Citizen Insane

Chapter Eighteen





NOT LONG AFTER HIS “WHATCHA up to?” Colt was grabbed by the collar and jerked into the building. At the same time, my arm was yanked tight behind my back. So tight that another millimeter of movement and it would have snapped. Shashi was playing this thing real. My arm truly hurt. Bunny yelped. I was hoping she hadn’t peed her pants.

“Move inside,” Shashi said in a low, hoarse voice that didn’t exactly resonate with her sweet Southern drawl. Suddenly I wondered if she was a double agent, playing both sides. Had she turned on me? Was her gun really loaded after all? And why the heck was Colt here? My mind was spinning out of control. Of course, who can really think when her arm is about to break and her dearest friend has a gun to his throat?

That’s right. Krystle Jennings, in all of her yearbook sabotaging glory, stood just feet before me in the large three story foyer of the Winslow Building holding a scary-big gun to Colt’s jugular. To our right was an unmanned security desk. To our left a statue likeness of Bartholomew Winslow, founder of Rustic Woods, towered high on a concrete pedestal. Straight ahead stood a large wall with glass covered-directories and doors on either side of them. A set of three elevators decorated the far left hand wall. No Roz. No Peggy. Had we been set up?

Krystle was a large woman and taller than Colt, so it was no surprise that she overwhelmed him easily. It was well known that she worked with weights at the gym, often bench pressing more than half the male members. She had very manly facial features as well which all of the make up in the world couldn’t really seem to overcome. Her obviously dyed, straight blonde hair was cut blunt just above her shoulders and the square angles of the bangs just didn’t fit the roundness of her face. She resembled Ernest Borgnine in a wig. Let’s put it this way—she was in desperate need of a makeover on the Today Show.

“Who the hell is he?” Shashi hissed. She pushed Bunny and me farther into the building and locked the door behind her. I didn’t know if it was Colt’s unexpected appearance or that she’d always been playing me like a gullible guitar. Either way, it felt like the game had changed since we stepped into the building, and I feared I was on the winning team. Like Frankie said, things happen you don’t expect.

“Don’t blame them,” Colt said calmly, even with a gun pressed to his throat. “I didn’t know about any of this, swear. I was just following her around, because she tends to get in trouble more often than not.” He smiled. “Case in point.”

Krystle gripped her gun tighter with those big man hands of hers. “We didn’t get an answer. Who are you?”

“Just a friend,” he answered. “Obviously, a very stupid friend. You can let me go now if you’d like.”

“Thanks for the support,” I said.

Shashi pointed the gun at me. “Down on the ground.” I played along and Bunny followed. We sat on the cold marble floor while I wondered whether Shashi was still on our side or not. She hadn’t taken my gun from me, which was a good sign. But then again, taking it from me would let Krystle know that we hadn’t come directly to this kidnapping extravaganza.

Krystle grunted. “Get over here and check this guy out.” Shashi didn’t seem happy over being grunted at or ordered around, but she took three steps toward Colt and felt around his middle, then down each leg.

“You’re awfully forward on a first date, aren’t you?” Colt. Always cool as a frozen cucumber.

Shashi stepped back and didn’t smile. “He’s clean.”

“I showered before I came. I always do before a good party.”

“I don’t like you,” KiKi said. “You’re not funny.” She pointed her big gun at his foot and pulled the trigger. The deafening explosion from the shot echoed in the cavernous space. I jumped and screamed. Colt shouted then moaned. Blood spurted onto Shashi’s jeans. I felt sick.

“What are you doing?” Shashi was livid. “This was supposed to be no casualties, remember? Threaten but don’t injure.”

“That was your idea, not mine.”

“Krystle,” I pleaded. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt him again.”

“Shut up,” snapped Krystle. She poised her gun at Colt’s head this time, while he’d fallen to his knees, his face contorted in pain. “Or I’ll put the next bullet here.”

“This is not what I signed up for.” Shashi dropped her arm and the gun down to her side. Like two cowboys in a spaghetti western she and Krystle stood motionless, exchanging killer glares. I cringed, fearing Krystle would pop Shashi next and end any hope of us making it out alive.

Meanwhile, Bunny was hyperventilating and—from the sounds she was making—possibly giving birth. She had cowered behind me as we sat splayed on the cold floor tiles. “Bunny,” I whispered. “Think of your kids. Don’t lose it now.”

“It’s just that . . . I don’t think I can hold it, Barb.”

This was my chance to determine Shashi’s allegiance. I raised my hand. “Krystle—or KiKi is it? Um, Bunny has to use the facilities, if you know what I mean. Either that, or we’ll need a ‘SLIPPERY WHEN WET’ sign over here.”

Krystle shoved Colt forward and pointed to one of the two doors on the wall straight ahead. “You, move that way.” Colt moaned with every limp/crawl he took. She looked at Shashi. “Take Bunny to the bathroom then bring her to the conference room. Barb, you come with us or I’ll shoot Jerry Seinfeld’s other foot.”

I raised my hand again. “I have to go too.”

She pointed the gun at Colt’s good foot. “How bad?”

“I can hold it.”

Krystle had pointed Colt toward the door to the right of the directories and I followed obediently. I briefly considered tackling her, but that would have been like Pee Wee Herman trying to take down Lou Ferrigno.

When we reached our destination, she shoved Colt again. “Open the door.”

Colt moved painfully toward the knob. “Just wondering—are you into S&M? You seem the type.”

“Are you okay?” I whispered to him.

“I’ll be fine. I did like that foot though. We’d grown close over the years.”

Krystle wasn’t in a laughing mood. “You’re a regular Bill Cosby, aren’t you?”

“Besides the skin, hair and eye color and the fact that I’ve never touched a cigar—sure. We’re practically twins.” His hand turned the knob, but he lost balance and fell into the door. His body weight pushed it open and revealed the answer to the question that had been gnawing at me—where were Peggy and Roz?

They were in the conference room.

Eating pizza.





A long, sleek cherry wood table occupied the center of the expansive room. Flat screen TVs hung on the wall at each end while two more doors and three large, framed color photos depicting the nature of Rustic Woods lined the longer back wall. Quite a lavish conference room, fully decked out for absolutely nothing to happen. Except a kidnapping apparently.

Facing us and sitting in two of the numerous cushy black leather chairs surrounding the monstrous table were Peggy, shoving a slice of pizza into her mouth, and Roz who looked about as happy as Jack Nicholson being grilled by Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men. She wasn’t terrified. She was seething.

Peggy dropped the pizza onto the cardboard box in front of her and wiped her mouth with her hand. “Barb!”

Colt grunted as he moved to a chair. I helped him sit.

Peggy looked confused. “What happened?”

“Krystle shot him in the foot. You didn’t hear the shot?”

She blinked. “We did, but Shashi promised us no one would be hurt and this was all just for show.” She shook her head. “But I don’t think her name is really Shashi. She has—”

“A southern accent. I know. Her name is Marilyn Schmutz. It’s a long story. How are you two?”

“We’re okay,” Peggy answered. “But if you look under the table, you’ll see we’re limited.”

I bent to peek under the table and saw that their feet were bound with duct tape. Roz’s hands were also immobilized, resting quietly in her lap. Peggy’s were free to grab her pizza up and take another bite, which she did. “Sorry,” she said after swallowing. “I get low blood sugar. Have to eat something every hour or I get dizzy and crazy. It’s hereditary. My Uncle Declan—my mother’s uncle really—had terrible issues, except they didn’t know it was low blood sugar and thought he was crazy. Well, truthfully, some family members actually believed he was a werewolf, but that was because of the hair. He was unusually wooly for an Irish man.” She sighed and sat back. “I feel better now. But the pizza made me a little thirsty.” She looked at Krystle. “Would I be bothering you if I asked for some water?”

Krystle didn’t have to think long on that answer. “You’ve been bothering me since you got here.”

I have to admit, I was surprised at Peggy’s ease with the situation. “Peggy, can you really eat at time like this?”

“I have to keep my energy up and my wits about me for Roz. You know she doesn’t cope well.”

Roz, who had been simmering and silent, decided to defend herself. “I cope fine.”

“Not last time you didn’t.”

“Last time they were threatening to kill us and my hand was broken.”

“Sprained,” Peggy corrected her in a hushed tone.

“Fine. Sprained. But this time it’s me that wants to kill.” Roz glared her evil Jack Nicholson glare at Krystle so intensely that I expected to her growl, “You f*cked with the wrong Marine!” But she didn’t, thank goodness, because really between the two of them, Krystle was the one with the body of a Marine, and in a brawl, Krystle would win.

“What’s got your pony all up in a tail?” Krystle asked.

Roz’s gaze could have frozen Lake Superior. “You know, it was bad enough that you bailed on your volunteering duty for summer swim team, and that you always turned in your PTA expense reports in two weeks late. But that little stunt with the yearbook could have hurt the whole school.”

“You’re sitting hostage in a conference room while I’m shooting Sit-com wannabes in the foot, and you’re worried about a stupid yearbook?” Krystle’s tone was incredulous. “And, for what it’s worth, I did my swim team volunteer time.”

“Timing two heats doesn’t count. You were supposed to take three shifts and you couldn’t even finish one.”

Peggy burped then excused herself before joining in on the conversation. “Three shifts? Really. Then add me to your list of bad volunteers. I thought it was just one.”

“Me too,” Bunny whispered.

I turned around to see that Shashi, gun still in hand, had escorted Bunny to rejoin us. “Sit,” Shashi ordered. Bunny obeyed.

So there we were, me standing next to Colt who sat quietly in the chair nearest to the door, Peggy and Roz sitting across from us, Big Mama Krystle with her Big Mama gun standing in front of the door and Bunny and Shashi to the other side of her. Aside from the deadly firearms and Colt’s bleeding appendage, it had all the appearances of a business meeting ready to commence. I decided to call the proceedings to order.

“So, do you mind me asking why you’ve called us here today?”

“You’ll find out when the time is right.”

I guess the time was right, because that’s when our friendly neighborhood psychotherapist, Waldo Fuchs, entered the room from a door behind Peggy. A backpacked weighed him down. “Man!” he exclaimed. “It’s a long haul walking down those fourteen floors!” He took a moment to catch his breath. “But I’m proud to report that all three elevators are rigged,” he said clapping his hands. “We’re ready for some live action.” He locked eyes with me. “Time for your husband to save the day, Mrs. Marr—you did call him, didn’t you?”

The light bulb clicked on and suddenly, Shashi’s “that’s part of their plan” comment was clear. They wanted the FBI involved all along.