Christ. Let me just figure this out though. You met Daniel Mayweather on the set of your wife’s movie; you guys hit it off and you went totally gay for him. But since you’re obviously just like a republican senator, you are ashamed of your gayness and tried to keep it hidden. How am I doing so far, big stud?”

  “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t ya?”

  “I’m pretty sure I do, actually,” I answered. “So let me continue. You guys go all Cast-Of-Glee for each other and you start inviting him over to your house for a little of the ol’ Brokeback-bareback whenever your wife isn’t around. Only, she happens to come home unexpectedly one night and catches you guys crack snackin’. She gets pissed, leaves, and probably threatens to go public with it, so you decide to have her killed. Good so far?”

  “Impressive, Mr. Lemons. Seriously, Steve, I am impressed.”

  “Allow me to go on. You already have knowledge of your stalker, Emma Ricks. You’ve filed reports on her, got a restraining order, you name it. She was the perfect fall guy. You and your little nancyboy decide for him to dress up like her, murder your wife and let the housekeeper see it to be the witness who nails her. I mean, it is not like he is unfamiliar with dressing like a woman, huh? Yeah, the tranny was the hardest piece of this puzzle, I will admit. That one took me a while. What do you think, E?”

  “Sounds spot on to me, Arch,” Elise said.

  I went on. “You pin everything on Emma Ricks, pay off Daniel Mayweather by buying his shitty script a year after the murder. How did you keep him happy until then? Cash payments? Wiener?”

  “You’re exactly right,” he answered, “but that little faggot got greedy! He pissed away all his money and came crying back to me for more. Well, fuck that! He showed up here dressed like that ugly, crippled bitch Emma Ricks! It was his sick way of blackmailing me. Well, nobody blackmails me! I am motherfucking Brad Jackson! No one fucks with me!!!”

  “Did you really have to kill him, though?” I asked. “I mean, there must be other ways…In fact, I bet there’s fifty ways to leave your lover.”

  “Yeah,” Elise agreed. “You could have slipped out the back, Jack.”

  “Make a new plan, Stan,” I added.

  “You don’t need to be coy, Roy.”

  “Just get yourself free.”

  And then both of us, in unison, of course, “Hop on the bus, Gus, ya know need to discuss muuuuuuuuch, just drop off the key, Lee, and get yourself…”

  “Shut up! God damn, just shut the fuck up! I work with pitiful Hollywood assholes that aren’t even as annoying as you two shit stains!”

  You could feel the anger in his voice. I was starting to get nervous. It was so bad I even opted out of saying the obvious, “don’t call me a shit stain, you can call me Al” joke. I decided to switch gears.

  “So, how did you hook up with Barney Fife over here?”

  “Oh, we met the normal way people meet. This has actually gone on too long. We need to get this moving. Steve, cut the bitch loose first. Let’s get her over with.”

  “Wait wait wait!” I said. “You plan on making this look like we broke into your house, right? And you killed us in self-defense?”

  “That’s the plan, Stan,” Brad answered.

  “Well,” I went on, “you obviously could use the help of the guy you killed. You are no writer, that’s for sure. Just another stupid actor who plays pretend but has no imagination. Look…” I began twisting my wrists back and forth against the hard-plastic ties, causing them to cut into my skin. “Everybody with even the smallest amount of talent in Hollywood…Or police work,” with that last part I shot Gibson a look that told him what I thought of shitty detecting skills, “anyone, pretty much besides you two assholes, would know that you never ever tie up someone that you plan on killing, especially if you want to make it look like an accident or self-defense. Ya see what I’m doing here with my hands, how I’m twisting them and cutting my wrists? You see, that will prove that I was bound before I was killed, thus throwing out your entire plan and making it completely worthless.”

  “You forget who will be leading this investigation though, Lemons,” Gibson said.

  “That very well may be, Captain, but even a below-average police officer would notice that, and any number of people down the chain of command. You guys need to regroup and come up with a better plan because this one has ROTOR sized plot holes in it?”

  “What the fuck is ROTOR?” Brad asked.

  “Dude, you’ve never seen ROTOR? It is amazing. It’s a total Robocop ripoff but just horrible on every conceivable level, and plot holes that they fly a plane through. Check it out if you get a chance. It’s not available on Blu-ray or DVD though. In fact, it is only one of two VHS cassettes that I actually own…The other one is Cool as Ice.”

  “Really Archie,” Elise said. “Cool As Ice?”

  “Sorry, E, but it’s amazing! When a woman has a heart of stone, there is only one way to melt it…Just add ICE. Yeah, top that! I don’t know why we are trying to melt a stone, but whatever, and I don’t know how adding ice would help in the melting, but then again, the script was probably written in crayon anyway, probably by the Iceman himself, so I’m not too worried about it…But seriously guys, this is the worst idea since changing French fries to Freedom fries.”

  “Man,” Elise said, “now THAT was stupid!”

  “Yeah, America sure has had a lot of stupid ideas. Right, Brad?”

  “I don’t know what you’re…” Brad replied, but I cut him off.

  “Like, how that stupid show Extreme Home Make-Over or whatever. Sooooooo stupid. Thousands of people are losing their houses due to foreclosures, but yet America gives huge ratings to some corporate assholes who rebuild ONE lousy house for whoever the biggest sack of shitpile losers that happened to audition that week. People sit there and watch that shit and are soooooo happy, meanwhile directly behind them are a bunch of past due bills and shit. Sooooo stupid.”

  “Yeah, right,” Elise added. “And don’t get me started on those FIND THE CURE magnets on rich people’s cars. Get real. Like I’m driving along and see some stupid ribbon barking orders at me from the car ahead and I’m like Oh man! What am I doing wasting time driving when I could be finding a cure! Right? So stupid. Maybe if that rich white woman would donate some money to research instead of slapping on a three dollar magnet and feeling like she really accomplished something, we might actually have a cure to whatever shit she is pretending to be interested in.”

  “Yeah!” I said. “And what’s the deal with Addiction M
emoirs? Am I right…?”

  “Shut the fuck up, the both of you!” Brad said. He turned to Gibson, “He’s right, though.”

  “About the addiction memoirs?” Gibson answered.

  “God! No! We may need to rethink this thing. Come on,” Brad answered as he walked out of the room. Gibson followed shortly after, flicking me in the forehead as he passed by.

  Asshole.

  Once they were in the other room, I let out a huge sigh of relief. We had bought ourselves a little time. Elise tried to turn her head in my direction.

  “Archie, I am scared shitless.”

  “I know, E. Me too.”

  “Are we going to get out of this?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I am so sorry. I promised you I would never put you in danger and I even fucked that up.”

  I could hear her start to cry. This was going to be brutal. I was already panicking from my confines, I wasn’t sure if I could handle Elise crying.

  “Archie, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my kids.” Her tears were coming at full pace now.

  “Me either.” I had a hard time getting the words out. My throat became dry and I felt my eyes begin to water.

  “Archie,” she said, full on bawling, now, “before we die, I just…want you to know…that you’re the best friend I’ve ever had…”

  “Don’t, Elise. Please.”

  “I mean it.” Her words were muffled by the sound of her crying. I began twisting my wrist again looking for any form of escape, but all it did was make my hands worse. I could feel blood trickling down my fingers and onto the floor. Thunder crashed so loudly the whole house seemed to shake. Elise continued, “I’m so happy that you married my sister. You were the best thing that ever happened to her…and to me…I just need you to know that…Don’t ever feel like you failed her…or me…because you didn’t…”

  Tears started streaming down my face. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. It was a first for me and I hated it. I lowered my head and let the tears flow. I could still hear Elise sobbing directly behind me.

  “I’ll think of something, Elise. Don’t give up yet.”

  Brad walked back in room. Fuck.

  “Looks like we have a little change of plans, friends,” He said. “Steve, cut the bitch loose. We’ll do her first.”

  Steve walked over to our chairs, took out a knife and started to cut Elise’s restraints. I went into a fit of rage, flailing about as much as my shackled body would allow me to, but it was pointless. Steve cut her loose, grabbed her by the arm and led her to the other room and out of my sight. Brad followed.

  34.

  I felt helpless. The worst I have ever felt in my life. Even when holding my wife’s dead body I hadn’t felt like this. My wife was already dead. Elise was not. Yet. But, I couldn’t do anything about it. A flash of lightening lit up the backyard and I was able to catch a glimpse of the three of them standing out there in the storm. I had no idea what they were doing.

  I began trying to jump in my chair, desperately. It worked last time, it might work again. Who knows, right?

  I was getting nowhere though. These chairs were solid, way better than the shit that was in that asshole’s basement from the last time I was in this ridiculous predicament. At least Brad Jackson had good taste in something. High-quality chairs. Damn-it.

  I heard footsteps behind me, felt a blow to the back of my head and then saw darkness…aaagain.

  A loud crash of thunder awoke me and I found myself being pelted in the face by hard rain. (Water, not the shitty Christian Slater movie.) I was outside now, zip tied to something else, though…a pillar out on the patio. I saw no sign of Elise…Or Brad and Gibson for that matter. I called out for help but I could barely hear myself over the storm. I didn’t hold out much hope for someone else hearing.

  Brad came around the corner of his house carrying two shovels. His clothes were drenching wet and lightening momentarily lit up his sinister looking face. He walked closer to me and knelt down.

  “We had a little change of plans! You were right; we couldn’t get away with the whole breakin thing! We decided it would be best if you guys just disappeared!”

  Every word he yelled at me caused water from his mouth to hit me in the face. He was that close now. So gross.

  “Your car is still over there on the street! Unfortunately, for you guys though, no one will ever hear from you, again. You’ll be buried right here in my back yard! We all know how hard it is to pin a murder on someone with no body, don’t we?! So here is what we are going to do! You guys are going to dig your own graves! Right here!”

  “Great idea. How about you just go ahead and cut me loose and hand me a shovel?”

  “Nice try.”

  “You won’t get away with this, you know! I have detectives in Bakersfield that know about you!”

  “That may be, but you forget the Pismo PD will be conducting this investigation and will be in charge of everything. Even if I am suspected, who do you think will be in charge of that?! Yes, my friend! I am not very worried about that! Look, here comes your girlfriend!”

  I turned and saw a soaking wet and shivering Elise walk out into the backyard, shovel in-hand. Gibson was walking a few steps behind her, pointing his gun at the back of her head.

  Brad managed to get even closer to me. “Ladies first, right?!”

  “Fuck you!”

  “You’re not my type, Fatso! Rest up, you’re next!” He stood back up and let his shovel fall and hit me right on the top of my head. It stung a bit. He laughed and turned to walk back to the action. Elise started digging her hole.

  I started twisting my right wrist as hard and fast as I could manage. I could tell the zip ties this time were tied in a different fashion, probably to accommodate for the larger base to which I was secured.

  The plastic tore into my skin as I tried to free my hand. It was too tight though, I couldn’t get it over the base of my thumb, no matter how hard I tried and how much skin I sacrificed. I had to think of something else. I wish my hands were tied in front of me, then maybe I could use that shovel somehow. Damn it.

  I grabbed my right thumb with my left hand, paused a moment, took a deep breath and bent it back as hard as I could until the bone snapped. I yelled in pain but no one heard me over the rain. I started hitting my broken thumb against the pole I was tied to as best I could. I twisted my wrist again and could feel it move upward toward my fingers. The pain started to cease a little as my adrenaline kicked in. I pulled as hard as I could until I finally got it over the painful stump that once was my thumb. My right hand was free. I brought it around and took a look at it. Most of the skin from my wrist to the middle of my hand was completely missing and blood was rapidly being washed away by the powerful downpour. It hurt like a bitch. A small price to pay, I suppose.

  I grabbed the shovel and managed to get myself to my feet. I held the shovel and began hitting the side of it against the wood to which I was tied. I went completely unnoticed.

  When I had a big enough groove cut into the wood, I slid my left hand down and pushed the zip-tie into it, allowing me enough room to free myself.

  I flung the shovel over my shoulder and started walking towards my enemies.

  It was time to save Elise.

  35.

  As I got closer, I could tell that Brad and Gibson were laughing about something. Sick bastards. The soaking-wet Elise continued to dig her grave. From her body movement I could tell she was still sobbing, even though the tears probably went unnoticed.

  Gibson had lowered his gun and was paying more attention to his boyfriend than to Elise, or me. In fact, no one had even turned to check on me.

  They both laughed again. I think one of them was telling jokes.

  I was able to get almost directly behind them with them being completely oblivious. I had to think of a quick plan of attack. There was only one gun that I could see. If I tried to swing the shovel there was a chance it would be noticed in their peripheral vis
ion and give them a slight chance to prevent the attack from causing the knockout that I needed it. I quickly decided on something else. With both of their backs to me, I walked up behind Gibson, aligned the business end of the shovel with the top of his ankle, directly atop his shoe and, as hard as I could, stomped on the blade. It dug deeply into flesh, causing his Achilles heel to snap like a broken rubberband.

  He let out a yell that pierced through the rain like a rocket through the clouds and fell forward into Elise, causing them both to fall into the shallow grave.

  I turned and swung the shovel at Brad but he was able to get his arm up and block the blow. He turned and ran off towards the house.

  I had Elise to worry about.

  They were both down in the hole, Gibson still crying out in pain like a bitch. Elise was underneath him and not moving.

  “Stay down, Elise!” I yelled and I brought the shovel down on to Gibson’s head. He stopped moving, but I had slipped in the mud and fallen onto my back.

  I crawled back to the edge of the open grave and reached for Elise. She was still face down and the hole was steadily filling up with water. I crawled to the front and reached for her head. I was able to grab a little chunk of her hair and pulled, making sure to not slide right in with them. The ground was ridiculously slick.

  Elise finally looked up.

  “Gibson is unconscious on top of you but Jackson got away!” I yelled down to her. “I need to get you out of here!”

  “I can get out by myself! You go get Brad! Be careful!”

  I got back to my feet and ran towards the house. I went inside, called 9-1-1, and quickly told them my location and my situation then left the receiver off the hook and headed back outside. I saw no trace of the movie star. I decided I would help Elise instead, since the cops were on the way. I walked back over to the grave where Elise had finally rolled Gibson’s dead weight off her and gotten to her feet.

  “I’m going to need your help to get out of here. It is way too muddy for…Archie! LOOKOUT!!!”

  I turned just in time to see Brad Jackson pounce on me like a cat on an injured bird. We both went down (to the ground, perverts!) and were wrestling. Again. We rolled along the wet and muddy lawn until we reached the rocks at the base of the cliff. We each landed a few good punches but were unfazed by them. He managed to work his way on top of me and slam the back of my head into the soft, muddy ground beneath us. It still managed to leave me momentarily dazed. I had to be careful. I knew we were dangerously close to the edge. Lightening lit up his face again and I was able to see the pure rage that filled it. He was out for blood.