So setting my mouth in a line, I grimly opened the car door, unfolding my huge frame. Shit, Mace and I stood out like two rampaging lions in the sad little neighborhood. Our thousand dollars suits stood out, two perfectly-groomed, powerful alpha males exuding confidence, like Roman emperors visiting the slums. But it didn’t matter. We were going to yank our girl back out and put her in her place with that ring on her finger whether she liked it or not.
Striding up to the front door, I pounded loudly.
“Katie,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Open up. It’s us.”
No sound came out even as Mace and I stood on either side of that faded, sagging door like two sentinels.
“Little girl,” I tried again. “What the hell? We know you’re in there. Let us in.”
This time, the shade in the window twitched a bit and an old lady peered at us from the darkened interior.
“Who are you?” came a cackly voice. “Get off my doorstep!”
Mace and I shot puzzled looks at each other. Seems our intelligence was wrong. Auntie Mae was supposed to be dead, but from the looks of it, there was a wizened female inhabiting the house.
“Auntie Mae,” I began. “I’m Derek Smith, President of Major Enterprises …”
That’s usually enough for an introduction, people fawn and swoon when they realize I’m an executive at a Fortune 500 company. But in this case, it didn’t make one whit of a difference.
“Do you think I care?” screeched the old woman through the shutters. “Do you think that makes a difference to me? I don’t care if your name is Goombah or Poombah, it doesn’t matter where you work! Now what in the world are you doing on my doorstep?”
My lover and I looked at each other with startled expressions. We’re used to the red carpet being rolled out, a bunch of sycophants bowing and smiling, jumping at our beck and call. So to be here, in a shady neighborhood, with a cackly old witch calling us out was a new experience for sure. What the hell? How to deal with it?
But Mace stepped into the rescue, ever smooth and confident.
“Auntie Mae,” he rumbled, that deep voice persuasive. “If you’ll just let us in, we ….”
But he was cut off rudely.
“No! Go away!” she screeched from inside, the shade snapping shut. “I don’t let strange men into my house, ever!”
There was a scraping sound from inside, like a chair had just been pushed up against the door, and Mace and I goggled at one another then. Seriously? Was this old bat off her rocker or what? Did she think one chair was going to keep us from getting to our girl? Did she think that she was going to be able to keep Katie from us, that her nasty words had any effect whatsoever?
Grimly, I backed up a step, pushing up my sleeves. Because thousand dollar suit or not, I wasn’t above kicking in this shitty piece of wood. Hell, it probably wasn’t even wood, the door was likely made from some cardboard composite, it was that bad
And Mace was doing the same. The look on my lover’s face was a mixture of rage and desperation at this point, even as he took of his jacket to begin the assault. But right as we both leaned back to attack, the door cracked open and I saw that we’d been wrong. The scraping sound hadn’t been a chair being pushed up as further protection. The sound had been of the woman pulling out firearms, loading a gun as she armed herself. And now here we were, staring down the barrel of a rifle.
It was like out of an old-time western. Auntie Mae couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, bent over with a big humpback, wearing a faded housedress. But the rifle in her arms was no joke. Almost as long as her, the firearm was polished and oiled, obviously lovingly maintained.
“Don’t think I don’t know how to shoot this!” she screeched, swinging the barrel at first me, and then Mason. “I’ve been going to the gun range every week since I was fifteen. Taken down more than a few with this baby here!”
Immediately, both my hands flew up.
“Lady, take it easy,” I murmured in a soothing voice. “Just take it easy.”
Mace did the same, backing away slowly, that dark form filled with repressed energy. But I could see that he wasn’t giving up. And before I could say anything, he was on the old lady in a snap, struggling with her for the gun.
“Stop! Stop! Or I’ll shoot!” she screeched. For someone so small and bent over, Auntie Mae was curiously strong because my lover actualy had to tussle with her for a few seconds before yanking the rifle out of her hands. Those gnarled fingers looked positively arthritic, how in the world was she going to aim and fire?
But Auntie Mae is a real crackerjack because even though Mason had the gun in his arms now, the old lady launched herself at him like a rocket-propelled missile, landing on that big form while screeching and hitting with clawed fingers.