this is part two. It's longer than part one, but not too long. I've tried my best. The rest is up to you. Feedback is welcomed. Thanks!
..............
She ran a red light at the interesection and cut several quick turns around the block, driving as if she planned to burn out the tires. More than two people leaned into their horns as she darted across an intersection. The little black cab sped down one street and up another, cutting through the financial district filled with stores and offices, soon coming into the more questionable rough side. Outside of a dilapidated-looking apartment building, she stopped, and fished around in a large handbag, laughing hysterically. By now, Drake was beyond the level of being “freaked out”.
She had kidnapped him. What could she plan to do with him, or to him? His imagination quickly preyed upon the ideas and began to portray torture secnes that flashed in his eyes as he blinked rapidly. He wanted to mash his eyes into his forehead with his fist, then open them and see it was all part of some psychotic nightmare. He was also irked a tingling sensation in his arms which urged his muscles to perform a set of backhand punches. Normally, the inability to satisfy this urge would have been almost unbearable. But right now, there were clearly more pressing matters at hand than the complicated reality of his Tourette’s. For a moment, he imagined socking his captress as he so desired. Maybe he could…fight her. If he knocked her out, he could take away the gun, maybe shoot her with it for good measure, and then call the police and tell them what a big mistake this all was. Except he couldn’t do anything, not even scratch his nose where it itched… He twitched his nose furiously, and began making clicking sounds in his mouth. His nose itched so badly…
Now his captress was pounding numbers into her phone, still giggling manically.
“Hey, Bob! This is Micheala, I got it!” she screeched in a voice that made Drake’s ears sting.
This sporadically worsened his need to click his tongue.
“Yeah. And guess what—I got him!”
“No, hey, somebody better get quiet back there! “ Micheala turned from her phone, giving Drake the Finger for good measure.
“This little rat thinks he is something special,” she sneered to the person on the other end.
“What—Oh, yeah, he’s taped right and secure. No chance of him getting away. Besides, if we keep him, we might be able to use him, don’t you think? Okay. Got that. I’m at Jay’s place. Come on down then.”
She ended the call, slamming the phone onto the dashboard.
“Well, Mister Special, we might get some use for your sorry tail,” Micheala said darkly.
“You want to do what with me? Can’t you at least let me know why you got me?” Drake wanted nothing more at that moment than to close his fingers on the woman’s throat.
“Oh, I don’t know, some little surprise Jay has for you,” she sneered tauntingly.
“Tell this Jay person that I am not going to do anything for him-“ began Drake, now planning in his mind how he would overpower the lean-looking girl that had so far beaten him.
“You think we’re stupid, don’t you, little boy?” Micheala gave a nasty laugh.
“As a matter of fact, I do, actually. There is no way you won’t get caught.” He was already weaving his web of lies. Maybe if they thought they had been caught, they’d let him go. Maybe.
“You slipped a note to someone, did you?” Micheala was turned around now, staring at him fiercely, her hands wrapped around the black steel of her revolver.
Every nerve in Drake’s body sang out, adrenaline making his heart pound like lightening. His breath sounded loud in the silence that followed.
“Well? If you did…oh, if you did…” Micheala now had the gun pointe directly at his head, in fact, she was leaning closer, as if at point blank range the bullet wouldn’t be fatal.
“I…I wish I had.” He stuttered on the first word, but found the spiteful rage inside necessarry to sound defiant. If she was going to kill him, he’d still go down with dignity.
“Not as stupid as I thought you were,” Micheala proceeded to lower her weapon.
“You actually believe me…?” he said on an impulse, his curiosity and rage combatting each other. He couldn’t begin to fathom how this girl had even found the audacity to try to rob a bank in the first place.
Much less kidnap the teller, and then she actually believed him….what was the world coming to?
“Oh, stupid again, you royal idiot! If you are lying, and if it mattered to me personally, if I was Jay, I’d have already shot you. But I’m not one of that Slaughter’s gang. Jay Slaugher, now he’s a character. But me, I’m the hot girl, not a hit-girl. I’m just doing this for Bob. He needs the money and he’s already on the lam, so I had to pull this one for him. I would kill you if I wanted to. But honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
“So you aren’t a killer, eh? Should I trust you?” Drake was still in a state of shock.
“Well, I can become one,” Micheala murmured, flipping a piece of hair around her fore-finger.
“So you won’t…I’m not…going to be shot right now?” He still wanted affirmation. If she was really not going to kill him, it wasn’t so unlikely he couldn’t talk her into letting him go. She was serious about her actions but not completely cold-hearted…
“I am only saying: I’m not in it to kill. But if you turn out to be a problem, and we need to get rid of you, you know how we do it. Nothing personal, actually, but that’s how it works.” She gave him a little wink as if it were some sort of consolation.
“You…winked…at me? I don’t understand. If you are flirting with me-“ The poor man was in such a state of shock, he began to cling to the nearest human being to him for support. So confused at the moment, he began to trust her.
“Well. Who says a girl can’t at least flirt? As long as you don’t run off giving cops the spill, we’re good.” Micheala suddenly brightened. “In fact, a lot of men seem to think us ladies are incapable of having fun. But we aren’t. If Jay had kidnapped a girl, I know what he’d be doing right now. And not to say I like what he does to the girls he gets, I mean, the men really seem…so...bigheaded, like they are the gift to the world.”
“Gift to the world?” Drake echoed emptily.
“Hey, I’m the one who’s talking, not you. I talk, you listen, got that?” Micheala was now examining her fingernails in the sunlight.
It was all poor Drake Rellshig could do to stare at the floor and think of how he wished to be at home.
They sat there for a period of time, Micheala babbling endlessly to herself about how she was going to make herself a life someday.
“…and she actually thinks I like him. But I don’t. I’ve got Bob, and besides, he can be kinda posessive of me, his girl and all….But then I know he cheats. And he can cheat. Because Bob, I mean, he’s Bob for heaven’s sakes, and he needs me, really. He’s a big guy and a beast of a man, but he hasn’t got the most in his head…and I do have something left in mine, I tell you, I got it all in there, I can think my way out of things before they happen…but Bob, oh, no, he just acts too quick, and that’s why he’s on the lam right now, the reason I am the one who had to pull this job today.”
Drake had tuned as much of it out as he could, and was becoming increasingly more irritable. If she says one more word about how Bob is her man… he thought irately, and again pictured his hands closing on the thin, overly-tan neck… But he knew it would take a lot of cunning to get in the position where that was actually possible. For now it was hard enough not to yell at her…
His nose still itched, and now even though he was clicking at MOC five, he was beginning to feel the need to vocalize soon. Very soon. Sweat beaded on his forerhead as his mind played up images of his fists contacting human flesh. He tried to distract himself with a picture of his wife, Keslei. In the morning, the sun would shine in their bedroom windown onto her hair, turning her face into a portrait like something of a goddess… Then four words belted out of a mouth he had been so fiercely trying to control:
“SHUT THE HELL UP!”
“That’s it, boy,” Micheala crooned, now looking back at him keenly with a new fire blazing in her eyes.
All Drake did was give her an empty stare as the words were repeated as if by some unseen tape player.
“That’s it, boy.” The words came out of his mouth in a squeaky falsetto, and his face reddened as he forced himself to look down. Out they came again.
“That’s it, boy.” This time it was even worse. They had gained some sort of spiteful twang that seemed to burn in the air as they were repeated.
If Drake had looked up, he’d have seen the expression of sheer rage that had formed on Micheala’s face.
“You think you are better than me, don’t you, idiot. You know what? I’m gonna shoot you next time and then we’ll see who’s better, alright.” Her voice was cracked and low, and Drake could almost feel the angry stare.
“You think you are better than me, don’t you, idiot. You know what? I’m gonna shoot you nest time and then we’ll see who’s better, alright.” Out they came, his eyes still trained down.
The young woman now had the look of a tigeress.
“You freak, you think I won’t. I DARE you. Say what I just said. I DARE YOU!” Her fingers were closed on the gun now, her index finger playing with the dead man’s lock slowly, deliberatley as she cocked the weapon.
“You freak, you think I won’t. I DARE you. Say what I just said. I DARE YOU!” His voice was a high, forced sound like a CD that had been scratched.
“NO, Really, I DARE YOU!” Micheala bellowed with rage, now flinging the gun from her hands, out the open car window.
She got out of the car slowly, muttering something to herself that fouled the air as she spoke.
“NO, Really, I DARE YOU!” said the man, wanting to slap himself with his open palm. He had tried so hard, but to no avail! He had to, had to repeat it all. In a fleeting, panicked thought, he wondered if his own body, his own brain, due to a screwed up Basal Ganglia, had Tourette’s just cost him his life?
“You idiot. You so bigheaded…you…I’m gonna make you pay. I am going to make a grown man cry. Now this is going to be FUN!” In a sheer fit of spite and rage, the young woman began to slap the poor man's face. She said slowly, “You are going to regret the time you decided to sass Micheala Gensom.”
With that she proceeded to unroll a sizeable piece of duct tape which she used to tape Drake’s neck to the headrest. A couple more pieces secured his ankles to the seat in front of him. He couldn’t move at all now, save for arching is back. What followed was unsightly. An hour and a half later, a moaning man was given a last slap on the forehead
“Now who is more manly?” the simple sentence was enough to make Drake want to spit at Micheala. But he couldn’t—she’d taped his mouth shut as well after the first round of punching and scratching had left him moaning.
Footsteps came over the pavement.
“Micheala. What are you doing here?” A tall, burly-looking guy with a beer belly appeared in the frame of the car door.
“Bob. I told him to tell you—I got ninety grand!” she squealed, and the man rolled his eyes, scratching a chin full of stubble.
“Well, your Bobby didn’t tell me. I was watching the game, must’ve passed out, I guess. Too much beer, not enough salsa and chips if you ask me…well, what have you got other than the money?” The man the size of a steroid-using quarterback loomed over the door.
“Got this guy. Isn’t he a wimp, huh? So Jay, what are we gonna do with him tonight?” Micheala spoke softly, her voice full of respect for the giant figure as if she was afraid he’d crush her. Which looked entirely possible.
.............
Like I said, feedback is welcome. Hope you've enjoyed it so far, more is on the way!
