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Stolen! -1- Scary Earl
🕑 Added 2020-06-21 02:55:52 +0000 UTC
I had no business being in an industrial park riding my sister’s bike, so in a sense, I had to share the blame for everything that happened.
But that’s a kind of cosmic view, zen-universe sort of bullshit. I just needed to get to the store over on Van Nuys quickly so I could get back home with a jar of crushed garlic for the spaghetti sauce Mom was making. It was already simmering on the stove when I left. The smell of peppers and garden tomatoes filling our house. It just needed garlic to be perfect.
Cutting through the industrial park would save four blocks on the trip, just like taking Sandy’s bike instead of going on foot would save time. I didn’t consider—much—the fact that it was a pink, banana-seat Schwinn with a big white wicker basket on the front. It even had a cartoony flower on the basket, definitely a girl’s bike, and if I cringed a little and hoped none of my friends saw me riding it—well, the sauce, I figured, was worth it.
I passed one of the few buildings that looked less like a warehouse or workshop and more like an office when two guys came running out of the double glass doors. I didn’t really see them before they ran smack into me, knocking me off my girly bike and flat on my ass on the grass verge beside the sidewalk.
The bigger guy got tangled in the bike, having put one of his size 13 kayaks right through the spokes of the front wheel. The smaller guy, skinny as a weasel, leaped over the bike but stumbled when he landed on me. He fell almost nose to nose with my face and his cardboard Lou Costello mask slipped off his ears and went flying, caught perhaps in a bit of wind.
Snarling, he lifted himself up on an elbow and punched me right in the forehead, then leapt to his feet and yelled at the big guy. “Quit fucking around!”
I was rubbing my face, the guy had punched hard and I was a bit stunned, so I didn’t see what the big guy did, but suddenly I was picked up and tossed across a meaty shoulder. Held in place by a large arm behind my knees, I had the wind knocked out of me already when my captor broke into a jog trot.
Still dizzy and groggy from being cold-cocked, I could only make ineffectual yips and squeaks during what couldn’t have been that long of a run. But before I could recover any presence of mind, I heard rather than saw someone wrench open a car door. With a view mostly of elbows and a sofa-sized heinie, I realized I was about to be tossed into the backseat of a car.
I got another blow to the head, probably from the door frame, as I flew through a short arc. The pain blinded me temporarily and my scream turned into a gurgle as I almost bit my tongue. I wrapped my arms around my head, moaning, and rolled off the seat into the carpeted space that feet were supposed to occupy.
Lying there, I heard the skinny guy complain, “What’d you grab the chick for, dumbass?”
A rumbly voice answered. “She saw your face.”
“Well, fuck. She’ll describe me to the cops and they’ll tell you-know-who.” He let loose with an even more virulent stream of obscenity. “I guess we’ll have to kill her.”
“I dunno,” said the deep voice. “We’re going to be hiding out for weeks, eh? Waiting for the heat to die down, so we can make deals. It might get awful lonesome.”
“Heh, heh,” said the voice of the man who had been wearing the Lou Costello mask. “Okay. I’ve got my own squeeze already waiting for me. I guess you deserve a bonus for quick thinking. Sure.”
*
I’d just barely had time to unwrap my head from my arms and check for damages when the car took two quick turns and abruptly stopped. The driver popped his door and slid out, saying, “I’ll get the truck out, you get the loot and the girl.”
The passenger side door opened then the rear one on that side at my feet and a big guy with a big face leaned in. He wasn’t wearing a mask and looked a bit like that actor George Kennedy who played the heroes’ sidekicks in so many old movies.
I started to say, “I’m not a girl,” but he put a finger to his lips and shushed me.
“Don’t scream,” he warned in a whisper. “And don’t let Earl know you’re a boy. I can keep you alive if he thinks I want you for my squeeze.” He winked, picking up two satchels from the back seat. “Can you get out of there without help?” he asked in a more normal volume.
“I think so,” I admitted, whispering. I rolled over and tried to sit up, my heart pounding and my stomach clenching. He put down a huge hand, took me by the forearm and lifted me right out of the car, setting me on my feet in a place that looked like some sort of industrial garage.
He whispered more warnings to me as he adjusted the way he was carrying the two satchels—full of loot, I supposed. “Don’t look around, keep your head down, stay quiet and don’t look at Earl at all. I’m Morton, Morton LeRoi, eh? But everyone calls me Moose.”
I looked at him from under my brows and he was smiling like a friendly ogre. He was certainly big enough to be called Moose. I swallowed hard to keep the bile from coming up in my mouth.
“What’s your name?” he asked, still smiling as he wrapped his free hand around my forearm again.
I pulled away a little bit but he had no trouble pulling me back. “I’m Greg,” I admitted. “Gregory Dahl.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore,” he said. “If Earl asks your name, you’re Dolly. Dolly Gregg. Okay?”
I swallowed again. I felt like I might faint from fear but Moose held me upright and half-dragged me toward a camper built on the frame of a large van. I didn’t look up but was aware of Earl, the skinny guy, looking out of the driver’s side window.
He whistled, sending chills down my spine. “Nice legs, she’s a cutie. You two get in back and stay there until we’re out of town. That way, they only see one person in the cab.” He chuckled, I want to say evilly, but really it was just a chuckle. “Maybe you can have some fun, Moose.”
“Dolly and I will get better acquainted,” Moose said.
I looked up at him as he half-carried me around the back of the camper. I must have looked terrified—I sure felt that way—but he shook his head a minimum amount and chuckled, too.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’ll all be fine.” He opened a door on the camper and pushed me up inside.
Through a narrow passage, I could see Earl at the wheel, leering back at me. Did he really think I was a girl?
Moose climbed in behind me, pushed me toward the back of the camper, and made me sit on a bed, out of sight of Earl. “Sit, be quiet,” he ordered me while stowing the two satchels in a cabinet with a sliding door.
“Have some fun with her, Moose,” Earl suggested from up front. “Start teaching her what her new job is going to be.” He laughed. “The sooner she gets started, the better off she’ll be.”
She? Her? I whimpered. Pronoun trouble seemed to be the least of my worries.
