The Dysfunctional Honeymoon Page 4

  Unfortunately, life had gotten in the way. Alex and I were loaded up in the small rental car and took off for Belmopan and our flight. I looked out the window once and watched the men disappear inside the hotel. I was sure they were off to make clandestine plans for surveillance and darker deeds.

  “What’s your back-up honeymoon plan?” Alex asked after we had exited Pomona and were surrounded by lush green jungle that smelled of things I would never see.

  “I don’t have one,” I told her.

  “Really? I figured you’d have another holiday planned.”

  “Nope. I think we are going to Tahiti, but it won’t be soon, probably next year.”

  “That’ll be fun.”

  “I figure with Telisa and Melina around, we won’t be pestered by bad guys.”

  “You’re taking your mom?”

  “Sure, she has always wanted to go to Tahiti and her and Telisa became good friends while they were around for the wedding. We thought you and Sebastian could come as well.”

  “We’ll see,” she gave me a skewed glance that ended the conversation. We drove in silence. There was this feeling pressing down on me. The closer we got to Belmopan, the worse the feeling became. I think Alex was feeling it too. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, turning her knuckles white. Her face became pinched.

  “ESP?” I asked as we got within spitting distance of the city.

  “I don’t know, I just know I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

  “Me too,” I told her.

  “I think it has to do with the men,” Alex frowned at me.

  “Think we should call in more troops?”

  “No, I think that would get them noticed. I just want them to do what they are going to do and get the hell out of here.”

  “Agreed,” I said as she pulled into a parking spot. She went inside and returned the rental car as I got our bags out of the trunk. We only had two small overnight bags. I put them on the ground as she returned.

  “We have a couple hours yet, do you want to do anything?”

  “No, let’s just get insi...” I stopped talking and stared at the figures approaching us. “Tell me you have a gun.”

  “No, why?”

  “Those unknown henchmen are here,” I whispered.

  “How did they find us?”

  I frowned at her.

  “Oh yeah, good point,” she blushed lightly. “Run for the airport.”

  I didn’t have to be told twice. I took off running. Alex kept pace with me, our feet sounded loud against the concrete. I could hear footsteps behind us and they were getting closer.

  Someone grabbed onto my shirt, the fabric stretched near the breaking point, choking me with the collar. I made a gurgling sound as the fabric caught my throat. Alex turned around. She dashed back to us, catching the man off guard. Both of us were in fight mode.

  Alex punched him in the nose and I kicked backwards, catching him in the knee. He swore at us in Spanish. I didn’t have to know the language to know when I was being sworn at. Alex jumped onto his back, together we wrestled him to the ground.

  Unfortunately, there were more. A different man grabbed Alex and tossed her to the side. Another took hold of my hair. I wasn’t sure why people always grabbed my hair and jerked me away.

  Alex struggled back to her feet. She grabbed hold of me. Together we were dragged to a car and shoved in. The men were talking rapidly. Someone slipped zip-cuffs onto me and pulled a bag from the front seat. It was black with string-ties at the bottom. They looked at the bag and then at Alex as they chattered. One of them took off his shirt, tied the top and slipped it over her head. Then it was my turn. The shirtless henchman put the bag over my head. The world was dark, but not pitch black. I felt someone shove me and suddenly, Alex was practically sitting on top of me. I knew it was her from the bony ass digging into my thigh.

  The men continued to chatter in Spanish as Alex tried to adjust her position and get off my lap. She managed, with some wiggling, to move so that only part of her butt was still on my leg. I was sure that neither of us was very comfortable. I was also looking forward to pointing out to Alex, when time allowed, that she had managed to be accidentally kidnapped.

  There is something about having a hood put over your head that causes disorientation. I felt vertigo sweep over me as the car jolted me to one side. In the darkened space, it was warm and it smelled oddly. It was also a good way to lose track of time. I wasn’t Liam Neeson and couldn’t hear my watch ticking off the seconds, mainly because I didn’t wear a watch.

  The car came to an abrupt halt. I was tossed forward and only Alex still partly on my lap, kept me from hitting whatever lay beyond the oblivion of the hood. We were roughly jerked from the car and forced to walk. I stumbled on a step and someone caught my arm.

  Once we were in the building, my hood was yanked off my head. I watched them do the same to Alex. She looked like she was ready to strike out again, but the look faded as she glanced around us.

  It was not what I expected. I had expected something more like what was on TV. A well dressed man sitting on opulent furniture and surrounded by more extravagance. Instead, I saw a man in need of shave and a shower and maybe some new clothes sitting on a couch that looked like it belonged in a garbage dump and the building appeared to have gone through a fire or a flood. Most of the windows were missing, replaced with iron bars. The doorways were empty, a few molding pieces and frame work left but no doors.

  The men spoke at each other in Spanish. The drug lord didn’t say anything to us. He just spoke to the men. They dragged us upstairs and shoved us into a room that did have a door. Alex went in first; I had about a second to check out the door. There was no molding or frame work; even most of the plaster was gone around the frame. I could see the studs holding the door in place. And attached to the wood was a weird metal brace like thing. They pushed me into the room and I heard the lock click behind me.

  “Do you want to start with the door or the zip-cuffs?” I asked.

  “I imagine we should get out of the zip-cuffs first.”

  “How do you suggest we do that?”

  “I don’t know yet, can you wiggle your wrists at all?”

  “Nope,” I wiggled my wrists, “wait, maybe a little. Can you dislocate your thumb?”

  “No, I can’t dislocate my thumb.”

  “I could do it for you.”

  “You are not dislocating my thumb. How would you like it if I dislocated your thumb?”

  “I’ve dealt with worse,” I shrugged as best I could. “But at some point, I’m going to need my thumb and it won’t work if it’s dislocated.”

  “Oh and I won’t need my thumb?” Alex asked.

  “I find it unlikely. We could dislocate your thumb, get out of the cuffs, and then put it back into joint.”

  “Who died and made you a doctor?”

  “No one that I know of,” I told her.

  “Then why don’t we do that to your thumb?”

  “Because I doubt your capabilities of dislocating it without breaking it.”

  “And I should trust yours?”

  “I wouldn’t but you tolerate pain better than me, so it seemed like doing your thumb would be the better solution.”

  Alex made a sound deep in her throat. It was guttural and not made of any words. I was used to the sound, it was her exasperated noise.

  “Look, there’s a bit of broken plaster over there, get that,” Alex pointed.

  “I don’t think wall plaster is going to cut through the cuffs.”

  “No, but we might be able to use the dust to smooth the process of pulling them off.”

  “Whatever you say,” I went and got the plaster. I crumbled it over Alex’s hands and wrists. It didn’t help. The cuffs stayed firmly in place.

  “How much wiggle room do you have?” She asked.

  “Not enough to get out of them.”

  “Damn, even if I help?”

  “That would be
correct.”

  “Damn,” Alex slid down the wall and took a seat.

  “Who do you think used zip-ties for restraining people first; the bad guys or the good guys?”

  “Probably the bad guys. But who cares?”

  “I suppose no one does except me.” I mimicked her movements with less grace and sort of fell, ass first, onto the floor.

  “That looked painful.”

  “Well, I admit, it could have been done with more grace and less pain.”

  “How long do you think we’ll be here?”

  “Awhile, I’m hoping they remember to feed us.”

  “We’ve been kidnapped by a drug lord who wants to kill your husband and you are worried about whether they are going to feed us or not?”

  “If they feed us, they will have to remove the zip-cuffs,” I pointed out to her.

  “Oh, so it wasn’t just your stomach talking.”

  “That would be correct. Just think, if we hadn’t been kidnapped, we’d probably be sitting in an airport waiting for our connecting flight.”

  “Thanks for cheering me up,” Alex said glumly.

  “You are most welcome,” I responded cheerily. There was a moment of struggling. The blade was actually sewn into my jeans pocket so that I wouldn’t stab myself with it. As the loosely sewn thread broke, I shoved the blade into the tip of my middle finger. I swore loudly. I would have sucked on it, but I still couldn’t get my fingers to my mouth. Worse, it wasn’t even a full razor blade; it was one of those shaped ones used to cut leather and other things with precision. It had been hidden in the back pocket of my jeans. Finally, I pulled my hands in front of me.

  “How did you get out?” Alex stared at me, astonishment showing on her face.

  “They didn’t frisk us, don’t you ever watch NCIS?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, one of Gibbs’s rules is never go anywhere without a knife.”

  “You have a knife?”

  “That word might be an exaggeration,” I pulled showed her the itty-bitty razor blade.

  “I’m glad you’re a TV junky.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I cut her wrists free of the zip-cuffs. She rubbed her wrists when they became available to be rubbed. I slipped the little razor blade back into the hidden pocket in the back pocket of my jeans.

  “We might need that again.”

  “I find it unlikely. It will get through zip-cuffs if you give it enough elbow grease and good, old fashioned hard work, but the only other thing I’ve found it good for is cutting through clothes.”

  “Have you used it much to do that?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

  “Only my own jeans, a couple of washes and the razor blade tears a hole. Then a few more washes and they rust out. Luckily, I had just replaced most of them so we got a good one.”

  “Why do you keep razor blades in your pocket?”

  “Remember when I was kidnapped a while ago on the Reed thing? Zeke decided if I had a razorblade in my possession, I would have gotten out quicker. So he took all my jeans and had them tailored to fit the razorblade. Then he bought me a huge box of them.”

  “He’s pretty handy.”

  “That he is,” I said.

  “How long have we been here?”

  “Counting the drive?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Without counting the drive?”

  “I still don’t know,” I shrugged at her. “I just thought it would sound better if I asked for you to differentiate.”

  “For a kidnap victim, you are extremely cheerful.”

  “I’m a terrible kidnap victim.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll get to that point,” I said.

  “I would prefer not to be tortured.”

  “Oddly, me too,” I grinned at her. “I wonder what Zeke will do when I don’t check in with him on Thursday?”

  “Don’t you have your cell phone on you?”

  “I did, but it fell out when we were struggling. Where’s yours?”

  “In my purse, which I lost when we were struggling with the first henchman.”

  “Pity you didn’t bring my shoes.”

  “Why?”

  “They all have tracking devices in them. These canvas ones though, do not.”

  “I didn’t think about that,” Alex sighed. “So where does that leave us?”

  “I don’t know but Zeke is planning to blow the guy up.”

  “Blow him up? In the building?”

  “He mentioned a car bomb to get back at him for blowing up the taxi. But Anthony is just as well trained, together with Sebastian’s help, I’m sure they will come up with something interesting that says ‘fuck you’ in neon flashing letters.”

  The door rattled and opened. For some odd reason, it swung outward into the hall. I had seen very few doors that opened into a hall. A pan of food was slid through the door by someone’s foot. The man looked at us, grunted and left. Since he had a knife but didn’t use it, I was betting the grunt was about the zip-cuffs not being in place. The pan held a couple slices of cheese and a couple slices of bread. There was also a bottle of orange Fanta. I had never drank Fanta before. It would be a new experience for me. I thought about telling Alex this, but figured she wouldn’t appreciate my Fanta experience.

  “What do you think? Slide bolts or door lock?” Alex asked making a cheese sandwich.

  “There is only one and I imagine it is not a going to be that easy.”

  She handed me the sandwich, I took a bite. It wasn’t bad considering it was a cheese sandwich. Alex made herself one.

  “If there is only one, it should give pretty easy,” she took a bite and made a face.

  “You forget, this is my life, not yours,” I answered.

  “Meaning?”

  “It won’t be simple,” I told her.

  After eating our cheese sandwiches and sharing our Fanta soda, we took a run at the door. The wood splintered in the main frame, but we bounced back into the room. My shoulder hurt. Since Alex was rubbing her shoulder, I was guessing she had the same feeling in hers as I did mine.

  “Told ya,” I said to her.

  “It’s a bloody wooden door, it shouldn’t make us recoil in pain like that.”

  “That’s true, but the wood splintered and I think there is a cage door behind it. That’s what those iron bar thingies were when they led us into the room. We don’t hear this door locking, we hear that door locking.”

  “You mean I can reach out and open this door?”

  “I think so,” I answered.

  “Did you think that before we did this?”

  “I had a suspicion. I thought the bars were over a window, but I’ve been known to be wrong before.”

  “And you still ran at the door with me?”

  “I didn’t want you to writhe in pain alone.”

  Alex made that guttural noise again and stood up. She walked over to the door and tried to open it. It opened outwards. She pushed and it gave a few inches. Her hand snaked out through the crack and she groaned again. I joined her. Through the small crack, we could just see that the metal brace was actually framing for the iron bar door frame. This was locked. Alex rattled it anyway.

  “If they are planning to blow the building, we have to find a way through these iron bars,” Alex said.

  “Well, if I was MacGyver, I’d use a bobby pin, a piece of chewing gum, a shoelace and gunpowder out of a bullet and make a bomb. Unfortunately for you, all I have is a string of pearls that don’t go around the neck. They might make a guy explode, but they aren’t going to do much to that door. On the other hand, if you scrounge up a sling-shot, I got ammo.”

  “You have a razor blade but no sling shot?”

  “Where would I sew a slingshot into my jeans? Aren’t you wearing a thong or something?” I countered.

  “No, I am not wearing a thong or something,” Alex huffed at me.

 
; “Going commando?”

  “Something like that. What about the iron bars?”

  “I’m not sure why you would even think to ask me what to do about them. My suggestion would be to pounce when they bring us food and then creep our way out of here.”

  “You’re right, that isn’t a very good plan.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Are you wearing a thong?” Alex asked.

  “Nope, underwear irritates the waxed area. I don’t even own a thong when I’m not having issues with waxed areas.”

  “You should buy some thongs, men like them.”

  “Yes but I don’t.”

  “It isn’t always about you when you’re married.”

  “Yeah, like you’d know,” I smirked at her.

  “Me? No. But Kenzie? Yes.” That brought a smirk to her face. Kenzie had been married and divorced five times. She fell in love like I fell in pot holes.

  “Ok, back to the problem at hand, we have an iron door that’s locked. What would Kenzie do?” I giggled.

  “Not giggle,” Alex was trying to stifle her own giggle.

  “She’d fall in love with the drug lord.”

  “I’m so telling her you said that!” Alex giggled again.

  “Go ahead, she’ll agree.”

  This caused us to have a giggle fit. It lasted only a few minutes as the situation was indeed dire. However, you know you are with your best friend when you’ve been kidnapped and can still giggle like the Hatter.

  “Seriously now, we have to get out of here,” Alex said, adjusting her posture to try to prove that she was becoming serious.

  “Ok. Locked iron bars. Iron bars over the windows. No C4 or chewing gum or thongs. I’m out of ideas.”

  “You wouldn’t know what to do with C4 if we had it.”

  “That’s true, but I’m sure we could figure it out. Bill Murray did in Caddyshack.”

  “He blew up the golf course.”

  “Proving that he could use it.”

  “It was a movie,” Alex shook her head. “Why do I keep getting sucked into these arguments with you?”