They loaded the screamer onto a wide dolly, which Walt fetched from the storage area of the superstore, or what he referred to as “out back.” A burly guy with a shaved head and a name tag of “Nelson” came with the rig. Rebecca broke open a box of disposable plastic gloves and handed them to the folks handling the screamer. There were no protective rails on the dolly, so Gus and the Frying Pan Woman walked alongside the rig as Nelson pushed it through an aisle, toward the final destination of the freezers.
The Bitch chastised the little group every ten feet or so. She gave orders, directing them to tuck the screamer’s arms up and in, or to get his legs. Twice the guy squirmed off the broad bed, until they taped him down to the dolly.
Paunch Guy followed them all, recording everything for the police to watch when they arrived.
“Just how cold is the freezer?” The Bitch asked.
Walt and Nelson exchanged looks. Nelson had unnaturally bright blue eyes, the spooky kind, which had to be contacts.
“Minus one,” Nelson reported, steering the dolly well away from the product-laded selves.
“What? He’ll freeze in there.”
“So, we’ll put a blanket on him,” Toby said from ahead of the dolly, aiding the steering by keeping the rig straight. “You got spare coats or something back there?”
“We’ll find something,” Nelson replied.
“That’s inhumane!” The Bitch lashed out. “This isn’t Siberia! The hell are you people thinking about?”
“I’m gonna shut her up,” Frying Pan Woman vowed through clenched teeth.
“Look.” Gus glared at The Bitch. “It’s like this. The guy’s violent. Potentially dangerous. That’s clear enough. We agree on that. There’s no other place to put him that’ll hold him where he won’t get out.”
“Well,” Nelson drew out, attracting the attention of all. “There is a safety release inside the door.”
“What?” Gus asked, taken aback.
“Just in case someone was inside and the door closed on them. Just a palm-sized plate that releases the lock. You can’t really lock yourself inside.”
“See!” Bitch exclaimed. “This is all totally unnecessary. Put him in an office or just keep him out back. There’s no need to stick him in the freezer.”
“And he’s not going into any of the offices here,” cashier Rebecca said. “Or the lounge.
“Can we turn the freezer off?” asked one of the shoppers following the group.
“Can’t turn it off or warm it up,” Nelson explained, the dolly’s crossbar at his chest. “There’s thousands of dollars in frozen food back there.”
“What about barricading the door?” Gord asked with a coolness that Gus didn’t share.
“Oh sure, we can do that fine. Few flats of bottled water, lock the wheels, no problem.”
“Okay, that’s settled,” Gus said.
“You people are insane,” The Bitch scolded as they exited the aisle. A short weave between a set of coolers and they bumped their way through the same double doors Gus and crew entered earlier.
“This way,” Nelson stuck out his goateed chin, pointing to a freezer at the back of the storage area.
“This is crazy,” The Bitch protested. “You have no right to do this!”
“I think it’s called a citizen’s arrest,” Gord said. “And that’s enough. You’ve said your piece, and you’re outvoted. The cops can sort everything out when they get here.”
“Still not answering,” reported the one guy with the phone.
Unreal, Gus thought and kneed the struggling screamer back from the dolly’s edge. The bound man grunted at the contact, then attempted to howl through his masked tape. A new sound, part wail, part squeal, erupted from the prisoner.
Prisoner, Gus thought. I guess he is that.
“Is he choking?” The Bitch demanded, outraged at the very thought.
That attracted concerned looks from all.
“Get that tape off his mouth!” The Bitch yelled, wide-eyed and waving that finger. “Get it off him!”
Gus was getting tired of that finger.
Gord stepped to the screamer, shoved the head back, and unravelled the tape. Bloody froth soaked the material, and as the layers got peeled away, the screamer’s chomping increased, chewing the remaining tape into wet pieces.
Gord managed to keep his fingers and retreated from the sight.
“Bet you’re glad you wore gloves,” Toby smiled.
Gord didn’t answer, but his scowl said fuck off.
When they reached the freezer, Nelson went around the group and opened the door. Chilled vapor puffed into the storage area. A snow-white cave lined with shelving units lay beyond. Cardboard boxes of every conceivable shape and size containing various foods filled the shelves.
They pushed the screamer to his temporary resting place.
Rebecca appeared seconds later, holding up full-length red aprons, a pair of what appeared to be meat cutter’s coats, and a jacket. All of which she handed over to Gus and the Frying Pan Woman. They placed everything onto the screamer, taping it down in places, all the while the man’s squirming became stronger. Gus was getting increasingly nervous with the guy. The blood had stopped flowing, but the screamer seemed even more pissed off than before.
Gus draped the jacket over the screamer’s torso and head. Once finished, they retreated from the freezer, where Nelson waited to close the door.
“Can’t believe you’re doing this,” The Bitch said once again, not ten feet back from the crowd. The Paunch continued to record all with a surreal, almost clinical indifference.
“Hey,” Toby released. “That guy came running in here, creating a public disturbance and looking for a fight. He chased your sorry ass until she clocked him with the frying pan. He’s lucky he’s still conscious, if you ask me. If he’d come running at me, I would’ve broken something.”
“Shut the fuck up, Toby,” Gord muttered.
“He’ll kick that off himself,” The Bitch complained. “Those coats. They’re too thin, anyway.”
“Then he’ll kick it off himself,” Frying Pan Woman said for them all, confronting The Bitch.
“Close it,” Gus said in a tone not to be fucked with.
Nelson pushed the door close, sealing the icy prison with a metallic sounding clack. A solemn silence fell over the gathered people, as if they were just witnessing a body delivered to a tomb.
“All right,” the stock guy said, breaking the quiet. “Those water flats over there, on those pallets. Push them on over, and I can lock the wheels.”
Lying upon a broad-wheeled pallet and pushed against a wall was a formidable pile of perhaps twenty cases of bottled water, with each case containing eight four-liter jugs. Gus and company did the deed, rolling the heavy pallet right up against the freezer door. Once in place, Nelson locked the wheels. The boxes reached the lower window of the door, allowing anyone interested to look in on the wormy figure covered in a colorful patchwork of fabric.
“You can barely hear him in there,” cashier Rebecca noted, leaning over the topmost case.
“All right,” The Bitch said, digging through her handbag. “Now that he’s locked away, I’m taking names here. In case any of you think about sneaking out before the cops come. They’ll want statements from everyone, and if you aren’t here, I’ll make goddamn sure they know who you are anyway. And he’s recorded all your faces, so give me your real names or you’ll only make it worse for you.”
“Lady,” Gord said evenly, “you’re starting to get on my nerves.”
“I don’t care,” she said with a note of indignity while producing a pen and little notebook. “You have no authority over me. You can’t tell me what to do. And everything’s been recorded.”
“Even the parts where you’re being a total bitch?” Frying Pan Woman asked.
But The Bitch ignored her.
“Names,” she said, “and don’t make me ask for IDs.”
As if being nabbed by a hallway monitor, the little group hesitated and glowered.
“Names!” The Bitch insisted, her eyes widening. “Now.”
So, they gave them up, not knowing any better, but knowing that the collective had restrained a potentially dangerous individual.
Frying Pan Woman was Anna Hajek, and spoke with the barest accent that suggested she was second generation something from somewhere Eastern European. Her defiant glaring informed Gus that Anna was going to exact revenge in some form or fashion upon The Bitch.
Carol Freeman was the twenty-something librarian with the glasses.
Rene Albertson was the third woman, who Gus couldn’t remember as saying a word since the initial whacking with the frying pan.
John Maple was the guy with the square glasses and mousey complexion.
Perry Fletcher mumbled his name, not taking his eyes off his cellphone’s recording feature.
Vlad Raymond was the guy continually trying to summon the police.
And that was all.
“And who are you?” Anna challenged The Bitch. “Better say it now. Record it.”
“Mel,” she released.
“Mel who?”
“You tone it back a bit,” Mel barked.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” Anna warned. “Not ever. You’re not the boss of me. I gave up my name just for the camera. So answer the question.”
“Grant,” Mel said with obvious dislike.
“Well, Mel,” Anna said, “you better hope the cops get here soon, because I got better things to do than hang around here all night.”
“All right,” Gord said, his low voice inducing silence. “We’re all gonna wait for the cops. Right here.”
“For how long?” Rene asked him, the first words she’d spoken.
“As long as it takes. That right, Mel?”
Mel took her time answering. “Yes. That’s right.”
“And we keep an eye on him while we wait,” Gord explained, jerking his head in the direction of the freezer. “Just in case.”
“None of you have the authority to detain a person,” Mel said. “None of you. You’re violating his rights as a human being.”
“You mean like you’re detaining us?”
“That’s different, idiot.”
Gord’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he finally said, weary of the exchange.
“Hey,” Vlad Raymond exclaimed, straightening as he pressed the phone to his ear. “Yes, I need help. Just a second.”
He motioned for silence and switched on the speaker mode.
“Yes,” Vlad said, “I need police at the Mollyma––”
“Sir,” a female voice cut in. “I’m sorry sir, but we’re currently experiencing an unusually high number of calls, and we are unable to send a unit to you at the moment. Maybe within an hour. Possibly longer. What’s the reason for your call?”
Vlad blinked, processing the question. “I’m at Mollymart. A young guy came running into the store, terrorizing the staff and the shoppers. We, ah, restrained him—”
“Forcefully,” Mel said, receiving a round of hot glares.
“––restrained him,” Vlad resumed, “and we’re holding him in one of the store’s freezers.”
“He’s in a freezer now?” the voice asked, a tad hurriedly.
“That’s correct.”
“You’re calling from Mollymart?”
“Mollymart East, yes.”
“Please hold.”
Vlad rolled his eyes and shook his head at Mel’s outburst. He was a thin man, late thirties and balding, wearing a checked collared shirt and beige pants. A mole dotted his left cheek, half a finger from his nostril.
“Your name?” the voice asked.
“Vlad Raymond.”
“Mister Raymond, there’s been a unit dispatched to the Collingwood subdivision, which is located just across from Mollymart’s parking lot and main entrance. I’ve been unable to reach the officers sent to Collingwood, and as all of our other units are responding to calls, I’d suggest crossing the street and looking for them, if you are able to do so.”
The fuck? Toby mouthed to the others.
Gus couldn’t believe his ears. The night he needed a couple of cops and the Annapolis PD was unable to comply. Annapolis wasn’t a big city, and while it had its share of crime, hearing that the cops were overloaded with calls for help on a Monday night surprised him. And made him just a little more nervous.
“Uh, all right,” Vlad said, looking helplessly at those standing closest to him. They looked back, equally dismayed by the news.
“If you are able, Mr. Raymond,” the voice went on, the words coming without pause. “Otherwise, I’d recommend staying indoors for the next while or so. Or if you are able, return home and stay indoors. Listen for updates on whatever electronic devices you might have with you or have access to.”
“But––”
“Thank you for your call.”
Click.
In the abrupt absence of the voice of the law, a scuffling and yowling could be heard from the depths of the freezer.
“Listen for updates,” Toby muttered for them all. “The fuck’s that all about?”
“And what was that about staying inside?” Gus asked. “The hell’s going on?”
“She sounded busy,” Carol Freeman commented, adjusting her librarian glasses.
“No one can get to us.” Toby said, looking to his co-workers.
“She didn’t say that. She said within the hour. Maybe,” Gus said.
“Or we can go over to the subdivision and look for them,” Gord said. “Collingwood’s just over there, across the main drag.”
“No one’s leaving here,” Mel warned them.
“You want the cops?” Gord put to her.
“Of course,” she scoffed, minus the duh.
“Well then, you heard the operator. They’re busy. Real busy. If we want, we can cross the street and look for them. That’s just over there.” Gord pointed in the direction of the main doors. “A couple of us can head over right now.”
“What was up with that?” a dismayed Toby asked. “We could go look for them? We? We’re not a search party. I mean, holy shit!”
“That was weird,” Vlad agreed.
“So, what do you want to do?” Gus asked Gord.
The painter looked at him, then a few other faces. “I don’t want to spend all night here. As it is, dingbat in there,” he jabbed a thumb at the freezer, “has pretty much fucked our chances of getting out of here by midnight. Let’s you and me head over to Collingwood and see if we can find those cops. We’ll take the truck.”
“You’re going over there?” Mel asked.
“Yeah,” Gord faced her. “We’re going over there. You guys can stay here with your smartphones in the meantime. Can’t do anything until we get this sorted out, and for that we need the law. Agreed?”
Mel hesitated. “Yeah. Agreed.”
“All right then.” Gord looked at Gus. “You up for this?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, but the expression on his face said otherwise.
“It’s only across the way there.”
“I know, I’m just …” Gus rolled his shoulders. “I’m just a little worried about what’s going on when the APD is telling us to go look for their units.”
“That’s fucked up, dude,” Toby stated, no longer feeling bound to self-censor his language.
“That is fucked up,” Gus echoed.
“All right,” Gord said, taking charge. “Someone needs to stay here and keep watch on the dingleberry in the freezer. The rest of you can do what you like.”
“But we stay here,” Mel added sternly. “All of us. Until the cops arrive.”
“No one’s going anywhere,” Gus said to her.
“You got the keys?” Gord asked him.
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s go.”