Page 45 of Sam to the Rescue

“He didn’t say. He said them. I thought you would know whothemis. You’re the mastermind of this frigging operation. He also told me to stay off the internet and use a land line. I’m calling you from an antique. What the hell is going on?”

“Calm down and let us handle it.” The line drops.

Seriously? Is today national hang-up-on-Sam day? If so, someone should’ve informed me.

Royally pissed, I kiss my ancient gram and slip out her back door. After confirming my gun is safely tucked in my holster, I make my way to the circus gun club.

The sign on the front door says closed and I grin. Me and a bunch of my cousins used to slip in the basement so we could play for free. I can do this. However, the alleyway we used is fenced off with sharp curls of barbed wire on top.

I call Joey. “Hey, do you still have specialty tools from your breaking and entering days?”

“Yeah, yeah. In the dishwasher.”

I don’t ask. “Thanks.”

I wander back home, play with Mikey, and on the way out, snatch a green gym bag from the ground floor kitchen. Using his cutters, I make a hole in the bottom of the wire-bound fence, bend it, then slide under. Once inside the perimeter, I use his bright Maglite to trace the power lines to a box. I break the tiny padlock with a hammer, click off the breakers, and race to the rear of the building. Sitting on my ass, I kick out a casement window and slide into the basement.

I’m betting on five minutes to find a clue and leave.

A locked door at the top of the stairs needs shooting off. Then, I race past the bathrooms, to the place I saw the men exit the day this nightmare began.

That door is locked too, so I risk taking another shot because time is running out. For sure, the neighbors will call nine-one-one. In the office, I search for electronics but instead find an old metal file cabinet, drawers bulging with alphabetized manilla folders.

I look under S for Suds, Sutcliffe or stupid.

Nothing. Trying to think like a thug, I look under A for ammonium nitrate, B for barrels, and C for clowns.

Nope. I check the time. Sixty seconds until the cops show up.

The containers were green. Eureka. Behind the G, I find a map, some names, a chemical equation, and plans for a spaceship.

Hitting paydirt, I stuff the folder under my hoodie and rush down the stairs. The cops, some I recognize as my dad’s buddies, pound on the front door as I climb out on my belly.

Remember how Winnie-the-Pooh got stuck?Oh bother.Determined not to end up like him, I wriggle free and crawl out onto a pavement covered in wet cigarette butts.Then, I rise and sprint to the fence.

As I slide under, flashlights flick over my back. “Stop. Police!”

Me? I’m not worried. My cousins and I never got caught. I duck into the next alley. From there, I hop on a dumpster, climb the fire escape to the roof, and with a running start, long jump to the adjacent building. Breathing heavily, I climb down.

Holy shit, I’m getting too old for this.

Chapter 29

Suds

“Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?” Someone shouts, I kick an insurgent with my heel and two others struggle to contain me.

Icy water splashes my face and when I open my eyes, the dream becomes a living nightmare. Three sets of angry eyes glare and the past danger fades, only to be replaced by the present one.

“Jesus. You never seen a guy have a nightmare before?” Judging from the orange horizon, it’s about four in the morning. I was probably in REM sleep when my shouting woke my barn mates.

They back off at my belligerent stare but there’s a palpable tension that wasn’t there yesterday. Later, drinking a cup of coffee outside the main house, I find out why.

Fangs parks his ass beside me on the steps and holds out his phone. “You know anything about this?”

The video shows Sam breaking into the gun range. In the office, she stuffs a file inside her jacket, then runs out.

“Huh. What did she take?” I pick at a nail, feigning indifference.