Chapter 30
The cul-de-sac bore witness to a party gone bad. Broken bottles and empty, crushed cans littered the pavement. Richard avoided the clutter and pulled into the driveway. He sat for ten minutes before Ricardo came out. The Kid exercised self control to keep from laying on the horn. Teenagers did that sort of thing, not made men. However, punctuality would be discussed.
Ricardo entered the vehicle in a mean rush. The car door was slammed shut. Sparne backed out to the roadway and glared at his companion. “What’s the problem? I told you to be ready.”
As they drove off Ricardo answered, “My fucking uncle. He picked this morning to play daddy. Wanted to know where I go at night and what I’m doing. I finally told him to fuck off. Told him me and my mother would be gone from his stupid house tomorrow. I may kick his ass when we leave. Teach him some respect.”
“It must be something that’s going around. My parents had a bunch of questions for me, too. I finally had to tell them to leave me the fuck alone. I may not even tell them where I’m moving to. Fuck ‘em... Let’s go get us some juicy bitch.”
Sparne leaned forward, almost touching the steering wheel, and reached for his back pocket. “What the fuck?” He repeated the action with his other arm. Nothing. “Where’s the fucking index card?”
“What? You lost it?” Morales asked.
“How the fuck do you lose something out of your back pocket?”
“I dunno. You’re the one that had it.”
The Kid directed his attention to driving. “Fuck. Do you remember where she lives?”
“I think so. I remember the area. What the house looked like.”
Once they reached the neighborhood, they drove around for fifteen minutes before picking the right street. Halfway down the block, Ricardo pointed, “I think that’s it.”
The Kid slowed. As the vehicle came even with the house, both saw the kelly green car parked in the attached garage. Sparne said, “How nice, the stupid bitch left the garage door open for us.” He drove past the house and circled the block.
As they approached the house a second time, Ricardo said, “Where are we gonna park?”
Richard glared at him. “Are you kidding? We’re parking in the garage. That door is probably open. We can walk right in. Just like we were invited.”
Ricardo started pumping himself up. Reminding himself of the disrespect the bitch had heaped on him. He said to the Kid, “Nothing’s better than payback. The bitch’ll be sorry she was ever born.”
“We have to do this one slow,” Sparne said. “Not like that hooker in the apartment. This one deserves to be punished.”
They slowed again as they approached Gina’s driveway. The sound of lawn mowers and other engines filled the air. Both boys searched for the source of the din. They expected to see men working on their yards, but no one was in view. “Where’s the noise coming from?” Ricardo asked.
“They’re probably in back of their stupid houses,” Sparne answered. “It doesn’t matter. Even if they were in front. Nobody can touch us. We can’t be arrested. If a cop tried to stop us, Mr. Moffit would have ‘em fired. We own the police.”
The vehicle turned onto the driveway and drove into the garage, next to Gina’s car. Both exited and approached the door to the house. Sparne turned the knob. It opened. He smiled at Ricardo, and nodded his head.
Before entering the home, the Kid pressed the button to close the overhead. They feared no one, couldn’t be arrested, but it made good sense not to advertise their presence. The rickety clang of the overhead closing caused both boys to look back. When the door met concrete, they walked in the house.
Ricardo whispered, “What the hell kind of room is this?”
“It’s a laundry room. Rich people don’t do their laundry in the basement. They put them in little rooms.”
“Is this bitch rich?” Morales asked.
“Who cares?” responded Sparne.
They entered the kitchen. They heard someone walking on the second floor. Sparne said, “That must be our girl. Getting ready for us.” Ricardo smiled. They stood patiently, listening to the crisscross of overhead activity.
The sound of footsteps moved in another direction. The boys followed the trail. In the front room, they heard someone coming down a stairway. Both waited for the person to turn the corner at the base of the stairs. Gina appeared. Ricardo said, “Hello Bitch.” Her screams drowned out his greeting.
Gina’s survival genes kicked in. She was too far in the front room to run back up the stairs. They would be on her by the third or fourth step. The kitchen entrance was-kitty corner from where she stood. The angles gave her an edge. She bolted. They were a step too slow and facing the wrong way to be immediately behind her. Plus, they were in no hurry.
In the kitchen, Gina ran directly to the counter, to a knife block. She pulled the biggest handle she saw. An ugly, six inch tapered blade, brown wood handle. As she turned, the boys were in the room.
Gina had no idea how to threaten people with a knife. She held the blade like it was an ice pick, her thumb at the top of the handle. She could only hack downwards with it. And had to keep raising her arm. The only person she could have stabbed was herself. The boys were laughing at her.
The Kid said, “Good. We’ll need a knife... later.”
Gina heard him. But she was already near panic. His threats didn’t increase her fear. She hacked again. They laughed again. She threatened, “If you two don’t get out of this house, I’ll cut you to shreds. I mean it. I’m serious. This isn’t funny. Get out!”
Ricardo took a step towards her. “Hey bitch. How does it feel to be on the other end? You can yell and scream all you want. Nobody’s here to protect you. And we’re not going to sit down and listen to you, like good little boys.”
Gina tried screaming again. The outside noises were too loud. No one could hear her. Sparne and Morales knew that, also. They started yelling, with her. She finally stopped. No sense wasting energy.
Morales spoke again. “Put the knife down, bitch, and we’ll give you a break. We won’t hurt you real bad, before we kill you.”
They’re afraid of the knife, Gina thought. Even though they’re laughing at me, they’re afraid. That’s why they’re keeping their distance. She turned quickly and grabbed a second knife. Her thumb was touching the blade. It was easier to maneuver.
“Bitch, you’ll pay for this,” the Kid said. “Put the knives down. If we have to take them away, I’ll personally skin you alive. Put them down!”
Gina took a step towards them. Blades at the ready. They both stepped back. She sidestepped and advanced again. They moved away again, at an angle. The entrance way was open.
She rushed them. They jumped sideways. She kept going through the front room. Fuck. The chain was on the front door. It would take too long to get it off.
The bathroom was near the front door. Gina ran in, dropped a knife, and in one motion, slammed and locked the door. One of the assailants crashed into the wooden barrier within a second of it being secure. The force nudged her back, causing the second knife to drop.
The door wouldn’t hold for long. Gina looked around for another weapon of some kind. Nothing. That didn’t faze her. Survival was the only emotion pulsing through her veins. Not pity, not sorrow, not even prayer. She knew if they caught her, she was dead. One humorous thought surfaced. In the next house, every fucking bathroom has a telephone.
She bent over and picked up both knives. Practiced swinging them to try and discover the best grip, for defending herself. A handshake grasp, with a thumb on each blade felt the most comfortable. And gave her the greatest range.
“Open the door, bitch,” thundered through the tenuous barricade. A loud thud crashed up from the bottom of the door, causing the entire panel to shudder and moan. ‘Somehow the lock held. “Don’t panic,” Gina whispered to herself. They’ll break through in a minute or two. Fight back. Don’t make it easy.
The sound of things moving, like rodents at play, crept into the sanctuary, causing Gina to snap out of her psyche session. She considered putting her ear to the door, but rejected the thought as foolish; they weren’t going to leave. Plus, if they rushed the door, the impact would incapacitate her. Forget what they’re doing, she mentally repeated, I have to be ready.
Then it became quiet. Like before a storm. Gina again fought the desire to approach and listen. “Don’t be stupid,” she said to herself. “Get ready, the door is going to be bashed in. Be ready.”
She imagined the arc that would be created when the bashing occurred. She was in its path. There was sufficient wall space next to the jamb for her to stand out of the way, and wait. When they rushed in, maybe, with the element of surprise, she could get one of them. Bury the fucking knife deep. Kill one of the bastards. Then take her chances, one on one.
Gina’s back was flat against the wall next to the small wooden ridge outlining the doorway. She practiced pivoting, thrusting both knives. This isn’t good, she decided. I have to turn to see anything. And I’m off balance. Maybe if I stand sideways, shoulder against the wall. More practice. That’s better. C’mon fuckers, I’m ready.
The silence was starting to intrude upon her resolve. It had only been a few minutes, but thoughts were bubbling up from wherever hope was created. Vague notions, as she stood slightly bent, weapons in hand, waiting to kill. Are they still there? Relax. You’re going to be OK. Maybe they’re gone. As the ideas crystallized and multiplied, Gina’s desire to take a life approached the waiver stage. The blades, a minute ago held parallel to the floor, now pointed down. It’s so quiet, they have to be gone.
The bubble burst. They used a long, low coffee table as a battering ram. It was home to a book of verse with sketches, by Kahlil Gibran. Gina and her husband periodically snuggled deep in the sofa, feet on the stand, reading the pearls. It seemed a peaceful, idyllic piece of furniture.
First a deep, throaty “Maricon” and then wood hitting wood. The crunch of the contact was like a clap of thunder. Gina screamed at impact, hope fleeing in her unheard cries. The killer instinct then surged rapidly through her veins, almost immediately. The door exploded through its wide arc, swooshing everything in its path. It returned and thudded against its casing, broken and useless. Gina, poised and ready, waited for any type of human form to appear.
No one came through the passageway. A blunt, curved, broken end of the stand lay at her feet, blocking access. The dangling piece of wood kissed it gently, then came to rest, crookedly ajar.
The table suddenly tilted, then snuck away from her vision, creating scraping sounds as it was pulled free. Then the scurrying noises again. Gina remained rigid, knives at the ready, obsessed with life and vengeance.
“Here we come, bitch,” echoed through Gina’s preserve. She heard and felt steps about to enter her line of sight. Gina thrust both knives, waist level, at the form occupying the entry space. She stabbed thick couch cushions.
The bulky texture of the seats absorbed the blows and wrenched the weapons from her grasp. They jangled noisily against the tiled floor. Ricardo Morales threw the pads towards the back wall, and slapped his hand heavily across Gina’s blank face. She collapsed into a mound at his feet, wrapping her arms over her head, trying to avoid additional punishment. She heard the Kid behind Morales say, “We got you now, bitch.”
Ricardo reached down and pushed her arms away. With a free hand, he sunk his fingers into her hair and began dragging her out of the bathroom. She desperately wanted to kick and punch, but the pain from her head caused her to use her limbs to sidle across the floor, like a crab. Morales threw her by the hair onto the front room rug. Gina immediately began kicking at the legs surrounding her.
Sparne dodged a foot and said, “Pick the bitch up.”
Morales crouched again and tried to grab her flailing arms. He finally pinned her against the ground and wrapped his arms around her chest, trapping her bent limbs against her breasts.
He raised up, with Gina in tow, in one motion, like a weightlifter snatching a barbell. When he straightened, Gina continued to kick. She couldn’t reach Sparne, but was able to dig a few heels into Ricardo’s shins. The Kid sidestepped her wildly recoiling legs. When she uncurled and her legs fell straight, he hurried a fist deep into her stomach. She immediately went limp.
The pain almost caused Gina to black out. The air was sucked from her inner being. Her arms and legs were numb. She concentrated on returning lost oxygen to her lungs.
Ricardo released his hold and she crumpled to the floor, curled up like a tiny green caterpillar. Morales kicked her hard in the back, then rubbed his shins. Sparne said, “Now we can take our time.”
The Kid strutted to the bathroom and retrieved the knives. Ricardo hovered over his prey’s injured body. He had begun taunting her. “How you like that, bitch? How you like that?”
Gina had regained enough wind to moan unintelligible curses. When Sparne returned, he lobbed the weapons onto the cushionless couch. “Turn her over and straighten her out,” he said to Morales.
Ricardo crouched again and said, “Let’s go, Miss high and mighty fucking secretary. You wanna make another appointment for me to come in, bitch?” He poked, prodded, and turned her until she was stretched out on her back. At first she resisted, but the prodding switched to kidney punching, and she gave in. Her stamina and resolve had returned, but now was not the time to fight back.
The Kid stood over her. “You’re a fine looking bitch,” he said to his captive. Gina forced herself to look at him. He reminded her of a decayed, weather-beaten gargoyle, perched on some unholy site. She knew what was coming. Knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. Knew she had to somehow stay alive.
“Pick her up again,” the Kid said to Morales.
Ricardo reached down, grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked. Gina struggled to stand.
“Hold her arms,” Sparne continued. His bitter leer was becoming a serious scowl. Morales entwined his arms through Gina’s so that her limbs were pulled back, above the elbow, and his hands were touching the middle of her back.
The Kid extended his hand, grabbed the front of her shirt close to the neck, and ripped it away. Gina yelled and tried to spin away, but Ricardo’s hold was too secure. She tried to kick her assailant, but he was expecting it and moved out of the way.
The Kid slapped her hard, drawing blood from the corner of her mouth. “If you try to kick me again, bitch, I’ll cut your leg off,” he screamed directly into Gina’s face. “Keep holding her,” he said to Ricardo. The sound of outside motors still prevented the normal world from hearing the outrages occurring inside.
Gina’s shirt was torn away down the middle. Her breasts jutted through the remaining side tatters. Sparne approached her, wary of being kicked, and stripped the shoulders and sleeves away from her body. He reached behind her and snatched the back of the shirt. Ricardo maintained the vice-like grip, laughing at Gina’s attempts to break free.
The Kid picked up one of the knives from the couch. He cut her bra straps, slid the blade between her breasts, and cut the front of the garment. The white support fell to the floor.
A foul smile crossed Sparnes’s face as he admired what he had done. He then reached forward and slapped her breasts with each hand. Ricardo peered from behind Gina and said, “Hey man, when do I get my turn with this bitch?”
The Kid switched his attention to Morales and answered, “As soon as I’m done.” Using Morales’ hold to create a pendulum, Gina reared back and kicked Sparne in the balls hard. The Kid dropped to the floor shrieking.
Ricardo didn’t know what to do, but kept his grip on Gina. She gave every effort within her being to break free, but still couldn’t.
Sparne rolled on the floor, cupping his genitals, writhing and cursing. After a minute, he struggled to his knees. He yelled in half-clipped words, “Keep holding her.” He rose, and tried to straighten. Upon overcoming the pain, Sparne slashed Gina’s breast with the knife. Her scream was blood curdling.