Nick Stephenson - Eight the Hard Way

Once they settled, June was led into the house, a gun pressed up against the back of her head by Clinton.

Through years of self-defense training, something she still trained at every Sunday afternoon, she knew a way to disarm and disable a man holding a gun to her head or back. But the method didn’t include two other armed men. The likelihood she could disarm all three without a shot being fired was nil. And she just wasn’t going to put the kids at risk while attempting something with such low odds of succeeding. She gave up on the idea, at least for the moment.

“Stop,” the large man behind her commanded.

She had to comply, but she would also ask questions. The more information she had, the better she would be able to defuse the situation. Standing directly in front of the kids in the middle of the living room, she tried to offer a reassuring smile to them.

“What is going...”

“Shut up.” Ronald Reagan stood a few feet away and aimed his gun at her chest. He kept his gaze set on June’s face. “Georgie, do your thing.”

It was obvious to June that Reagan was the boss.

Clinton kept his gun at the back of June’s head, pressing hard to make the point it was there. Off to the side, George Bush pocketed his pistol. He moved carefully toward June, one step at a time. From his back pocket, he pulled several loops of heavy plastic zip ties.

The sight of the plastic ties forced up stomach acid, washing the back of her mouth.

Standing erect, she had more options to choose from than prone on the floor. She balled one hand into a fist, slightly hidden behind her hip, the side away from the man with the ties. She knew exactly what she could do, having trained for something like this a few times in the past. However, that was only training, not real life, and not with four year old nieces only a few feet away. Or an extra gun aimed at her. Frustrated she could do nothing, it took all her strength just to stand still.

“Go ahead and do something stupid, auntie , and find out what a gun shot wound feels like...” Reagan said, pronouncing her title in a mockingly child-like voice.

June glared back at him.

“ Auntie , just relax your hands and put them out in front of you.”

June raised her open hands they way she was told. “I like your masks. They suit you in some twisted ironic way,” she said to no one in particular.

“Auntie...” one of the girls whined.

“Quiet,” June commanded, but softly.

“But Auntie...” the other girl began to say.

“ I said be quiet! ” June scolded.

With a snicker, the man with the plastic loops went around behind June. He passed a long tie around her waist and zip-tightened it snug to her body. He then put a short loop around one arm. Pulling that arm down to her body, he connected the ties together with another, securing her arm to her side. He did the same, slowly and carefully, with the other arm.

“Good girl. You’re very obedient when you want to be.”

“You have no fu...”

The man with the ties backhanded her in the face, knocking her off to the side.

“Did you have a comment?” Reagan asked with a grin.

Her cheek pulsed with heat and an eye watered, but she focused on the boss, keeping her eyes in an unwavering fighter’s glare.

At first, Reagan looked surprised at the glare, and then tried to laugh it off. June’s angry gaze didn’t change, and the smile dropped from his face, which was replaced with a nervous look.

“Georgie, quit fucking around and get those last ties on her legs, will ya?” Reagan said.

George Bush went back to securing her legs with zip ties. While he did that, Reagan started in on his next message.

“You’ve already met Georgie. He was the one that gave you the love tickle across the cheek.” Georgie was thin, almost underfed, but worked efficiently. “Now, let me introduce my other partner, Bill Clinton.”

Clinton was the one holding the pistol to the back of her head, the largest of the group. “Hey ya,” was all he said.

Without watching, she felt her legs get tied by Georgie, only keeping her glaring attention on the man in charge. The plastic ties were loose enough to walk, but only at a shuffle.

“My name is Reagan,” the man in charge told her, picking at his Ronald Reagan Halloween mask. Broad shouldered and thick through the middle, he was also the shortest of the three. June responded only by looking at the man with as much derision as she could muster.

She tried to figure out the relationships between the three of them. It was obvious they were hiding their identities, each wearing not only the masks but odd-fitting and colorful clothes. Whatever they were up to, they would surely change their clothes at the end and get rid of the masks. Clinton and George needed instructions from Reagan, as though they had only discussed the job but had not rehearsed it. Maybe that meant they knew each other previously, and Reagan had always been in charge. Right at that particular moment, however, she couldn’t clear her mind well enough to think how she could use it to her advantage. All she could figure was that their plan included leaving her and the kids alive at the end. Otherwise, why bother with masks?

“No questions?” Reagan asked her.

June wasn’t going to play the man’s game by asking the obvious. It was best to keep all of them off kilter. She glanced over at the girls on the couch, intently watching her. Their whimpers had turned to wet faces, but at least they were quiet. “Would it be okay if the kids watch TV?”

“If it keeps them quiet.”

She told the girls what channel to watch and to remain quiet. One of them grabbed the remote and flicked on the flat screen, changing to the prescribed channel. They glanced a few times at June before settling their attention on the TV.

Ankles secured and arms tied to her waist, she was no longer a threat to the men, and she knew it. As they each pocketed their guns, Reagan stepped to face her.

“I’ll save you the trouble of asking what’s going on here. We know who you are, and who your sister is. And those brats belong to your sister.”

Her plan had worked, of forcing information out of him, only by out-waiting him.

“They’re not brats.”

Unblinkingly ready to take another hit, June didn’t flinch when Georgie raised his hand to her again. She kept her eyes locked into Reagan’s.

“Georgie...” Ronald shook his head to warn him off. “Take a seat, buddy. You too, Clinton.”

They both took a seat at the dining table as commanded. Reagan smiled back at June. She had won a small battle of wits, and in the process learned they were chummy enough to use ‘buddy’.

“Okay, they’re not brats. Those kids belong to your sister, and that’s why we’re here today.”

“So?”

“We want money, and your sister has plenty. We have her kids, and their mommy will want them back. Pretty easy to figure out.”

“So, this is a kidnapping?”

“Not at all. Those little dickens can walk out of the house any time they want. So can you for that matter.”

“And get bullets in our heads?” June shook her head. She had to approach everything she said very carefully. But patience had never been her strong suit. “What do you expect me to do all tied up like this, go to an ATM for five hundred dollars?”

Reagan took a seat in an easy chair and slouched down into the soft cushions. The other two chuckled. “We ain’t doin’ this for no five hundred bucks. We know she has a whole lot more’n that.”

“Are you guys idiots? If you want more than that, she’ll have to go to a bank, and this is a weekend. You really expect to keep us here until Monday morning?”