Kristen Ashley - Rock Chick

I opened the door and stared the shooters in the face, momentarily stunned that they were standing on the doorstep of my childhood home and ringing the bell.

I opened my mouth to scream, one of them leaned forward, arm extended and then it was lights out.

This kidnapping was entirely different from the last.

They didn’t ask me if I was okay and they weren’t cordial.

There was no cream damask sofa either.

They didn’t even talk to me at all. This was good, it meant I didn’t talk to them either and thus didn’t draw undue attention to myself, nor have the opportunity to piss them off so much they shot at me or punched me in the face.

They cuffed my hands behind my back and tied me to a chair with nylon rope. I thought doing both was a bit overkill but figured it wise not to share my opinion. Being cuffed and tied was not comfortable, to say the least. In fact, if I moved at all, it hurt. Either the rope gouged into my skin or my arms strained against all natural limits. I didn’t have my limb coordination back from the second stun-gunning of my life so I didn’t get a chance to struggle while they were tying me. It wouldn’t have mattered, they both had guns. I’d quit self-defense classes before week three and, as far as I knew, was not bullet-proof like Superman.

I was in a house, God knew where, just that obviously no one lived there and hadn’t for a long time. We were in the filthy living room and there was an old, beat up, dusty couch and the chair I was sitting in. That was it, the extent of the décor, unless one counts dust mites the size of cocker spaniels.

The two guys who grabbed me were the shooters who shot at Rosie and me and started this disaster. One of the shooters spent a lot of time in another room and I could tell by the drone of his voice that he was on the phone. The other shooter stayed with me. These guys were not as panicked as Rosie and clearly had showers in the last couple of days. However, their eyes scared me. This was serious shit. These guys were professionals and they were not fucking around.

I probably would have been more scared if I didn’t have to go to the bathroom.

I normally had a cast iron bladder. Everyone always commented on my bladder control. It usually took me twice as long to break the seal as it did others. I could drink freely from the keg before a gig and not miss a single note of a song during the concert. My bladder was almost as legendary as my encounter with Aerosmith’s Joe Perry. But now, the Fat Tire beer worked its way through my system in record time and I was dying for a wee.

I had no idea how much time I was there. I was concentrating on keeping my mouth shut and keeping from peeing my pants. I didn’t want to ask them to let me go to the bathroom. I didn’t have my shit together enough to think of an escape plan. I didn’t wonder how long it would take for my family to realize I was gone, especially considering the Lee Incident meant I would be in hiding for awhile before showing my face in the backyard again. I didn’t even consider thinking about the fact that this might not go well for me and the last thing I did was fight with Lee.

I was staring out the window, thinking maybe I could get a lock on where I was if I had a good look and if I focused on something I wouldn’t focus on the fact that I had to pee or that my life might soon be over.

That’s when I saw the top of a big, blond head and a pair of eyes, the wild mass of hair tamped down by night vision goggles.

Tex was peeking through the window.

Holy crap.

No sooner had I seen him then he was gone.

“What are you lookin’ at?” the shooter asked me, turning to look out the window.

The other shooter came in. They were both big guys, kind of in the bent of Goon Gary and Terrible Teddy, wearing slacks and dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. No ties.

One of them, the one who talked on the phone, was older, his brown hair peppered with gray. The other one who was left to watch me had sandy blond hair, may have been cute at one point but now looked like he was careening headlong toward middle age.

“He agreed. He’ll do the swap, the girl for the diamonds,” Phone Guy Pepper Shooter told Watch Guy Sandy Shooter.

“She was lookin’ at something outside, I’m checkin’,” Sandy Shooter told Pepper Shooter.

Pepper Shooter looked at me while Sandy went outside.

“Your boyfriend out there?” Pepper asked me.

I shook my head and kept my mouth shut. I hoped Tex was long gone and calling 911. I feared that Tex was close and planning Armageddon.

Pepper went from window to window, standing at the side and looking out. He was beginning to look a little less professional and serious and a little more panicked and desperate.

“Fucking Nightingale!” he spat and turned to me, pulling his gun out of the waistband of his pants and pointing it at me. “Did you see him out there?” he yelled.

“No,” I answered, not telling a lie since he was talking about Lee and I didn’t see Lee outside. Therefore, I’d die without at least that lie darkening my soul.

Pepper didn’t hold a gun like Rosie, he held it steady and with practiced ease and he was scaring the shit out of me. So much so, I totally forgot I had to pee.

“What were you lookin’ at?”

God, I was such a moron. Why couldn’t I be cool, like in the movies? Whistle and pretend I didn’t see anything, then calmly communicate an entire escape plan to my rescuer using only my widened eyes and a couple of jerks of my head while my kidnappers were turned the other way.

“I wasn’t looking at anything. There’s nothing to look at so I was looking out the window.”

He kept holding the gun pointed at me. He didn’t have to say what the gun was saying pretty clearly, talk or lights out.

“Listen, I have to use the bathroom,” I blurted. “Seriously, I had three Fat Tires before you guys stun-gunned me. I think all that electricity did something to my bladder. Usually, I can hold it but I totally have to go.”

He kept staring and pointing the gun and the other guy came in. Pepper didn’t move an inch, didn’t even look at Sandy when he came in.

“No sign of anyone,” Sandy said.

“You wouldn’t find sign of Nightingale if he was out there, asswipe. He’s smoke.”

Sandy looked from Pepper to me.

“Why do you have a gun on her?” Sandy asked.

“You said she saw something,” Pepper answered. “I think if I put a bullet in her kneecap, she might tell me what she saw.”

Holy crap!

Sandy was just as shocked as me.

“Jesus, Rick. Have you lost your mind? We’re supposed to turn her over for the diamonds and not with a bullet in her fucking kneecap. You think Nightingale’s out there as smoke? You put a bullet into his woman and he’s gonna hunt you down and skin you alive.”

“She’ll be breathin’, he’ll have to make do. All the rest of her parts will be workin’, she doesn’t need her kneecap to fuck,” Pepper Rick replied.

That’s when I quit breathing.

I guess he hadn’t forgiven me for mouthing off a few days ago.

Then, the front door flew open and both Pepper Rick and Sandy whirled toward it. Nothing was there but something rolled across the floor.

Both men and I stared at it as it bounced across the floor, hit the couch and rolled back and then came to rest a couple of feet away from the couch.

It looked kind of like a grenade.

Of course, I’d never seen a grenade so it could have been something else.

No sooner had the first thing come to a rest then something else bounced across the floor. It also looked like a grenade but its sides were smooth and it was leaking white smoke.

“Is that what I think…?” Sandy started to say.

Then the first thing exploded.

I was right, grenade.

Smoke and dust were everywhere, I was choking on it, blinded by it and I couldn’t move.

There was coughing, shouting, thuds of flesh against flesh, someone came at me and then my chair was tilted and I was dragged across the room.

I looked behind me but my eyes were tearing from the dust and smoke. It was torture, I couldn’t wipe them without the use of my hands.

Nevertheless, I swear I could see a blurry version of Tex behind me, wearing what appeared to be a World War II gas mask.

He pulled me out the backdoor and righted the chair. He did something behind my back that made the rope fall free, pulled the mask off his face and shouted, “Run!”

I wasted no time, jumped up and ran. This was not easy. I was stiff and sore from sitting tied in the chair. I had my hands cuffed behind my back, I was still coughing and choking and could barely see. And I was wearing flip flops, not exactly the chosen footwear when running for your life.

You do what you have to do, especially when doing nothing might mean you’d never have the opportunity to see Lee’s cabin in Grand Lake. I ran for all I was worth, keeping the blurry vision of Tex in my sights.

We got half a block when I heard gunfire. Tex whipped around and batted me with a beefy arm sending me sprawling headfirst into some bushes. I heard the ratchet of a shotgun and then, “Boom!”

The bushes were tearing at my skin as I rolled out. There was more gunfire then another “Boom!” I thought I saw Tex, both feet planted wide, presenting a huge target, like the madman he was, looking oblivious to the flying bullets and calmly reloading the shotgun.

I had rolled onto my back and I was like a turtle, trying to push myself this way and that, entangled half in the bushes, my arms pinned behind my back. I heard the squeal of tires, shouting, gunfire and another “Boom!” more gunfire and I saw Tex do a scary jerk backward and then go down on a knee.

“Jesus Christ!” I heard Hank shout. “Lee, she’s here!”

I think I focused on what could have been Hank looming over me, but I still couldn’t see. Then I was hauled up and Lee was there. I could tell because I could smell faint traces of leather, spice and tobacco.

“Hold your arms back as far as you can, wrists wide and keep them steady,” Lee ordered.

I did as I was told and felt a strong hand wrap around my forearm and then a gunshot that made me jump but also made my arms fly out beside me.

Free at last.

Regardless of the pins and needles running up my arms, my hands went straight to my eyes and I swiped at the tears running freely from them.

“Don’t rub, you need to rinse the gas off your face. You okay?”

I nodded but said, “Tex.”

Lee’s blurry head looked to Hank. “You got her?”

“Yeah,” Hank answered.

Then Lee took off.

I staggered to where Tex was now sitting cross-legged in the grass, holding his shoulder. I still couldn’t see very well but I dropped to my knees beside him and wrapped my hands around his good upper arm and held on. I had no idea what I was doing but it would have taken a crow bar to pry me away.

There were sirens and the squad cars would slow but Hank was signaling them to continue down the road and they sped off.

Mr. Kumar showed up out of nowhere carrying paper towel and bottled water from his store. I let go of Tex long enough to pour water over my face and on my hands. When my vision cleared sufficiently, I could see that Tex was bleeding so I ripped open the paper towel and pressed a big wad of it against his shoulder.

I saw we were in Tex and Mr. Kumar’s neighborhood. If we’d made it the last half a block, we would have been at Kumar’s corner store. The shooters took me nearly right to Tex.

Was I lucky or what?

Was Tex unlucky or what?

I saw the flashing lights of a squad car that screeched to a diagonal halt in the road.

Brian Bond and Willie Moses angled out of the car and came jogging up to Tex and me.

“Holy shit, Indy. What the fuck?” Willie asked.

Willie was a friend, graduated High School the same year as Hank. Still in uniform, he preferred it that way. He wanted action, not a desk. And anyway, the uniform looked good on him, real good. He was tall, with perfect, smooth-as-satin, black skin, a beautiful white smile and a body made of pure muscle. He was a full scholarship wide receiver for the University of Colorado, he was good but not good enough for the NFL. Just like Hank, he graduated college and went right to the Academy. He taught me how to play poker, badly on purpose, and beat me every time we played. I’d met Brian a couple of times, but he was barely out of rookie status.