Nine Minutes (8 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Before we
left Grunt’s room, he asked me what I was wearing the day I was abducted. After
I described the outfit and he was satisfied I wasn’t wearing anything from that
day, not even my peace choker, he picked up a baseball cap that had been
sitting on his dresser. He had me tuck my bangs up under the cap and put my
hair in a ponytail that came through the back. He then picked up a pair of
sunglasses and told me, “You can wear mine until we get you your own.”

     
As we were
leaving, I noticed his jacket slung across the back of his desk chair. “Aren’t
you going to wear your jacket?”

     
“No reason to
call undue attention to the group.” He picked up a wallet and a set of keys off
his dresser, and we walked out.

     
I followed him
around the side of the motel where the office was located. I’d never really
explored over here before. When we got around the side, I saw two cars.
Really nice cars.
One was a black Corvette, which I knew was
Grizz’s
; he must have taken one of his bikes for his
business trip.

     
We headed toward
the other one. It was a light blue Camaro. I wasn’t sure of the year, but I
knew it was an older model.
Just old enough to be stylish.

     
“We’re not going
to take your bike?”

     
I think I was
disappointed. For some reason, being on the back of a motorcycle behind Grunt
was appealing. Where was this coming from?

     
“Don’t have a
helmet for you yet. I don’t think you want to borrow one either,” he laughed. “Actually,
that’s something we can do. Let’s go get you a helmet.”

     
“I don’t have any
money.”
          

     
“You don’t need
any.”

     
He unlocked the
passenger side of the car and let me in. After he got in and started the loud
engine, he turned on the air conditioner. Then he took an eight-track tape and
stuck it in the player. We were listening to Simon & Garfunkel as we pulled
onto State Road 84.
Simon & Garfunkel?
I laughed
to myself. I was beginning to think Grunt might be a nerd.

     
We didn’t
talk
as we made our way east on State Road 84. He made a
left on U.S. 441 and we headed north. I was so close to home I could almost
smell it. It was so strange passing by familiar places. After a few miles,
though, we were out of my territory, and I started to feel less anxious.

     
“Where are we
going?” I leaned my head back on the seat, trying to relax.

     
“Little shop up
near Riverview. They have helmets.”

     
I watched the
scenery fly by, feeling calmer by the minute. “So just out of curiosity, where
does the gang have their meetings?”

     
He looked quickly
over at me. “Meetings? You mean when they gather in the pit?”

     
“No. You know,
the satanic rituals and stuff. The gang is named after the devil. Even
Grizz’s
dog’s names are pretty bad. I figured maybe you use
one of the old unused rooms at the motel. You know, to worship.”

     
He threw his head
back and laughed. “Kit, we don’t worship the devil.”

     
“It’s on your
jacket.” I think I blushed.

     
“Yeah, to scare
the shit out of people. It’s not a religion.”

     
“You’re not devil-worshipers?”
I’d worried about this for
awhile
and had even secretly
wondered if
Grizz
had let me keep my black kitten for
another, more sinister, reason.

     
“Hell, no!” He
was laughing hard now.

     
“But you believe
in hell, though. I mean, if it’s your logo and stuff.”

     
“No, Kit.” He
shook his head, still smiling. “I don’t believe in the devil or hell. Don’t
believe in anything, really.”

     
“What about God?”
I turned to look at him. “You believe in God, don’t you?”

     
“No, don’t know
much about anything that has to do with religion.”

     
“For all of your
studying and schooling, you’ve never taken a class on religion?” My eyes were
wide. “You know, world religion, religious philosophy, anything?”

     
“Nothing.” He
paused,
then
asked, “That thing you do, before you
eat, is that religious?”

     
“You mean
blessing myself?” Being a Catholic, I’d always made the sign of the cross prior
to saying grace before a meal.

     
“I don’t know
what it’s called.”

     
It was my turn to
smile. “You said you would teach me to play chess. Will you let me teach you something?”

     
He hesitated. “Yeah,
sure. Why not?”

     
And so began Grunt’s lessons in religion, specifically
Christianity.

     
I let myself
enjoy the rest of the ride as we talked. I even convinced him to turn off the air
conditioning and roll down the windows. I felt oddly exhilarated. We got to the
shop and I picked out a helmet fairly fast. The guy who worked there knew Grunt
and never made any indication that he expected us to pay. We walked out of the
shop less then fifteen minutes later.

     
I wasn’t really
familiar with this part of town. To get to the shop, we had turned off U.S. 441
and were now on some shady-looking backstreets. It was an odd mixture of
businesses and old houses, kind of like someone messed up badly with the zoning
ordinances. Next to the shop, I saw a guy building a wooden fence. I wondered
if it was his fence or if he was the hired help. He had given me a disturbing
look on the way into the shop.

     
Now as we were
coming out, he yelled, “Hey, sweet thing. You
wanna
spend some time with a real man, why don’t you
come on over here? Tell your baby brother he can come back for you in an hour.
Make that ten minutes.” Then he gave this awful laugh that turned into fits of
coughing. What a creep.

     
I looked over at
Grunt, who just ignored him. Well, that’s good. If I
was
with
Grizz
, I’d probably be an accessory to murder.
Honestly though, if I was with
Grizz
, I bet Mr.
Build-A-Fence wouldn’t have said a word. Still, it was probably a good thing I
was with the youngest of the group. I didn’t want any trouble.

     
After we got
inside the car, Grunt said he wanted the air conditioning on this time. We
rolled up the windows, and he started the car and turned on the A/C. He took
the Simon & Garfunkel eight-track tape out and stuck in Pink Floyd. Then he
turned to me.

     
“Stay here. Do
not get out of this car for any reason. You got it?”

     
Before I could
answer, he blared the music really loud and got out of the car. He started
walking toward Mr. Build-A-Fence. Oh no. Oh, dear God. Grunt is going to try to
act all tough and get the crap kicked out of him. I looked around, wondering
what in the world I was going to do if something happened.

     
They disappeared
behind a part of the fence that was already built, so I couldn’t see anything,
and with the music up so loud, I couldn’t hear anything, either. After a few
nervous minutes, I decided maybe I should turn down the music. But before I
could, Grunt came walking around the side of the fence. He looked okay. He didn’t
look hurt. Maybe he told the guy someone was going to come back and kick the
crap out of him. Grunt jumped in the car, and before I could say a word, we
took off. I decided not to mention it.

     
We spent the next
couple of hours running errands—picked up some groceries, got gas, went
by the drugstore. I even got some new sunglasses. Grunt was careful to pick
out-of-the way places. By mid-afternoon, we got back to the motel, and he went
to his room. I went to number four to check on
Gwinny
and make sure the dogs were fed. Grunt reminded me I could borrow any of his
books any time I wanted. I thanked him for the day and I told him I would
definitely take him up on his offer.

     
As evening
approached, I decided to stay inside. The pit had no appeal for me, and I made
myself a bowl of cereal and sat on the couch to watch TV. I decided to watch
some local news. I was always hopeful of seeing something about me, but too
much time had passed and I’m pretty sure my abduction never made the news in
the first place. I was certain the police didn’t take it seriously, anyway. One
visit with Delia and they would have assumed me to be a runaway. Of that I had
no doubt.

     
I flipped
impatiently through the few channels we had. Those were the days before cable
and you watched what was in your viewing range. The volume was turned down, and
I thought I saw a reporter standing in front of a familiar place. I turned it
up.

     
“We’re at the
house of Raymond Price,” the attractive reporter was saying. “Earlier today,
Mr. Price was rescued by a couple walking their dog
who
heard muffled screams. When they investigated, they found Mr. Price had been
brutally attacked. He was found standing with his back to a fence with his
hands stretched out on each side.” The reporter paused here for effect. “Mr.
Price’s hands were nailed to the wooden fence he had been building. There were
several nails in each hand, making it impossible for him to get himself free
without ripping his hands to shreds. A rag had been stuffed in his mouth making
it difficult to call for help.”

     
The reporter then
squinted as she listened to someone asking her a question from the small crowd
that had gathered.

     
“I’ve just been
asked if Mr. Price could identify the person or persons who assaulted him,” she
said, her pretty face frowning. “In a strange twist, the Riverview Police
Department told us Mr. Price has refused to tell them anything. They’re
concerned he might have been threatened and is afraid of retaliation. Police
say this particular area is well known for motorcycle gangs. One gang in
particular has been known to frequent this shop next door.”

     
The camera panned
over behind the reporter, and my stomach roiled. I now saw why the scene looked
so familiar. Right there on TV, I could see the shop where we had picked out my
helmet that afternoon, and the newly constructed fence dividing it from the
house next door.

     
I couldn’t
believe what I was seeing. My heart pounded thickly. I swallowed and took a
deep breath.

     
I had read Grunt
all wrong. He was no defenseless runt.

     
He was one of
them.

Chapter Fourteen

Just then,
the door flew open and
Blue
came in, walking straight
toward me.

     
“Get up. Now. You’re
coming with me.”

     
Before I could
ask anything, he walked past me to the bedroom and found my backpack hanging on
a hook behind the door. I followed him into the bedroom, pelting him with
questions about what was going on. He was too focused to talk. He kept looking
around the room.

     
“Where’s your
stuff, Kit? You got anything personal here? Like if you were going to stay
overnight somewhere, what would you need?”

     
My hands were
shaking. “Where am I going?”

     
“I don’t have
time to explain anything to you. What would you have to have with you?”

     
Without answering
him I went into the bathroom. I took my birth control pills, my toothbrush and
my hairbrush. I opened a dresser drawer and grabbed some underwear and a
nightshirt. I opened another dresser and grabbed some shorts and tank tops. I
still only had my one bra, which I was now wearing. I guess that was one
article of clothing I needed to try on for myself. I quickly stuffed everything
into the bag.

     
“Good girl.” He
saw my new helmet sitting on the coffee table and picked it up. “Get your shoes
on. We
gotta
go. Now.”

     
I dashed to the
kitchen counter and picked up my reading glasses. I shoved them in my bag along
with a magazine as I slid my feet into sandals. I was still wearing what I had
on that day.
A pair of jeans and an unremarkable top.
He carried my helmet and I followed him out.

     
“
Gwinny
!” I shouted, remembering the cat.

     
“She’ll be okay.
Moe will take care of her and the dogs. Let’s go!”

     
We were on his
motorcycle and I was still fastening my helmet when we sped out of the motel
and onto State Road 84. My arms wrapped tightly around him as we drove off into
the night. We took State Road 84 east and turned right at Pete’s. This was
Flamingo Road, and as it was the seventies, just like on State Road 84, we were
in totally undeveloped territory. Flamingo Road was mostly pastureland.

     
Fear began to
fade. At one point, I even laughed to myself as we passed an old two-story
house with a big sign in front of it. The owner had spray-painted in big, black
letters on a piece of plywood propped up on his second-story porch: “Wife
wanted. Must cook and clean. Husband will pay bills.” That particular wannabe
husband has since sold that property. I’m pretty sure a shopping plaza is there
now.

     
We headed south
on Flamingo until we got to a little town called Pembroke Pines. We turned left
onto Taft Street and were suddenly in a beautiful and tastefully landscaped
housing development. After a few more turns, we pulled up to a very nice house.
Someone inside must have heard the motorcycle, because the garage door opened
as if on cue. Blue pulled the bike in and cut the engine.

     
As I lifted
myself off the back, I noticed an attractive, tall and very tanned brunette
standing at the door that led from the garage into the house. She had her
finger on the garage door opener, and as I waited for Blue to get off his bike,
the door went down. She walked toward me then and held out her hand.

     
“Hi. I’m Jan.
Blue’s wife,” she said, smiling warmly. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

     
I couldn’t have
been more surprised than I was the day Moe showed me into
Grizz’s
room. Blue’s
wife
? It had never
occurred to me that Blue, or any other member of the gang, could have been
married or actually lived somewhere other than the motel. I just hadn’t paid
enough attention to what everyone else was doing.

     
Blue and I
followed Jan into the house. Just then, two little boys ran toward Blue and
grabbed him around his legs. They were both wearing matching overalls without a
shirt underneath. They were young, and it looked like the smaller of the two
was wobbly on his feet. He was probably just a little over a year old. His
older brother was maybe three.

     
“Daddy! Daddy! Play
with us,” the oldest roared.

     
“Let him have
some dinner, boys, and then Daddy can spend time with you,” Jan told them,
laughing.

     
“Who that girl
is?” the oldest asked.

     
“This is Kit,”
Blue said gently. “She’s my friend. You boys be good while we eat dinner and I’ll
come see you in a little bit.”

     
They bounded away
happily toward what looked like a very comfortable family room. The TV was on
and toys were everywhere.

     
“I already fed
them.” Jan explained. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”

     
Since my dinner
of cereal and milk was interrupted, I was eager to eat the meal set before us.
I made the sign of the cross and said a mental blessing. Then, while Blue
talked, I thoroughly enjoyed the homemade meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green
beans. He explained the reason for our abrupt departure from the motel.

     
Moments before I
had seen
the news clip about Mr. Build-A-Fence’s attack, Blue
was getting paged at work by
Grizz
.
Grizz
had been tipped off that the police were going to be
visiting the motel. Apparently,
Grizz
had people
everywhere, including the various police departments in South Florida.

     
Not everyone had
pagers back then. They were relatively new, but I wasn’t surprised to know
Grizz
and some in his group had them. The key to communicating
through a pager, though, was you had to find a phone to call back the number
the pager digitally displayed. It was easy enough for Blue to call
Grizz
back. He was on top of a telephone pole doing a
repair. He’d tapped into a line and called
Grizz
immediately.

     
This was also
something I’d been clueless about. Blue worked for the telephone company?

     
“But why would the
police be coming to the motel?” I asked, pushing my other questions aside.

     
“After the little
stunt Grunt pulled, there would definitely be a police visit,” Blue said,
shaking his head.

     
“But how would
they know it was Grunt?” I asked, confused. “We didn’t have a motorcycle. He
wasn’t wearing his jacket. Heck, we never even paid for my helmet so it’s not
like there’s a receipt to trace. And anyway, how did
you
know it was Grunt?”

     
“
Grizz
has eyes everywhere.” Blue said. “And it doesn’t
matter if it was Grunt or not. Just the mention of a motorcycle gang and there
are certain police departments that jump on any excuse to come out to the motel
and try and shake things up. They know our base, and
Grizz
wanted you out of there.”

     
Jan passed over
some more mashed potatoes. “I saw the news. I could have guessed your baby
brother had something to do with that,” she said to Blue with a smile. “Grunt
is quite the creative tormentor.”

     
She said this
with the attitude of a proud mother as she then helped herself to more green
beans. I looked up from my plate. Creative tormentor? What an odd description.
I looked over at Blue, who was watching Jan with an expression I couldn’t read.
Before either of us could say anything or question her comment, she started
talking about something cute one of the kids did earlier that day. I looked toward
the family room where those two sweet little boys were playing.
Yes, Mrs. Misplaced Pride, your son is the
one responsible for blowing up that building. You should be so proud
. These
people were a mystery.

     
I shook my head
in disbelief. “Will Grunt get in trouble with the police?”

     
“No.” Blue
sounded casual. “There’s no doubt the guy won’t identify him. There’s nothing
to tie him to the scene. Even if his car was identified, it won’t matter. They’d
never think a kid could do that to a grown man. They’ll just go to the motel
with their warrant and look around and try to dig up anything they can on
Grizz
. He’s the one they want anyway.”

     
“What about
Grizz
, though? Will Grunt be in trouble with him?”

     
“Don’t know. He’ll
have some explaining to do. It’s up to
Grizz
.”

     
I didn’t
understand. “But aren’t you scared or worried for him? I mean
,
he’s your brother.”

     
Blue just
shrugged and spooned some more green beans onto his plate. “Grunt’s old enough
to face the consequences. He knows what he can and can’t get away with. At some
point, you have to let people fight their own battles and take responsibility
for their choices.”

     
That night, as I
tucked
myself comfortably into the bed in Jan and Blue’s
guestroom,
I couldn’t help but worry about Grunt. My friend.

     
It turned out the
police did raid
Grizz’s
rooms that night. If
circumstances were different, I might have been rescued. If someone had
remembered the girl who went missing was talking to a guy with a motorcycle out
in front of the 7-Eleven. If someone had remembered seeing me climb on
Monster’s bike, even if they didn’t see his jacket, it might have sparked some
recognition in the officers who were combing through
Grizz’s
rooms. If there was even a hint that
I could have been
abducted by a motorcycle gang
, then the police officers that searched
Grizz’s
rooms might have noticed some clues.

     
Like the three county
library books sitting on top of the dresser with my brown peace choker draped
across them.