Motorcycle Man
Page 35

After all these years, I finally was alive and now I feared I was going to die.
Tears filled my eyes only moments before I heard the door open and then I heard a thud. I instinctively knew what that thud was. It was a body hitting the floor.
I tensed and the door slammed.
“Who’s there?” I called into the darkness.
“Tyra?” Aunt Bette replied.
Thank you God!
“Aunt Bette.” I started squirming toward her voice. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. We’ve been kidnapped and Marsh is drinking martinis and probably flirting with the waitress!” she snapped and it sounded like she too was moving but not in my direction.
This was likely true. Uncle Marsh flirted. It was harmless but he was hot, hot guys did this even if they were taken. Aunt Bette knew there was no one for him but her and he never flirted where the flirtee would get any sense it was going anywhere. But he was a good-looking man. It was pure instinct to keep those skills sharp.
And anyway, Aunt Bette had been shopping. Uncle Marsh would probably have a three course dinner and four martinis before he worried where we’d gotten to.
“What happened? Where were you?” I asked.
“I was in a room tied to a chair where they asked me questions about an Elliott Belova. They thought I was Lanie’s mother, do not ask me why. A, I don’t look a thing like Lanie and B, I’m not old enough to be Lanie’s mother!” she stated, sounding more than slightly perturbed and I had to admit, since her A and B were very true, and she’d been tied to a chair, she had a right.
“Elliott is Lanie’s fiancé, or was until last night,” I informed her as I stopped moving and listened to her continuing to do it.
“I think I got that from her shouting it to him fifteen times on the phone this morning,” Aunt Bette returned.
“Right,” I muttered.
“What’s he into?” she asked.
“Well, according to Tack, the better question is to ask what he isn’t into,” I answered.
“Is Tack involved in this?”
“Um, not until Elliott involved him by asking him to whack the top man in the Russian mob,” I explained then hurriedly finished, “He refused, of course.”
“Of course,” Aunt Bette muttered, still moving around.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“So we’re dealing with the Russian mob here?” she asked back instead of answered.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“They had Russian accents,” she told me.
“Then yes,” I replied, thinking that was a good guess.
“Not good,” she whispered and kept moving around.
“Aunt Bette, what are you doing?”
“Trying to find something sharp to cut through these restraints.”
I fell silent. I did this because Aunt Bette had also been in the Air Force. That was how Uncle Marsh met her. This was before she “retired” and she did this early then took a contract job working for the Air Force. She told me what she did but it always confused me. She talked in a lot of acronyms like “TDY” and “PCC” and “FIGMO”. I didn’t speak Air Force acronym so I never knew what she was on about. It sounded like a desk job. She boiled it down to “human resources” but I always got the sense that she likely wasn’t filing away performance evaluations because I’d visited her office before and after she retired and seen how people were around her. There was respect and there was the respect people gave Aunt Bette.
I also fell silent because Aunt Bette had been in an avalanche. No joke. She’d lucked out and had an air pocket once the snow stopped covering her. She also picked the right direction to dig. Further, she used Aunt Bette Secret Skills to find every other member of her skiing party and dug them out too. It took her hours but she didn’t stop. She had everyone out and even splinted someone who broke their leg before the rescue people found them. She made the papers. It was big news.
And there was the fact that she was in the Air Force at all. The Air Force didn’t attract wusses.
Therefore, I had a feeling Aunt Bette was thinking of taking on the Russian mob.
I finally ended my silence. “Why are you doing that?”
“To get us out.”
Oh boy.
“Maybe we should wait until Uncle Marsh figures out we’re not coming and raises an alarm,” I suggested. “Or maybe someone saw us being abducted from the parking garage and called the police.”
“Tyra, this is the Russian mob.”
“Yes, I know which is why I think maybe we shouldn’t cause a ruckus and make them angry.”
“We won’t make them angry,” she assured me though I wasn’t feeling assured.
“Well, I’m thinking, they went to all that trouble to kidnap us, we try to escape, that won’t make them happy,” I returned.
“Excellent!” she whispered excitedly. “I think I found an exposed nail.”
Oh boy.
I heard her sawing away at the plastic restraints and tried to push up to sitting, saying, “What about Lanie?”
“We’ll get her before we go.”
I got to my bottom and stared in the direction of my Aunt’s voice. “You mean rescue then escape?”
“Of course,” she replied like I was a dim bulb.
“Aunt Bette!” I hissed. “We don’t know where we are. We have no weapons –”
“I’ll figure out something.”
Wonderful. Visions of Aunt Bette McGyvering an explosive with that exposed nail, some lint from her pocket and spit filled my head just as the door opened quickly and shut just as quickly.
I went still and I heard nothing but booted feet moving on the floor. Aunt Bette had wisely stopped sawing away at the plastic restraints.
“You’re safe,” a deep voice growled. “I’m Hawk. I’m getting you out of here. Be quiet, be smart and do what I say. Yeah?”
Oh thank God.
Since he told us to be quiet, and he sounded like he knew what he was doing as well as a little scary, I was debating whether or not to answer with a “yeah” when Aunt Bette said, “Plastic restraints, wrists and ankles.”
I heard movement, more movement, some more then I felt strong fingers close on my wrist then they were free, movement at my side and then my ankles were free.
Hallelujah.
I rubbed my wrists and heard Aunt Bette ask, “Do you have an extra weapon?”