I normally had a cast iron bladder. Everyone always commented on my bladder control. It usually took me twice as long to break the seal as it did others. I could drink freely from the keg before a gig and not miss a single note of a song during the concert. My bladder was almost as legendary as my encounter with Aerosmith’s Joe Perry. But now, the Fat Tire beer worked its way through my system in record time and I was dying for a wee.
I had no idea how much time I was there. I was concentrating on keeping my mouth shut and keeping from peeing my pants. I didn’t want to ask them to let me go to the bathroom. I didn’t have my shit together enough to think of an escape plan. I didn’t wonder how long it would take for my family to realize I was gone, especially considering the Lee Incident meant I would be in hiding for awhile before showing my face in the backyard again. I didn’t even consider thinking about the fact that this might not go well for me and the last thing I did was fight with Lee.
I was staring out the window, thinking maybe I could get a lock on where I was if I had a good look and if I focused on something I wouldn’t focus on the fact that I had to pee or that my life might soon be over.
That’s when I saw the top of a big, blond head and a pair of eyes, the wild mass of hair tamped down by night vision goggles.
Tex was peeking through the window.
Holy crap.
No sooner had I seen him then he was gone.
“What are you lookin’ at?” the shooter asked me, turning to look out the window.
The other shooter came in. They were both big guys, kind of in the bent of Goon Gary and Terrible Teddy, wearing slacks and dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. No ties.
One of them, the one who talked on the phone, was older, his brown hair peppered with gray. The other one who was left to watch me had sandy blond hair, may have been cute at one point but now looked like he was careening headlong toward middle age.
“He agreed. He’ll do the swap, the girl for the diamonds,” Phone Guy Pepper Shooter told Watch Guy Sandy Shooter.
“She was lookin’ at something outside, I’m checkin’,” Sandy Shooter told Pepper Shooter.
Pepper Shooter looked at me while Sandy went outside.
“Your boyfriend out there?” Pepper asked me.
I shook my head and kept my mouth shut. I hoped Tex was long gone and calling 911. I feared that Tex was close and planning Armageddon.
Pepper went from window to window, standing at the side and looking out. He was beginning to look a little less professional and serious and a little more panicked and desperate.
“Fucking Nightingale!” he spat and turned to me, pulling his gun out of the waistband of his pants and pointing it at me. “Did you see him out there?” he yelled.
“No,” I answered, not telling a lie since he was talking about Lee and I didn’t see Lee outside. Therefore, I’d die without at least that lie darkening my soul.
Pepper didn’t hold a gun like Rosie, he held it steady and with practiced ease and he was scaring the shit out of me. So much so, I totally forgot I had to pee.
“What were you lookin’ at?”
God, I was such a moron. Why couldn’t I be cool, like in the movies? Whistle and pretend I didn’t see anything, then calmly communicate an entire escape plan to my rescuer using only my widened eyes and a couple of jerks of my head while my kidnappers were turned the other way.
“I wasn’t looking at anything. There’s nothing to look at so I was looking out the window.”
He kept holding the gun pointed at me. He didn’t have to say what the gun was saying pretty clearly, talk or lights out.
“Listen, I have to use the bathroom,” I blurted. “Seriously, I had three Fat Tires before you guys stun-gunned me. I think all that electricity did something to my bladder. Usually, I can hold it but I totally have to go.”
He kept staring and pointing the gun and the other guy came in. Pepper didn’t move an inch, didn’t even look at Sandy when he came in.
“No sign of anyone,” Sandy said.
“You wouldn’t find sign of Nightingale if he was out there, asswipe. He’s smoke.”
Sandy looked from Pepper to me.
“Why do you have a gun on her?” Sandy asked.
“You said she saw something,” Pepper answered. “I think if I put a bullet in her kneecap, she might tell me what she saw.”
Holy crap!
Sandy was just as shocked as me.
“Jesus, Rick. Have you lost your mind? We’re supposed to turn her over for the diamonds and not with a bullet in her fucking kneecap. You think Nightingale’s out there as smoke? You put a bullet into his woman and he’s gonna hunt you down and skin you alive.”
“She’ll be breathin’, he’ll have to make do. All the rest of her parts will be workin’, she doesn’t need her kneecap to fuck,” Pepper Rick replied.
That’s when I quit breathing.
I guess he hadn’t forgiven me for mouthing off a few days ago.
Then, the front door flew open and both Pepper Rick and Sandy whirled toward it. Nothing was there but something rolled across the floor.
Both men and I stared at it as it bounced across the floor, hit the couch and rolled back and then came to rest a couple of feet away from the couch.
It looked kind of like a grenade.