Ratio(95)

“Go ahead and do something stupid, Auntie, and find out what a gunshot wound feels like…” Reagan said, pronouncing her title in a mockingly child-like voice.

June glared back at him.

“Auntie, just relax your hands and put them out in front of you.”

June raised her open hands they way she was told. “I like your masks. They suit you in some twisted ironic way,” she said to no one in particular.

“Auntie…” one of the girls whined.

“Quiet,” June commanded, but softly.

“But Auntie…” the other girl began to say.

“I said be quiet!”

With a snicker, the man with the plastic loops went around behind June. He passed a long tie around her waist and zip-tightened it snug to her body. He then put a short loop around one arm. Pulling that arm down to her body, he connected the ties together with another, securing her arm to her side. He did the same, just as slowly and carefully, with the other arm.

“Good girl,” the man told her. “You’re very obedient when you want to be.”

“You have no fu…”

The man with the ties backhanded her in the face, knocking her off to the side.

“Did you have a comment?” Reagan asked with a grin.

Her cheek pulsed with heat and an eye watered, but she focused on the boss, keeping her eyes in an unwavering fighter’s glare.

At first, Reagan looked surprised at the glare, and then tried to laugh it off. June’s angry gaze didn’t change, and the smile dropped from his face, which was replaced with a nervous look.

“Georgie, quit fuckin’ around and get those last ties on her legs, will ya?” Reagan said.

George Bush went back to securing her legs with zip ties. While he did that, Reagan started in on his next message.

“You’ve already met Georgie. He was the one that gave you the love tickle across the cheek.” Georgie was thin, almost underfed, but worked efficiently. “Now, let me introduce my other partner, Bill Clinton.”

Clinton was the one holding the pistol to the back of her head, the largest of the group. “Hey ya,” was all he said.

Without watching, she felt her legs get tied by Georgie, only keeping her glaring attention on the man in charge. The plastic ties were loose enough to walk, but only at a shuffle.

“My name is Reagan,” the man in charge told her, picking at his Ronald Reagan Halloween mask. Broad shouldered and thick through the middle, he was also the shortest of the three. June responded only by looking at the man with as much derision as she could muster.

She tried to figure out the relationships between the three of them. It was obvious they were hiding their identities, each wearing not only the masks but odd-fitting and colorful clothes. Whatever they were up to, they would surely change their clothes at the end and get rid of the masks. Clinton and George needed instructions from Reagan, as though they had only discussed the job but had not rehearsed it. Maybe that meant they knew each other previously, and Reagan had always been in charge. Right at that particular moment, she couldn’t clear her mind well enough to think how she could use it to her advantage. All she could figure was that their plan included leaving her and the kids alive at the end. Otherwise, why bother with masks?

“No questions?” Reagan asked her.

June wasn’t going to play the man’s game by asking the obvious. It was best to keep all of them off kilter. She glanced over at the girls on the couch, intently watching her. Their whimpers had turned to wet faces, but at least they were quiet. “Would it be okay if the kids watch TV?”

“If it keeps them quiet.”

She told the girls what channel to watch and to remain quiet. One of them grabbed the remote and flicked on the flat screen, changing to the prescribed channel. They glanced a few times at June before settling their attention on the TV.

Ankles secured and arms tied to her waist, she was no longer a threat to the men, and she knew it. As they each pocketed their guns, Reagan stepped closer to face her.

“I’ll save you the trouble of asking what’s going on here. We know who you are, and who your sister is. And those brats belong to your sister.”

Her plan had worked, of forcing information out of him, only by out-waiting him.

“They’re not brats.”

Unblinkingly ready to take another hit, June didn’t flinch when Georgie raised his hand to her again. She kept her eyes locked into Reagan’s.

“Georgie…” Ronald shook his head to wave him off. “Take a seat, buddy. You too, Clinton.”

They both took a seat at the dining table as commanded. Reagan smiled back at June. She had won a small battle of wits, and in the process learned they were chummy enough to use ‘buddy’.