“Which reminds me-did you like, rape me or something?”
The vehicle suddenly swerves off the road without slowing down, sending the big man’s cigarettes flying-“Jesus Christ!” he says-and Gracie to the seat. The blond man slams on the brakes, stops the car, and practically climbs over the back of his seat. His face is red. He points the three fingers of his right hand at her.
“You think I would do that to you? You think I would let anyone do that to you? You’re pure and you’re gonna stay pure! Anyone tries to dirty you, I’ll kill him!”
She sat up. “You took my uniform.”
“I didn’t look! And you’re wearing them funny underwear, can’t see nothing anyhow. I put you in that blanket real fast.”
“Then why?”
“To throw the Feds off our trail. They ain’t never gonna take you back, Patty.”
“ Patty? My name is Gracie. Don’t tell me you two morons kidnapped the wrong girl?”
“No, we got the right girl,” the blond man says, turning back in his seat. “That’s your name now.”
And Gracie wonders why…
… The old man at the gas station is looking at their SUV kind of funny. He has a nice face. He’s standing on the other side of the gas pumps, shaking his head, gesturing at their SUV, and saying something to the big man, who’s smoking even though the sign says no smoking. The SUV’s hood is up. The engine must really be on fire now because an even bigger cloud of black smoke hangs in the air under the bright tube lights above. Gracie is wearing the pink sweats now. She inches her head higher. She wants to scream, Help me!
“Stay down,” the blond man says.
Gracie lies back down. But the old man saw her. And she saw him.
They’re in Idaho…
… And her head is heavy again, murky images and noises all around her, and the thick cigarette smoke suffocates her. A bed in a room but not her bed and not her room. She remembers being carried in the blanket and the same funny wet smell and the same dizziness and unable to resist when they tied her hands and feet again. And sleeping and dreaming and drifting in and out of dark and light for what seems like days, the TV blaring nonstop and mixing with men’s voices and the smell of- tacos? — and wondering if they will ever go to sleep.
“Me, I wouldn’t never win a million bucks, them questions is real hard.”
“That’s ’cause you ain’t never watched TV, boy.”
“That big guy right there, they call him Hoss-”
“Bonanza?”
“Why they got so many Mexican channels in Idaho?”
“Go to sleep.”
Laughter.
“That Elmo, he’s a funny sumbitch!”
“Shut up.”
“Gilligan’s always messing up and-”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“That guy there, he’s a doctor and he’s married to her, but he’s screwing the blonde, and-”
“Soaps? Boy, you like a kid with a new toy.”
“Hey, Patty’s on the news!”
“This here show, they put them people on a deserted island, see, then they vote one off each week. Last one left wins a buncha money. Was me, I’d tell them motherfuckers they vote me off I kill ’em.”
“I always liked that about you.”
“Paper says they arrested Jennings last night.”
“Good. The truck’s fixed, let’s hit the road.”
Now they’re back in the POS SUV and Gracie’s lying across the back seat and her eyes droop until…
… She opens her eyes to a greasy face pressed against the window and grinning in at her with several teeth missing.
“She’s a cutie,” he says.
“Get the shit loaded, Dirt,” the blond man says.
When the man called Dirt moves away, his face leaves a big smudge mark on the window glass. The rear hatch and tailgate open and the men push in green metal boxes with long shiny metal containers inside and letters on the side-USAF-and a word she had never seen before-NAPALM-then cover them with a heavy tarp.
“And the brass wonders why their inventory never comes out right,” the man with the missing teeth says.
They all laugh like he’s Jay Leno or something…
… And now she’s lying on a small bed in a small room in a small house. The sheets stink of foul body odor. She’ll have to bathe for a week to get this smell off. They think she’s asleep. She tiptoes to the door and peeks out. The two men are in the big room with another man with red hair who’s holding a long black rifle with a telescope on it and caressing it like a girlfriend. They’re drinking beer and smoking and laughing.
The big man says, “That red hair, ain’t no one gonna believe you’re some Muslim raghead.”
“Don’t matter none,” the man with red hair says. “FBI ain’t never gonna find me. Hell, they can’t find their butts with both hands.”
The big man points a thumb at her room and says, “What does the girl say, Junior? ‘Like, duh.’ ”
They all laugh again; then they get real quiet and the big man says, “Easter Sunday, Red. Don’t fuck it up.”
Gracie goes back to the bed and lies down and thinks, Isn’t Easter Sunday this Sunday?…
… She sees a sign that says Cheyenne, Wyoming.
She’s lying on the back seat of the car again; the two men up front seem happy.
The big man says, “You believe that sumbitch give himself a necktie? Goddamn, we are home free, podna.”
“So can we go through Yellowstone?” the blond man asks. “That’d be real neat for Patty to see.”
“Why sure, Junior. And after that we’ll take her down to Disneyland.” The big man looks at the blond man he calls Junior like he’s nuts; he exhales smoke and says, “This ain’t no fucking family vacation!”
Family? Did this Junior guy take her to be his…
… Gracie is cold. Her body is shivering uncontrollably. She is all alone. And so terribly afraid. She starts crying. She can’t hold it back any longer. But just when she’s about to lose it big time, she sees him, high up in the sky, floating under a white parachute. And he sees her. Coming closer now, the green beret, the uniform, the medals glistening in the bright sunlight, just like the picture on her desk.
Save me, Ben.
He is coming.
And for the first time since she was taken, she is no longer afraid…
When Gracie woke, she was shivering. She had kicked the scratchy green blanket off. She sat up, reached down, and pulled the blanket up to her neck. They were on the highway again, but the car wasn’t making funny noises anymore. The blond man was driving; the big man was smoking and reading a newspaper. Outside, the ground was covered with snow. Distant mountains taller than those in Taos rose high into the sky. Her head finally felt clear.
“Where are we?” she asked. “What day is it?”
“Well, good morning to you, sleepyhead,” the blond man named Junior said. “We’re in Montana, Patty. It’s Thursday.”
“Okay, just so you know? That Patty thing is really starting to annoy me.”
In the rearview mirror, she saw a thin smile cross Junior’s lips. She coughed. The car was filled with cigarette smoke. (Does the big man ever stop smoking?) She tried to lower her window, but it was stuck. She waved her hand to clear the air around her so she could breathe. She said to the big man, “Those things are cancer sticks. They can kill you.”
Without looking back, the big man said, “So can a nagging woman. Shut up!”
She stared at the back of his big head. “Nice attitude.” She noticed another smile from Junior in the rearview. They rode in silence until she said, “He’s coming.”
The big man tossed his newspaper back to her. “Ain’t no one coming for you, girlie. Your case is closed.”
Gracie picked up the paper and spread it out on her lap like at home when she read the sports pages after school. Her picture was on the front page; next to her was the picture of a blond man. He looked sad.
“I know him. He works for my dad.”
“Not no more he don’t.”
She read about her abduction, the search for her, and Mom’s reward offer. “You two Einsteins are passing up twenty-five million dollars to keep me? That seems way dumb.”