Isabel's Run (26 page)

“I’m moving,” I whispered back.

Five seconds later, I reached the bottom of the stairs—just as the front door started to open. My total warning had been maybe twenty seconds.

I considered my options and decided to escape through the family room back door. I took a step toward the door when it suddenly dawned on me that this door was directly in the line of sight of anyone coming through the front door. I’d be seen immediately. Worse, the office where I’d entered was on the opposite side of the room—I’d again be in their line of sight. I was cut off from both of my escape routes. Dumb!

I was fast approaching a dangerous situation—out of answers and out of ideas. This was bad. I looked around quickly and noticed a door at the back of the kitchen—apparently a pantry. Any port in a storm. I headed for the pantry door, hoping that behind it wasn’t just a stack of shelves, but instead would be a space at least deep enough that I could step inside. Maybe I could figure out a better answer there. Failing that, things were about to get physical.

* * * *

I lucked out. The pantry was maybe five feet square—not huge, but big enough for me. I stepped inside and pulled the door most of the way shut behind me, leaving just a little crack to look through. I was just in time because I hadn’t even taken a breath when I caught a quick glimpse of two men as they walked past my narrow field of view into the family room. I heard the sound of a set of keys landing on the kitchen counter.

“Why’d he send us back, anyway?” one of the men said. “Don’t need to be here no twenty-four hours a day. This is bullshit, yo.”

“Yeah, you think so? Why didn’t you just tell him, then?”

“Fuck that,” the first man said.

“That’s right. That’s what I thought you was gonna say.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and then the first man said, “I can see his face when I tell him that.”

Both men laughed, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking. Back to the bong, it appeared.

“’Sides,” the second man said, trying to talk and hold in the smoke from a bong hit. He blew out the smoke and then continued, “he said they’d bring us something.”

“Probably some cold, soggy shit,” the first man said with disgust. “Let me have that.”

While the two of them proceeded to get stoned, I tried to take stock of my situation. The pantry had a very pungent odor that I recognized at once. I pulled out my Surefire pocket light and shielded it with my hand so that the light couldn’t be seen through the crack in the door. I pressed the button with my thumb and scanned the tight pantry. As I’d suspected. The shelves didn’t contain the items found in a normal kitchen pantry. There were probably a half-dozen cases of Heineken beer in familiar green bottles and another half-dozen cases of Pepsi. But the real intriguing item—the one I smelled—was the marijuana. There were ten kilo bricks—more than twenty pounds—probably worth close to $40,000. The bricks were wrapped in plastic, yet the pot inside was so aromatic that the smell emanated through anyway. I wanted to take a picture, but, unfortunately, there was no way my cell phone would take a decent photo in the darkness. Even though there was a light switch, I dared not turn it on.

It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t noticed any weed on the table in the family room. If these two clowns ran out, they’d probably have to come to the pantry and get some more. What a surprise they’d get when they opened the door and saw me standing there, smiling at ’em. I might not even have to pull my .45—if they were stoned, the shock alone would probably do them in.

But comical as this dilemma was, it was bound to get serious fast if other people started returning to the house. Then I’d really be up shit creek. I needed to get moving.

I reached for my cell phone. Time to call in the cavalry.

I WAITED. I could almost hear an imaginary clock ticking while the two men in the family room continued to banter as they passed the bong back and forth between them.

“I need a Heinie. You want one?”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t see the man approach, but I heard him when his footsteps left the carpeted family room and stepped onto the tiled area in the kitchen. He walked over to the refrigerator.

“Yo!” he called out. “Last two.”

“Go ’head and get another six-pack out the pantry and throw it in,” the man in the family room called back. Uh-oh. That quick, I was out of time.

I reached down and silently drew my sidearm. When kitchen-man opened the door in about two seconds, the element of surprise would be all mine—at least for a few moments. I needed to capitalize on it. I made a quick plan. I would scream and burst out into the kitchen the moment the door opened. I’d shove kitchen-man back toward the family room with my left hand while covering both him and family room–man at the same time with my gun hand. Hopefully, I’d have them both covered before either of them had a chance to draw a weapon.

I heard the
clinks
as kitchen-man set the bottles on the counter. My weapon was raised—I was ready to go. But the door didn’t open. Instead, I heard two
phfft
sounds as he removed the tops.

“You want a glass?” he said.

“No.”

Now he turned to the pantry. I heard a footstep as he approached and then another when, suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“Check it out,” family room–man said. “I got your back.”

Kitchen-man’s footsteps receded as he moved to answer the door. Through the crack, I saw family room–man move into the kitchen, where he had a clear view of the front door. His right hand held a large-caliber revolver. “Who’s there?” he whispered loudly.

“Damn,” kitchen-man said. “It’s some fine-looking bitch, that’s for damn sure.”

“Lemme see,” family room–man said. He holstered his weapon and left my field of view as he made his way to the front door.

My opening. I swung the pantry door open and silently crept to the end of the kitchen. I pulled out my mirror and looked around the corner. I could see one man looking out the window from one side of the door and the other man looking from the other side. The doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it,” family room–man said.

I watched from behind as he opened the door.

Toni stood there, smiling one of her mega-watt dazzling smile. “Hi, there!” She’d tied her blouse up, exposing her midriff. She’d also unbuttoned the top couple of buttons, partly exposing jaw-dropping cleavage framed by the edges of a black lace bra. The blouse had short sleeves, and her full-sleeve tattoo on her left arm was on full display.

The sudden appearance of Toni, combined with his impaired mental facilities, was too much for family room–man. He was completely incapable of getting a word out. In all honesty, it wasn’t really fair. I don’t think very many men would have been composed enough to respond quickly when faced with a full-on frontal assault by Toni—forget the effects of the weed. I know I’d have been tongue-tied—and I don’t get stoned.

Seeing his partner’s slack-jawed expression, kitchen-man grabbed the door and opened it wider, so he too could see.

“Whoa,” he said, when he saw Toni standing before him.

“Hi!” Toni said, again cheerfully when she saw him. “How are you guys? I’m out today with the Petition to Normalize Marijuana laws in the state of Washington. I wonder if you two might have time for a couple of questions.”

I almost burst out laughing. From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell if the men were looking at Toni’s eyes or her chest, but it didn’t matter. They were goners. If Toni had asked them for their weapons, their money—anything—they’d have probably turned it over.

I stepped out from behind the kitchen wall. Toni, looking over the shoulders of the two men, saw me. For the barest moment, her eyes showed surprise, maybe even alarm.

I blew her a silent kiss and stepped across the hallway to the other side of the room.

* * * *

Five minutes later, we drove away. “Oh my God, you’re completely insane,” Toni said, smiling and shaking her head slowly. “Blowing kisses to me while those two guys were standing right there.”

I smiled. “I waited to leave until I heard them close the door—until I knew you were out of there. And if you’re talking about them maybe seeing me? Forget it. No friggin’ way they were going to turn around. They had a much better view facing your direction, believe me. Besides, how was I supposed to know those idiots were going to pop back home so fast in the first place? And by a side street we didn’t have covered? I ended up spending fifteen minutes in a dark closet that reeked of marijuana listening to those clowns get stoned.” I paused for a second. “Good thinking on the diversion, by the way.”

She smiled. “Sorry it took so long. I had to do a little prep work with the wardrobe.”

“No shit,” I chuckled. “That dude opened the door and saw you standing there with your shirt the way it was. He didn’t know what to think. Poor bastard went rigid—I thought he was gonna have a seizure. You were fuckin’ hot!”

“
I
know what he was thinking,” she said, nodding her head and smiling.

“Well, who could blame him? Damn. Him and his buddy, too.” I paused. “Anyway, thanks. Thanks for bailing me out.”

She smiled. “What are friends for, right?” She leaned over and kissed me. “You’re pretty hot, yourself, you know.”

I smiled. “It’s the uniform, isn’t it?”

She sat back upright and looked at me. “Well, now that you mention it, I think it is.”

I smiled. I was a lucky man, no doubt about it.

* * * *

We were on our way back to the office. I’d already radioed Doc and Kenny to let them know what had happened. They were headed back to the office as well. Toni selected a pop station on her radio dial, and Katy Perry sang “Wide Awake.” Toni tapped her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song. “So what’d you find while you were inside wandering around pretending to be Sherlock Holmes, anyways?” she asked.

“No sign of Isabel, I can say that,” I said. Toni drove under the freeway on Fiftieth and then turned south onto the on-ramp. “The house is big. It looked kind of like a frat house—even more so because of the pot and the porn. Other than that, nothing very remarkable.” I paused. “Well,” I said, “there was one interesting thing. There were like six bedrooms upstairs and one down. One of the upstairs rooms was set up with lights and a camera on a tripod. Like a permanent porn studio.”

“Perverts,” she said.

“I started taking pictures of everything, but I wasn’t all the way through when they got home. I finished the main floor, and then I checked the upstairs for occupants—there weren’t any.”

Toni merged onto the freeway. “Was there a basement? Were you able to check that out?”

“I don’t think there is one because I didn’t see a basement door when I checked the main floor.” We drove south on I-5 without speaking for several minutes. The freeway arced gracefully more than one hundred feet in the air as it crossed over Lake Union.

“Hey,” Toni said suddenly. “You remembered that your dad’s taking us to Daniel’s Broiler on Friday for your birthday, right?”

I nodded. “Yep. I remember.” Friday, June 15—the big three-oh. Danny Logan turns thirty. Can’t believe I made it. When I was a boy, I always thought that if I ever turned thirty, I’d be old as dirt. Back then, thirty was a l-o-n-n-n-g way off. Then, I graduated from high school, joined the army, and almost immediately I was in the war. Thirty was a lot closer, but I tried not to think about getting old then. I suppose I didn’t want to jinx myself. Now that I was safe and sound and two days away from the milestone, I actually felt pretty good—not old at all. I was healthy—probably the best shape of my life, actually. My parents were healthy. Business was good—a little slow at the moment, but good. I had good friends. And best of all, I was with a great woman—someone so far beyond what I’d ever imagined that I could hardly believe it. I smiled as we drove, the tires thumping over the expansion joints on the freeway. All these years, I’d been dreading this birthday, and now it looked like I’d been worrying for nothing. My thirties might not be so bad after all.

* * * *

Richard joined Toni and me in my office when we got back. Doc was in Kenny’s office, the two of them huddled over the computer screen. “So,” Richard said, “Doc says you made it out by the hair of your chinny-chin-chin.” His blue eyes seemed to twinkle when he smiled.

I nodded. “I did. Thanks to Toni, here.” I leaned back in my chair. “There I was,” I said, dramatically, “trapped by fate in the drug-laden storage cave of some of the world’s most dangerous criminals—vicious, ruthless guys. Time was running short; options—well, let’s just say there weren’t any and leave it at that. The bad guys sensed my presence. They were big. They were bad. They were mean. And, above all, they were well armed. They were on the hunt, and they were out for blood.”

Toni shook her head. “Oh my God,” she said. “You are so full of shit. They were two idiots so stoned they could barely stand up.”

“Ignore that,” I said to Richard. “Just as my clever hiding place was about to be compromised, just at that darkest of moments, what do I hear?”

“Ding-dong?” Toni said.

“Exactly. Ding-friggin-dong. Salvation. Salvation in the form of a stunning, dark-haired maiden who shows up and saves the day.”