Bingo You're Dead Page 16

  Now is not the time. I stepped over to Herb B.’s door and pressed my ear against it. Nothing. That made me nervous. What the hell was going on in there? I should hear something.

  The knob on the clinic room door turned. I moved to the side and as Perry opened it, I stepped forward. I blocked him and shoved him back into the room. I locked the door before I mashed my fist into his nose, reopening the swollen flesh from his earlier confrontation with Guenther. He clutched his face with both hands, blood streaming from between his fingers.

  Tippi gasped.

  Marcy screamed out, “Hit him again.

  Kick him in the butt,” before I could quiet her.

  Losing my temper had just put us all in danger. I was sure Guenther must have heard the commotion through the adjoining wall and would be trying to force his way in here any minute. The locked door would only slow him down but I wasn’t kidding myself it would keep him out. I took a second to look at Tippi and Marcy, who were frightened but otherwise okay. Perry sat in the middle of the floor, the blood-soaked dishtowel pressed to his face.

  I checked around for ways to block the door. The room was small, with only a desk and three chairs, a bed, and the fridge. A supply cabinet stood beside the desk.

  “Give me a hand with this,” I said to Perry, putting my shoulder against the cabinet.

  He shook his head and glared at me.

  “I’d love another chance to do you some damage,” I answered. “Mash those sausages you call fingers. See how you play your squeezebox then.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Just give me a reason.”

  He got up and, holding his streaming nose with one hand, joined me on the side of the cabinet. We managed to push it across the carpet in front of the door.

  I stood back to assess how much time we had before Guenther broke through. It was all I could do to protect the four of us from a madman with a gun.

  I tried the phone again. It was still dead.

  Perry’s face was the color of parchment, except where the blood had dried brown and thick, clotting in the lines and furrows around his mouth.

  I picked Marcy up and felt the warmth of her stick-like child’s arms around me.

  “You ready for an adventure?” I asked. Her arms tightened and her face pressed harder into my neck.

  “I need you to be brave, Marcy,” I said. “You’ve been really brave and I need you to help me one more time, okay?”

  A small voice whispered, “Okay.”

  “Good.” I turned to Tippi with Marcy still clinging to me.

  “It’s only...” I looked to the door and raised my eyebrows.

  “I know,” Tippi nodded.

  “I want you and Marcy to go get help,” is what I said but all I could think was, Get them out of here away from the danger. But, I asked myself, was I putting their lives at even greater risk? My gut said no. My heart said hold them tight and don’t let go.

  “Do you have your cell phone?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “It’s in there, on the table where I was sitting.”

  I cursed myself for being such a fool. Our prospects would be a lot better if I hadn’t been so stubborn about the whole cell phone business.

  Tippi looked through the small window across the field to where emergency vehicles continued to come and go. Going for help meant carrying a small child a distance the length of a football field covered in snow that probably measured at least three feet, more in places where it had drifted. A seventy-year-old woman with a sprained ankle.

  “Take off your sweater. Hurry up,” I commanded Perry as I pulled my own over my head and onto Marcy.

  Perry helped Tippi button up his sweater over her turtleneck. He gasped. “I hear them in the hall,” he stuttered.

  “I know, don’t stop. Look around for anything to wrap them up in.”

  I found two lab coats the nurses used, put one on Marcy, and held out the other for Tippi. She layered it onto the child.

  “Open up.” Guenther’s shout was muffled through the door. The door rattled as the force of a psychopath pitted his weight and his rage against the barrier.

  “Socks,” I told Perry. “Give Tippi your socks.” I handed her mine. “You’ll need both pairs. Hurry up,” I said, seeing a sliver of light from the hallway leak between the door and its frame, which was beginning to splinter from Guenther’s repeated battering.

  She quickly pulled them on over her own, grimacing when she touched the tender ankle. Her own shoes wouldn’t fit so I gave her mine.

  “Nice touch.”

  We could hear grunts from the other side of the door as both Guenther and Herb B. tried to push it open.

  I rummaged through the cabinet and found rolls of gauze. I pitched one to Perry. “Wrap up Tippi’s hands. Especially the fingers.” I worked hurriedly, swathing Marcy’s tiny fingers in gauze until even her red nails were invisible.

  “Now their faces.” We wrapped and taped the gauze until only their eyes showed. I planted a light kiss on the tip of Marcy’s nose. “You should see yourselves,” I said. “You two look like you stepped out of a scary movie.”

  Perry offered a crooked smile and the tension in Marcy’s slender shoulders relaxed a bit.

  “I wish this was only a movie,” Tippi said.

  My stomach churned when I saw the door inch open and the cabinet move ever so slightly. “Open this damn door or I’ll shoot it down,” Guenther shouted.

  In the lounge, somebody had put on a CD. The voices of the Beatle’s were joined by the partygoers, oblivious to the calamity unfolding down the hall from them.

  “Ready for your adventure?” I asked Marcy, whose trembling matched my own.

  “Okay, Uncle Hank. I’m ready. I’ll be brave.” She released her hold on my neck and took Tippi’s hand in her own. Tippi’s eyes rested on mine then flickered back to the door where Guenther continued pounding.

  “Open the window, Perry,” I commanded. “We’ve got to get them out of here.” I hugged Tippi and whispered through the gauze, “I love you.”

  She nodded. “Me too.”

  Perry and I lifted Tippi through the window, and then handed Marcy over into her waiting arms. I handed Tippi her crutches and watched as the two ghostlike figures faded into the snowy backdrop.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Suddenly it became eerily quiet.

  “Hear anything?” I asked Perry.

  “Nothing. What do you think?”

  “I think we need to get away from the door,” I said, throwing myself at him and crashing us both to the floor just as Guenther opened fire. Slivers of metal from the bullet-riddled cabinet exploded around our heads like shrapnel, peppering the air and piercing our backs and hands.

  When the shooting stopped, Guenther’s hand punched through the splintered wood of the door and pushed the fractured cabinet aside. He placed another clip in the Walther as he aimed it at us.

  The gunfire brought Applebee and Wittekind, followed by the others, rushing in to see what was going on.

  “Well, guys, come on in.” Guenther waved the gun at the men. “The party’s in here now.”

  My buddies filed in, filling up the space. The others crowded into the doorway.

  Wittekind bent over to examine the Walther. “Hey, Hank,” he said, admiring the piece, “that’s the same gun James Bond carried.” He glanced around the room, smiling. “Is this some kind of joke, Guenther? You think you’re 007 now?” He reached out his hand to touch it.

  Guenther smacked the older man’s arm away with his free hand. “I wouldn’t make fun of a man pointin’ a gun atcha, old-timer. Now join your pals over there.” He motioned toward the center of the room where the others stood huddled and confused by the turn of events.

  “Hank, Perry,” Applebee said, “what’s going on? Where are Tippi and Marcy?” His eyes swept the room, panicky. “I swear, Guenther, if you hurt either one of them, I’ll...”

  “You’ll what, Ironsides? Run over me with
your wheelchair?” Guenther’s laugh was hard and cruel. “Hope your brakes work—this time.” He put his face so close to Applebee’s their noses touched.

  “You!” I exclaimed.

  “You tampered with his brakes?” Perry looked to Guenther with surprise. “Why? He didn’t do anything. I don’t understand.”

  “Blood’s thicker than water, bro. I did it for you. You was always telling me about when you were kids, how him and the others made fun of ya. How you never felt like part of the family. Well, we’re brothers and that’s what real brothers do—they watch out for each other. Besides,” he added, “it gave me a kick.”

  Perry slumped in a heap onto the floor and covered his face with his hands. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” His voice broke.

  “Man up,” Guenther said, kicking him in the side. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

  “But our friend Hank, here,” Guenther explained, “has been a very bad boy.” He poked the muzzle into my side. “He had a very simple assignment, and I just discovered he’s disobeyed orders. Now what kind of Marine disobeys orders, Hank?”

  “How would you know, scumbag? You ever served in...?” Cold steel cracked my cheek wide open.

  I heard a collective gasp from the spectators. Violet moved forward, her hand outstretched. “Oh, Hank.”

  “Get back, you old crone,” Guenther threatened, “unless you want to see what this baby can do to your ugly mug.” He pointed the muzzle at Violet’s temple.

  “Bro, bring the sniveling little double-crosser Herb B. in here now,” he directed Perry. “Him and me have some business to settle before I leave.”

  Perry hung his head and did as he was told. A dazed Herb B. stumbled in behind him. Blood had clotted over a lemon-sized lump on his head from where Guenther had struck him. He shouldered his way past us into the corner and collapsed.

  Guenther seemed to have forgotten all about Gus or he had already incapacitated the older man—or worse. I could only hope Gus was still alive, but for the time being, I had to stay focused on the scene in front of me.

  “Now that we’re one big, happy family,” Guenther said, “everybody get back to the lounge.” He waved the gun again. “My little friend and me are going to be right behind you with the Marines.” With the muzzle, he pushed me in line behind Applebee. My cheek continued to bleed and my left eye had swollen shut.

  Guenther instructed everyone to place their chairs in a circle around the center of the room. He stood behind me, the gun still in my back. The Beatles crooned the lyrics to Yellow Submarine in the background.

  “I don’t have much time,” Guenther said, “on the outside chance this one’s girlfriend and the kid make it to the sheriff.

  “What do you mean?” Mary sobbed. “What’s happened to Marcy?”

  “You’d hurt a child?” Violet screamed. “What kind of monster are you?”

  “One with a gun that’s going to put an end to your yammerin’ if you don’t shut up,” Guenther snapped. “You,” he hollered at Perry, “empty the garbage can and collect everybody’s cell phones, wallets, and purses.”

  Perry did as directed. Elrod raised his eyebrows, pointing to the lump in his crotch. Marty forced a weak smile. Gert and Ernie clung to each other, their faces reflecting the fear the rest of us were feeling.

  “Didn’t miss any did you, bro?” Guenther said to Perry. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to ole Hank here just ’cause you was careless.”

  Perry shook his head, his eyes never leaving Guenther’s gun hand.

  “Now you, Robin,” he barked, pointing the pistol at Herb B. “Go through those wallets and take out the cash and credit cards. Find a sack or something to put ’em in and bring it to me.”

  Herb B. did as he was told, sniffling and hiccupping sobs all the while. Guenther seized the sack of cash and cards with his free hand.

  “Everybody take off your shoes and socks,” he commanded. “Like these two fashion plates,” he nodded at Perry and me. “Throw ’um in the middle of the circle. You too, Robin,” he sneered at Herb B.

  Herb B. hopped on one foot as he worked on pulling off his shoes. It suddenly dawned on me his feet looked webbed—just like the strange onlooker Gert had described to Tippi on the night of Applebee’s accident.

  Of course, I cursed myself for not thinking of it before. Herb wore the Vibram Five Fingers shoes for running. They were rubberized things that fit like gloves with separate slots or fingers for each toe.

  “You!” I yelled at Herb B. “You were in on Applebee’s...? You just stood there and watched?” I stomped down hard on his bare foot with my own and felt a shiver of satisfaction when I felt cartilage and bone give under the pressure.

  “Shit,” Herb B. hollered in pain. “Goddamn it, Hank, you broke my foot.” He hopped around on his other foot, threatening, “I’ll get you for this. I’m gonna sue your sorry ass.”

  “Everybody shut the hell up or I’m gonna start shooting.” Guenther’s voice rose to a roar. He looked like he was on the verge of losing it, and I was convinced he might carry out his threat. I thought anything might set him off.

  He shoved the gun into my back, harder this time.

  “Okay, Guenther.” I spoke as calmly as I could under the circumstances. “Just tell us what you want us to do. We’re all listening, right, guys?”

  The frightened faces around me nodded.

  “You carry the moolah, Marine.” Guenther pressed the gun into my back and pushed me toward the back door. “Now, you two,” he motioned to Perry and Herb B., “are going to go with me and the Marine for a little ride. Guess it’s not true what they say,” he snarled before we disappeared into the darkness. “Some Marines do leave their men behind.” He turned back for one last glance around the room. “Lucky for me, I’ll never have to see this place or any of you again.”

  “Good riddance to bad...” Mary swallowed the rest of her words when Guenther turned the pistol on her.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Bingo,” he snarled, as a handful of the numbered balls rolled across the floor. “Hasta la vista, you old bats.”

  …

  We slowly made our way around the rear of the building and headed to the front where the center van was parked. Following Guenther’s order, I carried the shoes and phones to the pond and threw them in. My feet were frozen by the time I made it back to where Guenther and the two men waited. Herb B. shot me the finger while he tried unsuccessfully to balance on his good foot. I smiled back. At least there’s that, I thought. It was a small consolation but something, anyway.

  I looked around, maybe for the last time, at the place where I’d been given a second chance for happiness. I prayed Tippi and Marcy were safe.

  Wait a minute, I thought. Was I seeing things or did I detect movement in the work site? Did somebody sneak outside after we left? What seemed to be a dim light was flickering at the rear of the building. A shadowy figure passed in front of a light that seemed to be growing brighter. The silhouette of a bulky form appeared in the circle of light for a second then disappeared back into the darkness. Who or what the hell was it?

  “We’re moving’ out, boys,” Guenther said, moving in the way of my line of vision. He had obviously planned his escape in advance because the snow and ice had been cleaned off the van. He ordered Perry and Herb B. to get in the back seat and opened the passenger side of the vehicle, motioning for me to get in. I hesitated. Did I even have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting away? Even in bare feet, I was willing to try.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Guenther said, sensing my intent. “Unless you want me to go back and put a bullet in a couple of your friends.”

  I got in the front seat. Guenther climbed over me, blocking my chances of making a break for it. He put the key in the ignition with his right hand, while holding the gun on me with his left. The engine was cold, and it took several tries before it finally turned over. My heart plummeted from my throat to
my gut.

  Guenther kept the gun pointed at me and steered with his free hand. We moved slowly down the drive. Our wheels spun on the ice. A couple of times we ran into drifts where the wind had covered up the plowed drive. Each time, I prayed we’d get stuck, but somehow we managed to keep inching forward. The lights from the center became dimmer.

  All but one.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Light snow was falling as Guenther eased the van down the driveway. I lost sight of the center when we reached the bend leading to the road. I tried to think of where the light could be coming from. It was flickering just beyond the construction site. Could somebody be sending a signal? Maybe to the emergency people working across the field? For the first time since this ordeal began, I hoped—no, I was certain we’d all get out of this alive. Guenther and Herb B. would pay. I faced Guenther and grinned.

  “What are you so happy about?” he said, inching the van onto the road.

  “I’m sure you’d like to know.”

  “I don’t care, Marine. Fact is, I’m glad to see you’re enjoying your last hour on earth. Before we say goodbye, though, you’re gonna help me with a little job.”

  “Oh, you think so?”

  “Know so.” He drove slowly and carefully. We skidded a little and came to a stop inches from the culvert that ran alongside the road.

  “Shit,” Guenther said, both hands striking the steering wheel hard. He nearly lost his grip on the gun but regained control quickly. He tried rocking the vehicle but the tires spun us deeper and deeper into the snow. The acrid odor of burning rubber filtered inside the van.

  He reached across me and opened the door. “Get out.”

  “Are you nuts? I’m finally getting some blood circulating in my feet again. I’m not getting out there in bare feet.”

  “Bro,” he said, turning to Perry hunched in the back seat, “you and the sniveler help Hank outta the van. You three’s gonna push while I use this.” He sneered as he pulled Applebee’s handheld radio out of his jacket pocket, “I gotta find me the best way outta this crummy town after I get rid of you geezers.”