Ratio(99)
Maybe because of the stress, Reagan’s voice was falling into a southern drawl. And the way he called the man in the George Bush mask Georgie, June figured that might be his real first name. Just as she figured, the men were beginning to crack. She was getting some power back from them.
She had to continue to push.
After a couple more minutes of the tense standoff, Reagan lifted his pistol away from Koemi’s head, put the safety on, and stowed it in his jacket. He nodded to the other two men and they slowly put their guns away.
“Okay.” He pronounced his words carefully, but his voice warbled with cracked nerves. “Now that everyone has their heads out of their butts, we’re all gonna start playin’ nice again. Everything is going to be just fine.”
June knew she had to distract the intruders from trying to call Amy again, and to keep Georgie from snooping through her phone numbers too closely. It would only be a matter of time before he found the heading called ‘new’ and figured it belonged to Amy. Or for one of the girls to let it slip that they knew the number by heart. If she let on with the right number then, they’d never believe she only just remembered it. She also needed to find a way to distract the girls from the drama that was unfolding in front of them.
“I have to make lunch for the girls.”
“Forget it,” Reagan told her, taking a seat again.
“Then I gotta sit down before I fall over. My feet are numb from standing here.”
“Help yourself. The floor looks very comfortable.”
She bent her knees and sank down. Without the use of her hands, she fell to the hardwood floor with a clunk. She pushed up to an elbow, and then struggled to a sitting position.
“Okay now?” Clinton asked, glaring down at her.
“Never better.”
As soon as she settled, June inspected the skin on her wrists being abraded from the plastic ties. The one on her right hand was much looser then the other, loose enough that she might even be able to jerk that hand loose if she had the chance. She decided to leave it alone for the time being.
“Georgie,” Reagan said. “Try sending a text to that number you called before.”
Georgie found the number. “What should I write?”
“Send, call ASAP,” Reagan said.
Georgie wrote the message. But before he could send it, June got his attention.
“That’s not what I would write to her. ASAP means something else to us,” she lied.
June had no choice but to pretend to go along with their captors. Part of the plan she had been working out was to lie, deceive, and manipulate dialogue, if only to create as much confusion as possible. If she could do that, she might just be able to turn them against each other. Then all she could do was try and separate them. And she had to do it soon.
Georgie looked down at where June sat awkwardly on the floor. So far, he had been the only one that had acted reasonably toward her and the girls, if aiming a gun at her chest could be called reasonable. “What would you write to get her to call right away?”
“Something like, prob with kids.”
He started tapping that into a text message.
“No! She’s lying,” Reagan said suddenly. “That will just bring her here. Put in that ASAP thing instead.”
“I’m telling you…” June started. She knew that whatever he put in would never be read by Amy, but that didn’t matter. Annoyance and confusion mattered.
Clinton leaned down to her level. “You’re telling us nothin’,” he said into her ear. “We make the decisions around here, not you.”
“Suit yourself,” June muttered.
“What’s A-S-A-P mean then?” Clinton asked.
“Alert, send all police.”
The three men looked at each other for a moment, until Reagan broke into a grin.
“Bull shit. Just send it, Georgie.”
He sent the ASAP text. Georgie took the phone to where Reagan sat in his chair, both waiting for a reply. When none came, Georgie wandered off.
June looked at Reagan. “Look, the girls need lunch. May I make them something, please?” She was barely able to mask the hostility in her voice as she feigned courtesy.
“If you can cook with your hands tied. Otherwise, forget it.”
“Then one of you knuckleheads is going to have to make something. One way or another, those girls aren’t going hungry.”
Reagan laughed. “Clinton, you know how to make a roast beef? What about you, Georgie? Want to fire up the barbecue and grill steaks for us?”
“I ain’t no chef,” Clinton said.
“And we don’t eat meat,” June said back.
Georgie sat on the couch and worked with the phone. The girls huddled together, still sniffling, the silly antics of cartoon characters on the TV barely holding their interest. They had curled up with each other as far from Georgie at the opposite end of the couch as they could get.