Size Matters (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) (30 page)

A
thin trickle of blood rolled down Boo’s neck where Stuey’s knife had pricked her. Her eyes were huge and she was shaking like a leaf. Mariah’s eyes were wild and I knew she wanted to kill Stuey with her bare hands. Edith held her in a firm grip.

“Let the innocent ones go,” Mitch said, moving me behind him. “You don’t want to kill Boo. You’ll be hunted like a dog if you do.”

Stuey laughed and it made the hair stand up on my neck. How in the hell did I ever think he was a semidecent guy? He was a douche and one hell of a good actor. “You’ve made it so easy for me.” He leered at Candace. “Now I don’t have to make a trip back to the hotel because you brought them to me.”

Candace said nothing and glared at Stuey with repulsion. “You know,” he said to Candace while running the knife carefully up and down Boo’s fragile neck, “I think I liked you better as a blonde.”

“We made a deal,” Mitch ground out, pulling the focus back to him. “I gave you my name and you said you’d leave them alone.”

Candace’s head whipped around to Mitch in utter shock. I didn’t understand the significance, but it was huge if Candace’s reaction was anything to go by.

“You are worth quite a lot, Mitch Sanderson. I know plenty of guys who’d like to see you dead, but do you really think I’d pay up on a deal with a fed?” He shook his greasy little head in disgust. “Stan,” he shouted, “get your sorry ass in here.”

“My name is Fred,” Stan said, his usual chipper self. I realized that Stuey was definitely the brains in this operation. All along I’d thought it was Stan . . . Why that surprised me, I didn’t know. I’d missed every clue around me the entire time . . . I’d make one hell of a detective.
Not.

“I believe some of our friends are armed. I’ll ask once nicely and then I’ll carve the little girl’s neck up. Throw your weapons over here.”

Mitch gave a curt nod to our group and Candace, the Baldies, Edith, and Coco began to disarm. Guns, nunchucks, and knives slid toward the insane little drug dealers. I snuck a quick glance at Coco when I realized she hadn’t given up her samurai sword. Her jacket concealed it and since so many weapons hit the deck, it must have been unimaginable to Stuey that there might be more. Mariah’s pocketknife was missing from the pile as well as the knife that Edith had used to cut Mitch free. I hoped to God they knew what they were doing. This was not a game.

“Stan, remove the arsenal and I’ll clue our good buddies in on the plan.”

“Fred,” he corrected in a pissy tone as he gathered the weapons and took them out of the cabin.

“Well, Mitch Sanderson,” he sneered. “I am the kingpin you’ve been looking for. I’m the one in charge and I’m running the show.”

“Hmmm,” Mitch said, shaking his head in confusion. “Your name has never really come up. Now, those guys”—he pointed to the pile of dead bodies in the corner—“I definitely recognize them.”

“Goddamn it, I’m the kingpin,” Stuey screamed in such a rage, he threw Boo to the floor and she scrambled away. Realizing his mistake, he quickly pulled a gun from his pocket. “It’s automatic,” he ground out, “so even if you rush me, I’ll take out at least four of your innocents before you take me down.”

“We’re not going to do anything stupid,” Mitch calmly assured him. “There’s no reason to kill all these people. You’ve got me. That should be sufficient.”

“And me,” Candace added.

“And me,” the Baldies and old lesbos said in unison.

“I’ll do it too,” Mariah added. The rest of us nodded in favor of going with the group.

Mitch rolled his eyes and groaned.

“It’s lovely to see you all so ready to die for each other. It will be much more fun for you, I’m sure. I’m curious . . .” He aimed his gun at Candace. “What’s your real name, sweet thing?”

She glanced at Mitch and a silent sibling telepathy passed between them. “What do I get if I tell you?” she countered.

He grinned and licked his wet thin little lips. “A quick death, my love. A very quick death.”

“As opposed to?”

“A very slow and painful one.” He smiled.

“I’m going to reach into my pocket for my ID. You good with that?”

“Oh yeah, baby, just go real slow.”

Candace reached into her pocket and pulled out a man’s wallet. With the quickest sleight of hand I’d ever seen, she lifted an ID out and replaced it with another. There was no way Stuey could have noticed. They only reason I saw it was because I was behind her and I heard Mitch’s quick intake of breath. She slid the wallet over and backed away.

Stuey yanked the ID out of the wallet and laughed. “You used your real name, you stupid fed,” he barked. “Heidi Kugel. Nice, very nice.”

No one breathed and no one moved. I was terrified my slightest movement would clue him in to the fact that Candace had pulled a fast one.

“Sooo, here’s the deal, friends . . . Stan, bring in the surprise,” he yelled.

Stan walked in and put a box on the table and walked right back out without saying a word.

“Inside that box is a bomb. A bomb that will tear you to shreds and destroy this lovely little cabin and our sedan, but enough clues will remain to implicate the dead assholes in the corner, the sweet little drug-smuggling Bigfoot group, and a couple of dirty feds.”

“Why us?” Hugh asked. I could tell he felt betrayed by Stuey. They had done several concerts together. To Hugh, that was sacred.

“Why you? Why you?” Stuey laughed. It was such an ugly sound, I felt sick to my stomach. I moved closer to Mitch and breathed him in. “I chose the stupidest group of losers I could find. A group so fucking stupid that they would drive around in a van and trailer loaded down with eight million dollars in drugs without asking questions. Leased under their name and driven only by them,” he sneered. I thought Hugh was going to cry or kick him in the face. “A group so fucking clueless that if they had gotten pulled over by the cops, I would have walked away and they would have spent a nice long time in jail for drug possession . . . massive drug possession. A group so motherfucking stupid they would run around looking for a creature that doesn’t exist while I conducted million-dollar drug deals right under their noses. That’s why I chose you. The show was a cover so the idiotic people of Duluth didn’t get suspicious.”

“Did you ever film us at all?” Hugh asked quietly.

“No, Hugh. There was never any film in the camera at all. And yet again, you people were too stupid to notice. So you see, Mitch Sanderson and Heidi Kugel, I am the kingpin and now I’m a very rich kingpin. I killed my competition and . . .”

“
I
killed them,” Stan shouted, coming back into the room. “You stood there like a pussy and screamed.”

“Shut up,” Stuey hissed. “You may have pulled the trigger, but it was my plan . . . all mine.”

Hugh nodded his head, turned to Kim, and buried his head in her chest. He also did something strange with his hand. Oh. My. God . . . Hugh had just taped Stuey’s entire villainous monologue on his phone. God, if we didn’t get blown to bits, Stuey and Stan were so going down . . .

“You pathetic losers have ten minutes left of your lives and then . . .”

“Thirty,” Stan interrupted him.

“What?”

“They have thirty minutes. You said to set the bomb on a thirty-minute timer and I did.”

“No,” he said through tight lips. “I said set the thirty-minute timer to go off in ten minutes, you ass.”

“My bad.” Stan shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the cabin.

“Okay, fine,” Stuey huffed. “You have about twenty-three or twenty-four minutes left while we make our getaway. I’ll be sure to let the authorities know where to find you after you burn to a crisp.”

“Did you ever find your wallet?” Mariah asked.

I stopped breathing and dug my nails into Mitch’s back.

“No, I did not.”

“The only trail we didn’t look on is the southwest one. Maybe it’s out that way,” Edith suggested, mildly.

“Well, it just so happens that’s the way we’re leaving, so I may get lucky yet. Oh”—he grinned—“I’ll be needing your phones. My battery died.”

I peeked out from behind Mitch’s back and caught the evil grin that passed between the lesbians. We might not get out of here alive, but I had a feeling the Slime Guys might find themselves a little hung up.

 

After collecting our phones, Stuey calmly walked out of the cabin. The sound of multiple locks being set made my heart drop. I didn’t think even Mariah was good enough to pick us out of that. Besides, they were on the outside of the door. Fucktard.

“Are they gone?” Kim asked.

No car started, but Candace pulled her listening device out and pressed her ear to the door. “They’re on foot. They’re talking about walking to a meeting point . . . and getting picked up.”

Edith and Coco slapped each other high fives and went to examine the bomb.

“Don’t touch that,” Mitch said tersely. “Dave and Dan, how much bomb training have you had?”

“Hopefully enough.” Dan was sweating and Dave looked like he was going to hurl. With Mitch, they carefully approached the box and slowly opened the lid. No one in the room was breathing. I glanced at my watch. That had taken a full five minutes.

“This is complicated,” Dan muttered, sweating profusely now. Mitch leaned in and studied the bomb.

“Oh, for the love of Jesus Christ in a thong, get the fuck out of my way,” Coco hissed, shoving the Baldies to the side.

“Stop,” Mitch snapped harshly. “What makes you qualified to go near that bomb? This is not a game.”

“I’m old and mean. I’ve been around more blocks than you’ll ever see in your lifetime. Trust me when I say I know what I’m doing,” she told him in a tone that made me scared out of my mind and hopeful at the same time.

“Explain,” he said in a clipped tone. He approached her warily and placed himself between her and the bomb.

Edith walked up behind her twin and stood at attention. They looked fierce and determined and sad. “Vietnam. Special Forces . . . four tours. Now move,” Edith demanded in a tone that would brook no bullshit.

Mitch backed away with a look of awe and shock on his face.

“But you’re women,” Mariah gasped.

“Not just women . . . we’re dykes,” Coco said in a serious voice that sent me over the edge.

I lost it. I knew the inappropriate laughing monster had possessed me, but this day had been too much and it didn’t seem like it was going to get better anytime soon. It was either laugh or cry and my brain clearly chose laughter . . . so did everyone else’s.

“All right, enough,” Edith shouted, laughing too. “I can’t concentrate with you swamp-asses making all that noise. Mariah, see if you can pick the locks. Kristy, help her. You bald motherfuckers see if you can remove the boards from the windows. Boo, Candace, and Kim, look for another exit. Hugh, I’d like to hear some Barry Manilow while I deactivate this son of a bitch. Mitch, you versed in bombs?”

“Specialized,” he replied.

Everyone stood frozen with fright and then Hugh started singing . . . and it was beautiful.

“You heard the woman. Move. We have less than fifteen minutes,” Mitch said. “Go, go, go.”

It was a controlled chaos. Mitch, with calm authority, directed everyone to their post and then he and the dykes went to work.

“Damn,” Mariah muttered. “I got the main lock, but I think it’s padlocked from the outside . . . Problem here,” she called out.

“Name it,” Mitch said while still focusing on the bomb.

Mariah explained and was met with silence.

“Kristy,” Coco directed, “I can’t move at the moment unless we’d all like to be blown to smithereens. You’re going to carefully remove my sword and puncture a hole in the door big enough for Mariah to get her arm through.”

“Oookay,” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want Mariah to do it? She’s stronger.”

“Can’t risk her lock-picking hands. You don’t need yours,” she said absently, absorbed in her task.

“You can do it, baby,” Mitch told me, not looking up.

“Right.” I took a deep breath and removed the sword like I was performing brain surgery. The clock was ticking and the atmosphere in the cabin was stifling. I could hear the Baldies banging on the boards and the murmurs of frantic searching from the rest of the crew. My job was simple and straightforward. Take the ginormous, heavy sword and punch a hole in the door. Don’t worry about breaking my hands because as long as the hole gets punched, my hands are unimportant collateral damage. Got it.

It sounded much easier in my head than physically doing it. The sword had to weigh fifteen pounds, but with the adrenaline I had pumping, I could probably lift a car. Sweating like a whore in confession, I backed up and ran at the door with the sword in my hand. The jolt of contact was jarring and painful. The crack I heard in my wrist made the collateral damage issue very real . . . and I didn’t make a hole.

“Get on that door, Kristy,” Mitch ordered. “The bomb is more sophisticated than I thought.”

“Who knew those shiny bastards were so smart,” Edith spat angrily. “I don’t feel good about this.”

The Baldies’ pounding increased tenfold and the whimpers from Kim brought home the gravity of the situation.

“There’s a crawl space entrance,” Candace called out. “I’ll try to pry the door off.”

“Dave, Dan,” Mitch said sternly. “Go to Candace.”

“Roger that,” Dave shouted from the back room. “The windows won’t budge without a crowbar.”

“Dave,” Mitch ordered, still totally immersed in the bomb. “Redirect. Find something strong. Try to fashion a crowbar . . . look for a bed frame.”

“On it.”

My punching a hole in the door, even if I permanently destroyed my hands, was no longer an option. It was a necessity. Fucktard. I stepped back and prayed to my favorite quarterback, Brett Favre . . . Minutes left in the game and a Hail Mary from Jesus was all I needed. It was now or never. With strength I didn’t know I possessed, I slammed the sword through the door, breaking most of my fingers, the sword, and thankfully the door. There was a hole just large enough for Mariah’s arm. She’d be working blind, but it was as good as it was going to get.