“What’s going on?” Clinton said from the far end of the walkway.
“Nothing.” June just had the chance to get her hand stuffed back through the plastic ties while waddling as fast as she could. “Your friend had a problem with the code number is all.”
“He left?”
“Yeah. He decided to walk since its so close.”
“That dumbshit.” He looked beyond June toward the far end of the yard. “This ain’t no picnic.”
She got up to him. “You could go get him if you want. It looked like he was going at a pretty good pace though.
He pushed June into the house and slammed the door shut behind them. June took an immense amount of pleasure knowing one of the three had been eliminated, even if Georgie was the dumbest one of the group.
“While we’re waiting for him to get back, can the girls go in and lie down for a while?” she asked Reagan.
He was fully engaged in the TV, which had been changed from the kids Disney movie to a men’s programming channel. She looked at the two girls on the couch, who looked either bored or stunned, June couldn’t tell.
He nodded them toward the side of the house with the bedrooms.
With little prompting, she followed the four year olds into the guest room and watched as they tucked themselves under the top blanket. Clinton watched from the doorway.
“Be quiet, okay?” she admonished them with kisses. “We’ll have lunch in a little while. But stay in here until I come get you, okay?” She pecked kisses at them several more times. “And please please please be quiet.”
With the door closed, she went back to the living room and stood facing Reagan, still plunked down on the couch intently watching the TV. She stood in his line of sight.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Park it somewhere.”
“Can I use the bathroom?” she asked.
“How ya gonna get your pants down?” Clinton asked with a leer.
“I can do it,” she said back with a hard glare at him.
She didn’t need to go, but she had another idea in her mind. It was working already.
Reagan nodded her off again. “Go with her, Clinton. Make sure she stays out of trouble.”
June waddled to the bathroom next to the master bedroom, Clinton following right behind. She heard the bedroom door shut behind them. It was exactly what she wanted.
When she got the toilet, she struggled to get her jeans button undone and the zipper down because of the plastic ties. Before she pulled her pants down, she looked back at Clinton, leaning against the doorframe watching with a new smile.
She pushed her pants down and sat. “Enjoying the show?”
“Oh yeah.”
She sat for a moment then stood again.
“Stage fright?” he asked with a laugh.
“Something like that.”
She waddled to the door, pretending to have a hard time getting her pants back up.
“Let me do that, little missy.”
He reached forward to her pants, and she let him take hold. She watched his thick fingers fumble with the button, and for the first time smelt the scent of old tobacco on his breath. What he hadn’t noticed about her was that she had worked her hand loose from the ties again.
As he struggled with her button, she reached up between his arms and grabbed him under the jaw. Using the element of surprise, and with as tight of a grip as she could muster, she pushed him backwards into the bedroom. Only able to scurry her feet a few inches at a time, she shoved as hard as she could when they got to the doorway. He stumbled backward, pulling her with him.
His gun fell to the floor when he was pushed, landing far from his reach.
They both landed on the bed. By then Clinton was fighting back, but she was straddling him. Trying to keep as much of her body weight on top of him, she landed hammer strikes to his collarbones, mixed with punches to his face and neck. Just as she felt his hands get a grip on her chest and push her away, she landed one last fierce blow to the center of his masked face.
He fell back, motionless.
She waited for Reagan to burst through the door, but he never did. Instead, he called out from the other room with a laughing tone to his voice.
“Not so rough in there, Clinton! We still need her later!”
“Shove it, jerk...” June muttered, panting quickly.
June dug into her pocket for the plastic ties she got from Georgie and zip tied Clinton’s wrists and ankles, using two at each place. She ripped the rubber mask from his head and didn’t recognize him either.
From being punched in the face so hard, blood welled up from both his nostrils and overflowed his cheeks. She knew if she left him on his back, he could easily choke to death on his own blood. Gagging him would risk suffocation. She would have to turn him on his side to allow the welling blood to flow away from his airway. It was emergency medicine at its most basic, to keep his airway open. But that would require compassion.
Instead, June dug through his pockets. All she found was a cell phone and a pocketknife. She gave the knife a stare, and looked at Clinton.
“Not worth it...” she mumbled.
She cut her own thick plastic ties with the knife, releasing her left arm and both legs from their prisons, working her joints loose again and some blood into her limbs.
Clinton’s breathing sputtered through his blood.
“Looks like I’m still the one making the decisions around here, huh?” she muttered.
She turned him onto his side, allowing the blood to flow away from his nose and mouth. His breathing improved to a soft snore as blood soaked into the bedspread. It was her bed he was on, and one of her favorite spreads.
June was down to only one intruder, an ex-con with a loaded gun and a bad case of frayed nerves. Ronald Reagan wasn’t going to be so easy to deal with.
She listened at the door and heard only the TV playing.
Reagan would still be on the couch watching TV, facing away from the bedroom door. It would be easy enough to walk out the door, aim Clinton’s gun at the man’s back, and pull the trigger. She wouldn’t have to be an expert shot to accomplish that, and the girls wouldn’t be in the way. As soon as that was done, she could call the police and be done with the ordeal. Surely, no one could blame her for defending herself and the girls with a gun one of the intruders had brought.
The pistol was still on the floor where it landed during the fight. Giving its use one last consideration, June picked up the pistol, feeling the weight of it in her hand. She turned it from side to side, inspecting it closely. She had a decision to make.
As serious as the situation was, she couldn’t bring herself to shooting a man in the back. She removed the clip. It too was empty just like George’s, and she could only assume they were unloaded to prevent a major crime from being committed in the heat of the moment. She dropped the gun to the floor and gave it a kick it under the bed.
She took several calming breaths while rubbing the raw spots on her wrists. Not that those breaths were particularly calming. Two men were down and out, hopefully remaining out and thoroughly tied. But there was still one more to go.
And two hungry, scared nieces only steps away.
There was no phone in the bedroom, and her smart phone was in Reagan’s hand the last she saw. With Clinton’s phone, she could call 9-1-1 for the police, but risked being overheard by Ronald in the other room. She had no door to the outside, only a window to shinny out. But she wouldn’t desert the kids in the other bedroom.
If she went out and crept to their window, they would make too much fuss when they saw her peek in the window. There was no way she could get them out of the house without being heard.
She had to hurry with some sort of plan. With no better idea of what to do, June took Clinton’s phone to the bathroom. She opened it, and dialed those three numbers that have been so troublesome for her in the past. Ignoring the emergency operator when she came on, she wrapped the phone in a towel and set it in the tub, closing the door behind her as she left.