Chapter 21

 

Mario sauntered into the room and went over to the small metal kitchen table that was pushed against the wall. He pulled out one of the red plastic-covered chairs and sat down.

“I knew I should have just shot you gals when I had the chance, but where’s the fun in that? I like to be a little creative, you know? Mix things up a little.”

“The police are on to you, you know.” Flo threw out her chest. “They’ll be here any minute.”

“Really?” Mario smiled and Lucille didn’t like the looks of it. “Even if that’s true, you’ll be dead, and I’ll be long gone. I disappeared once, and I can easily do it again.”

“What about me?” Carol gasped from her position on the floor. “You’ve got to take me with you.”

Mario threw back his head and laughed. “Haven’t you ever heard that saying? Something about how you travel fastest alone?”

“You promised.”

Mario held his hands out, palms up. “Yeah, so?”

Carol tried to kick out at him, but stopped abruptly, groaned and clutched her injured foot.

“So which one of yous shot her?” Mario looked from Flo to Lucille and back again. “I’ll bet it was you.” He pointed a finger at Flo. “You look like a gal with some spirit.”

“No. It was me.”

Bernadette came out of the pantry holding a large plastic bucket—the kind you used to wash the floor. Before Mario could react, she pulled it down over his head, giving it an extra tug so it was stuck tight.

“Hey,” Mario screamed, frantically trying to pry the bucket off. He dropped the gun in the process, and Bernadette picked it up.

“I’ve got the gun,” she said as she watched his struggles. “And I’ve already shot Carol so I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

“We need something to tie him up with.” Flo looked around the kitchen frantically.

“I’ve got some plastic grocery bags in the pantry,” Carol said. “There’s no way I’m letting that bastard get away again.”

“Good idea.” Lucille stuck her head in the pantry.

She pulled out a stash of bags and began to tie them together. With Flo’s help, they secured Mario’s hands and feet. They grabbed a few more and wound them around Mario’s arms and legs. He reminded Lucille of the trussed-up turkey she’d cooked for their Thanksgiving dinner hardly more than a week ago.

Bernadette had found a bag of Stella Dora anisette toast in the pantry and was munching on them while she watched Lucille and Flo.

Mario had finally managed to shake himself free of the bucket and was swearing loudly. Some of the things he was saying was making Lucille blush.

“Hey,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Watch your mouth, okay? We’ve got a young lady in the room.” She jerked her head toward Bernadette.

“How are you going to make me?” Mario taunted her. His face was red and damp with perspiration.

That was it. Lucille had had it. She’d been locked in a car trunk, thrown in a dump, nearly been shot, and now this. She grabbed one of the plastic bags and tied it around Mario’s mouth like a gag.

He continued to make noise, but they could no longer make out the words.

Lucille shot him a look of triumph, and he glared back.

They were tying Carol’s hands—just to be on the safe side—when they heard police sirens coming down the street, getting louder and louder as the cars approached the house.

Flo grinned at Lucille and Lucille grinned back.

“High five, girlfriend,” Flo said, holding out her hand. “I think we did it.”