Bike Week Blues (25 page)

Ruthie was still doubtful. “I wonder if the
batteries on the buggies are charged. We don’t want to get out
there, rescue Penny Sue, and end up stranded.”

“Easy enough.” Fran took my phone and dialed
Todd’s cell. “Todd, it’s Mrs. Annina.”

Not Fran, I noticed—she was pulling out all
of the stops.

“Please ask Saul if the batteries on his
beach buggies are fully charged.” She held the phone away from her
ear. We could hear Todd stuttering. “Todd, it’s a simple question.
The girls and I thought we’d take them for a spin.”

There was a pause. “Yes, ma’am, they have a
full charge.”

“Have you located Vulture and his gang?”

“Not yet. But, we will.”

She clicked off. “Fifty bucks says Carl will
call in about two minutes.” She checked her watch. The phone
chirped. “He’s late.” She flipped the phone open. “Yes, son?” She
listened, rolling her eyes. “Carl, when did you start giving me
orders?” She angled the phone so we could listen.

“Mom, don’t do it. These people are vicious.
They’d kill you in a second.”

“Carl, we’re monitoring the cell phone you
gave Penny Sue. We hear snoring.”

Ruthie put the cell phone to her ear and
nodded.

“This is going to be a piece of cake,” Fran
continued. “We’ll take the buggies to the tunnels, sneak in, stun
them with the Taser, grab Penny Sue and Rich, and get away. What
could be simpler? Besides, when you and the guys successfully foil
Vulture—which, you will—Penny Sue will be in greater danger. We
have to get to her before then.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Neither,
apparently, had Carl. There was a long pause. “I can’t talk you out
of this?” he said.

“No,” she said in a I’m not in the mood for
argument tone.

“Mom, Dad would kill me for this if he were
alive.”

“He’ll be very proud if we are successful. I
feel him smiling down on me. Your father was a great patriot and
certainly no wimp.”

I heard a heavy sigh from Carl.

“Keep the line open to Leigh’s phone. I’ll
guide you to the spot with GPS.”

“That’s my boy, I knew I could count on
you.”

* * *

Fran drove, Ruthie
sat in the middle
cradling the bolt cutters between her legs, and I rode shotgun on,
probably, the dumbest expedition that had ever been undertaken in
the history of Man. Okay, not the absolute dumbest, but close. And
worse, the scheme had been my idea! Lord, I’d spent too much time
with Penny Sue, she was rubbing off on me.

Fran said she drove a truck on her parents’
farm as a youngster. Either trucks were smaller then, technology
had changed, or Fran had lost her touch. She sideswiped one of the
Klingon’s vehicles as she backed Saul’s cargo van out of the
driveway.

“Don’t worry, I have good insurance,” she
said, completely unconcerned. We reached the street and the truck
jerked spastically as Fran struggled to synchronize the clutch and
the gear shifting. By the time we arrived at the Flagler
intersection she was doing better, though, forgot to put the clutch
in when she stopped at the light and the truck stalled. The light
turned green. Fran fought to start the vehicle.

“Put in the clutch when you turn the key,” I
suggested.

In the meantime, an impatient fool in a
small car that had turned out of her next door neighbor’s driveway,
got out of his vehicle and slapped the back of the truck.

Still battling the ignition and clutch, Fran
said through clenched teeth, “It must be that spoiled brat next
door. I don’t recognize the car, but his parents probably gave him
a new one. He doesn’t work, he flunked out of school, and still his
parents treat him like a prince.” She finally got the truck moving
and crossed Flagler, headed for A1A/South Causeway. The little car
followed.

I thanked the spirits, angels, or whomever
who watched over us that Fran mastered the clutch/shifting routine
by the time we stopped at the South Causeway light.

“Is that twerp still back there?” she
asked.

I checked the rearview mirror. “Yes.”

She set her jaw, like Penny Sue did when she
was about to morph into a Steel Magnolia. I braced myself.

“Watch this.” The light changed to green,
Fran took a left and floored it. She went through the gears like a
race car driver, slowing at 45 mph to match the speed limit. “Did I
lose him?”

I glanced back. “Afraid not.”

“Brat.” She pulled to the right lane and
slowed the truck to 35. The car followed suit.

“Johnny must be high. I don’t think he’s
dangerous, just a smart aleck. Ignore him.” Fran pressed the
accelerator to the speed limit and never looked back. I watched the
car from my outside mirror. It stayed with us until we reached the
last cross street on Bethune Beach, then hung a left. Good, we were
about to commit a few crimes and didn’t need witnesses. Fran kept
straight to the Canaveral National Seashore, where she ignored the
red light at the guardhouse and barreled along until we came to
aluminum turnstiles held together by a padlocked chain.

“Cut the chain,” Fran said without
hesitation.

I took the bolt cutters from Ruthie, which
were on the order of long handled pruning shears, except for a
small cutting edge. I peered around for witnesses and, seeing none,
snapped the cutters on the chain. Nothing happened. It was a thick
chain.

Ruthie climbed down from the truck to help.
She took one handle, I took the other and on the count of three we
pushed. Still no luck.

Frannie popped her head out of the driver’s
window. “We don’t have time for this. Get in.” She revved the
engine, popped the clutch, and rammed the gate. The force of the
impact pulled one turnstile out of the ground. She stopped, backed
up, then ran over the barricade.

“I really do have good insurance,” she
muttered.

We drove to the end of the Canaveral
Seashore and circled the last parking area at Apollo Beach.

“We just passed one of the trails to the
beach,” Fran said as she stopped the truck with a jolt. We all
jumped out. Ruthie and I went to cut the chain, while Fran unlocked
the back of the van. Thankfully this chain was not in the league of
the other one, so Ruthie and I snapped it easily.

Fran was already in the cargo hold pushing
the carts to the doorway as Ruthie and I climbed in to pull down
the ramp. We drove the dune buggies off the truck, put the ramp
back, got the Taser, and locked up.

“Okay, girls,” Frannie May said as we stood
by the carts. I’ll drive one, you and Ruthie take the other.
Ruthie’s in charge of the Taser.”

Ruthie hesitated only a moment. “Yes,
ma’am.” She stored the extra solution in a dashboard compartment
and shouldered the weapon like a pro.

Meanwhile, Fran called Carl on my cell
phone. “We’re ready to take the carts to the beach. Any change?”
She held the phone away from her ear, and we huddled close.

“Todd picked up two sets of heat signatures.
The first is small, only three to four people. It’s close to the
entrance of the tunnels on Klondike Beach. That’s probably Penny
Sue, Rich, and one or two guards. There’s about a dozen down at
Playalinda. Todd’s in place, we’ll be there in less than an hour.
Todd, Saul, and Roger are waiting for us.” He paused. “Mom, the
tide’s coming in. I’m not sure you should try this.”

“We know that.”

Ruthie had gone online and checked the tide
schedule before we left. We were midway between high and low tide
when we left—a three-hour window that was now down to two. The
beaches were steep and narrow on this part of the barrier island.
We were cutting it close and knew it. But, the beach buggies were
designed to drive up and around bunkers. Sand trap queen that I
was, I’d driven carts around steep bunkers many times. The buggies
had such a low center of gravity, it was virtually impossible to
tip them over. A sloped beach didn’t worry me a bit.

“You’re bound and determined to do
this?”

“Yes,” Fran said, “I feel your father
watching over me.”

“I hope you’re right.” There was a pause.
“Your phone’s still connected to Penny Sue?”

Fran looked to Ruthie who’d been monitoring
the phone for sounds. “Yes, it’s still connected.”

A few minutes passed. “I’ve gotcha.”

“What do you mean, you’ve got me?” Frannie
asked.

“Your phone has GPS, too. Why do you think I
gave it to you?”

“Keeping tabs on your own mother?”

“Someone has to.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Let’s argue about that later. I have you on
the map. Drive your buggies to the beach and head south.”

With Fran leading the way, we bumped through
the underbrush, which was barely wide enough for the carts.
Thankfully, we’d worn denim jeans, long-sleeved shirts, and
windbreakers; otherwise we’d have been shredded by the palmettos
that lashed the cart. Even so, we got a few slashes on our hands
and faces. I normally had a fairly low threshold of pain, yet my
adrenaline was surging, so I hardly noticed the wounds.

The beach was steeper than I remembered, a
good forty-degree angle. Ruthie had to brace her feet against the
dash to keep from sliding into me on the bench seat.

We traveled a long way in silence, each
thinking our private thoughts. I’d bet Fran was reminiscing about
Carlo, Sr. Ruthie was probably thinking of Penny Sue, her father,
and Jo Ruth. I stewed over Ann and Penny Sue. While my friend was
foremost on my mind, thoughts of Ann kept creeping in. The
astrological stuff about Patrick having the potential for violence
really troubled me.

“Let them live together,” Penny Sue had
said. Under normal circumstances, good advice, except when a person
might be violent. Darned if I wanted my darling daughter to learn a
lesson by being a punching bag! That was not going to happen. I
didn’t know how I’d prevent it, but bruises were not an option,
even if I had to go to London and drag her home. Perhaps I should
take Fran and Penny Sue with me.

A few minutes later, Fran held up her hand
and stopped. She hurried back to us. “Carl says the tunnel entrance
is right over there,” she whispered, pointing to the palmetto scrub
on our right. With only a sliver of moon to light the night, the
tunnel was invisible from were we sat. “Turn your buggy around so
we’re ready to make a getaway. Park as close to the scrub line as
possible, in case the tide rises while we’re gone. And, take the
key. We want to be sure the carts are here when we get back.”

We did as Fran instructed and made a final
check of our paraphernalia. I had a flashlight and penlight in one
pocket of my windbreaker and a large pair of scissors for cutting
ropes. Ruthie stuffed a bottle of electrolyte in one pocket and
patted her flashlight in the other. Fran was packing Uncle Enrico’s
derringer, which she promised not to use unless absolutely
necessary, some duct tape, and a halogen light. Depending on what
we found, we planned to blind the guards with the halogen, giving
Ruthie enough time to stun them with the Taser. Then, Fran and I
would tape their hands and feet, while Ruthie freed Penny Sue and
Rich.

Crouched low, we walked the dune line
looking for the entrance to the tunnel with the penlight. It took
two passes before we finally found the opening in the brush. We
entered single file, me leading the way with the tiny light. Fran
followed with the halogen, while Ruthie and the Taser brought up
the rear. For a fleeting moment, I questioned the decision for
Ruthie to follow us. Gawd, I hoped she didn’t panic and shoot us
instead of the bad guys.

We tiptoed through the narrow opening, as
quietly as a person can who’s blindly trying to navigate a maze
only five feet high. Though the evening was cool, sweat streamed
from every pore of my body and my pulse pounded in my ears. If I
lived through this, I would start going to church, I told myself,
and never, ever get sucked into another of Penny Sue’s harebrained
schemes. I didn’t care how many soul mates were at stake, my
participation was finished.

Hunched forward, I snaked around a curve and
caught the faint glow of a flashlight in the distance. Fran
unzipped her bike belt so she could get to the derringer. Ruthie
lowered the Taser, ready to shoot. We nodded and picked up the
pace, racing toward the faint light. We reached the clearing and I
stepped aside so Fran could pass. Halogen aglow, she darted into
the clearing and tripped on a root. The light went flying and
conked a prostrate Red on the head. Ruthie, following close on her
heels, fell over Fran. I leaped over the sprawling mess of arms and
legs, grabbed the Taser, and turned slowly, prepared to fire.

Brush rustled and someone—or
something—squealed. I swung around and trained the penlight in the
direction of the sound. Black boots with red flames came into
view.

By now Fran and Ruthie were on their feet.
Fran had her gun out, covering Red. Ruthie raced to Penny Sue and
pulled a strip of duct tape off her mouth.

“Ouch!” she shrieked, rubbing her lip. “I
don’t guess I’ll need a lip wax anytime soon. Thank God you found
me! I knew I’d gotten through, because I heard you say hello. Then
the phone went dead. That really scared me.”

“We put the phone on mute so we wouldn’t tip
your hand,” Ruthie said.

Penny Sue held up her wrists. I handed the
scissors to Ruthie who hacked at the tape binding our friend’s
hands and feet. “Red’s out cold, unless you woke her up with the
flashlight. She took some pills that she washed down with vodka.
Check Rich.” Penny Sue nodded at a heap to the left of the
unconscious woman. “They beat him up pretty bad. Then, Red gave him
a shot of something. He hasn’t moved in a long time. Is he
breathing?”

I kneeled down and rolled Rich to his back.
His face was swollen almost beyond recognition, but his chest rose
and fell slowly. “Gawd, what kind of animals are these people?” I
gasped.