“What? What can I be doing? I’m tied up with a gun to my head, you have my phone, George found the number and called. What could I possibly be doing?”
That’s when she remembered the last thing Amy said to her, that she had got a new phone and number, and that she wrote it on a slip of paper at the desk. Amy even mentioned that both girls already had it memorized. The number George had found under ‘sis’ was the old number, and June hadn’t taken the time yet to correct it. The correct number in the phone was labeled only as ‘new’.
Mostly she was ambivalent if she wanted to help the three men with the sudden recall, or just let them flounder for a while. If they got frustrated enough, there was the chance they would just leave. She couldn’t allow them to go to Amy’s house when she was there, but she was also putting her nieces at risk by not divulging the new phone number. Either way, she had the growing dread deep inside that the afternoon was going to end poorly.
Reagan tapped one of the girls’ heads with the muzzle of his gun. “Hey brat, what’s your mother’s name?”
“Hey! Leave her alone!” June shouted.
Reagan aimed the gun at June for a moment. “You were saying?” He turned the gun back to Koemi’s head. “I asked you, what’s your mother’s name?”
“Mommy...” the girl mewed softly.
Reagan sighed. “Georgie, look for mommy in the phone.”
“Auntie...” one of the girls began to say.
“Be quiet, please, Ruka.”
The little girl turned her head a bit to look in June’s direction. “But mommy has...”
“You’re making me very angry, Ruka!” June said, barely holding her temper.
“Not to interrupt the soap opera, but could the two of you shut the hell up?” Reagan said. His gun hand shook, the one that held the pistol to the side of the girls’ heads.
June turned her sights back on him. “Don’t even think of hurting them,” she said with as much control as she could muster.
Both girls burst into tears.
Reagan shoved the butt of his pistol into a girl’s head, nudging it to the side.
“God damn you...” June muttered.
She got a backhand across her face from Clinton.
“I told you to shut up!” bellowed Reagan. “I won’t put up with this hysterical female shit!”
Georgie had his gun in his hand again, aimed then at June’s chest from point blank range, the phone call forgotten. His eye began to tick.
They all remained that way for some time, the girls whimpering, Reagan’s gun hand shaking, Clinton pressing his pistol against June’s head, Georgie’s eye ticking, and June fighting swirling numbness in her mind. She could taste blood in her mouth from being slapped by Clinton.
Maybe because of the stress, Reagan’s voice was falling into a southern drawl. And the way he called the man in the George Bush mask Georgie, June figured that was his real first name. Just as she figured, the men were beginning to crack. She was getting some power back from them.
She had to continue to push.
After several minutes, Reagan lifted his pistol away from Koemi’s head, put the safety on, and stowed it in his jacket. He nodded to the other two men and they slowly put their guns away.
“Okay.” He pronounced his words carefully, but his voice warbled with cracked nerves. “Now that everyone has their heads out of their butts, we’re all gonna start playin’ nice again. Everything is going to be just fine.”
June knew she had to distract the intruders from trying to call Amy again, and to keep Georgie from snooping through her phone numbers too closely. It would only be a matter of time before he found the heading called ‘new’ and figured it belonged to Amy. Or for one of the girls to let it slip that they knew the number by heart. If she let on with the right number then, they’d never believe she only just remembered it. She also needed to find a way to distract the girls from the drama that was unfolding in front of them.
“I have to make lunch for the girls.”
“Forget it,” Reagan told her, taking a seat again.
“Then I gotta sit down before I fall over. My feet are numb from standing here.”
“Help yourself. The floor looks very comfortable.”
She bent her knees and sank down. Without the use of her hands, she fell to the hardwood floor with a clunk. She pushed up to an elbow, and then struggled to a sitting position.
“Okay now?” Clinton asked, glaring down at her.
“Never better.”
As soon as she settled, June inspected the skin on her wrists being abraded from the plastic ties. The one on her right hand was much looser then the other, loose enough that she might even be able to jerk that hand loose if she had a chance. She decided to leave it alone for the time being.
“Georgie,” Reagan said. “Try sending a text to that number you called before.”
Georgie found the number. “What should I write?”
“Send, call ASAP,” Reagan said.
Georgie wrote the message. But before he could send it, June got his attention.
“That’s not what I would write to her. ASAP means something else to us,” she lied.
June had no choice but to pretend to go along with their captors. Part of the plan she had been working out was to lie, deceive, and manipulate dialogue, if only to create as much confusion as possible. If she could do that, she might just be able to turn them against each other. Then all she could do was try and separate them. And she had to do it soon.
Georgie looked down at where June sat awkwardly on the floor. So far, he had been the only one that had acted reasonably toward her and the girls, if aiming a gun at her chest could be called reasonable. “What would you write to get her to call right away?”
“Something like, prob with kids.”
He started tapping that into a text message.
“No! She’s lying,” Reagan said suddenly. “That will just bring her here. Put in that ASAP thing instead.”
“I’m telling you...” June started.
Clinton leaned down to her level. “You’re telling us nothin’,” he said into her ear. “We make the decisions around here, not you.”
“Suit yourself,” June muttered.
“What’s A-S-A-P mean then?” Clinton asked.
“Alert, send all police.”
The three men looked at each other for a moment, until Reagan broke into a grin.
“Just send it, Georgie.”
He sent the ASAP text. George took the phone to where Reagan sat in his chair, both waiting for a reply. When none came, Georgie wandered off.
June looked at Reagan. “Look, the girls need lunch. May I make them something, please?” She was barely able to mask the hostility in her voice as she feigned courtesy.
“If you can cook with your hands tied. Otherwise, forget it.”
“Then one of you knuckleheads is going to have to make something. One way or another, those girls aren’t going hungry.”
Reagan laughed. “Clinton, you know how to make a roast beef? What about you, Georgie? Want to fire up the barbecue and grill steaks for us?”
“I ain’t no chef,” Clinton said.
“And we don’t eat meat,” June said back.
Georgie sat on the couch and worked with the phone. The girls huddled together, still sniffling, the silly antics of cartoon characters on the TV barely holding their interest. They had curled up with each other as far from Georgie at the opposite end of the couch as they could get.
He finally tossed the phone aside. “I still can’t find a number for the woman. Maybe I should go get a pizza?”
“What is this, a pajama party?” Reagan asked. He asked Georgie for the phone and it was tossed to him. He began scrolling through numbers, June watching him.
“Just let me go in the kitchen to make sandwiches for them,” June offered. “It won’t take any more than five minutes, and then you can tie me up again.”