Before we left Grunt’s room, he asked me what I was wearing the day I was abducted. After I described the outfit and he was satisfied I wasn’t wearing anything from that day, not even my peace choker, he picked up a baseball cap that had been sitting on his dresser. He had me tuck my bangs up under the cap and put my hair in a ponytail that came through the back. He then picked up a pair of sunglasses and told me, “You can wear mine until we get you your own.”
As we were leaving, I noticed his jacket slung across the back of his desk chair. “Aren’t you going to wear your jacket?”
“No reason to call undue attention to the group.” He picked up a wallet and a set of keys off his dresser, and we walked out.
I followed him around the side of the motel where the office was located. I’d never really explored over here before. When we got around the side, I saw two cars. Really nice cars. One was a black Corvette, which I knew was Grizz’s; he must have taken one of his bikes for his business trip.
We headed toward the other one. It was a light blue Camaro. I wasn’t sure of the year, but I knew it was an older model. Just old enough to be stylish.
“We’re not going to take your bike?”
I think I was disappointed. For some reason, being on the back of a motorcycle behind Grunt was appealing. Where was this coming from?
“Don’t have a helmet for you yet. I don’t think you want to borrow one either,” he laughed. “Actually, that’s something we can do. Let’s go get you a helmet.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t need any.”
He unlocked the passenger side of the car and let me in. After he got in and started the loud engine, he turned on the air conditioner. Then he took an eight-track tape and stuck it in the player. We were listening to Simon & Garfunkel as we pulled onto State Road 84. Simon & Garfunkel? I laughed to myself. I was beginning to think Grunt might be a nerd.
We didn’t talk as we made our way east on State Road 84. He made a left on U.S. 441 and we headed north. I was so close to home I could almost smell it. It was so strange passing by familiar places. After a few miles, though, we were out of my territory, and I started to feel less anxious.
“Where are we going?” I leaned my head back on the seat, trying to relax.
“Little shop up near Riverview. They have helmets.”
I watched the scenery fly by, feeling calmer by the minute. “So just out of curiosity, where does the gang have their meetings?”
He looked quickly over at me. “Meetings? You mean when they gather in the pit?”
“No. You know, the satanic rituals and stuff. The gang is named after the devil. Even Grizz’s dog’s names are pretty bad. I figured maybe you use one of the old unused rooms at the motel. You know, to worship.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Kit, we don’t worship the devil.”
“It’s on your jacket.” I think I blushed.
“Yeah, to scare the shit out of people. It’s not a religion.”
“You’re not devil-worshipers?” I’d worried about this for awhile and had even secretly wondered if Grizz had let me keep my black kitten for another, more sinister, reason.
“Hell, no!” He was laughing hard now.
“But you believe in hell, though. I mean, if it’s your logo and stuff.”
“No, Kit.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I don’t believe in the devil or hell. Don’t believe in anything, really.”
“What about God?” I turned to look at him. “You believe in God, don’t you?”
“No, don’t know much about anything that has to do with religion.”
“For all of your studying and schooling, you’ve never taken a class on religion?” My eyes were wide. “You know, world religion, religious philosophy, anything?”
“Nothing.” He paused, then asked, “That thing you do, before you eat, is that religious?”
“You mean blessing myself?” Being a Catholic, I’d always made the sign of the cross prior to saying grace before a meal.
“I don’t know what it’s called.”
It was my turn to smile. “You said you would teach me to play chess. Will you let me teach you something?”
He hesitated. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”
And so began Grunt’s lessons in religion, specifically Christianity.
I let myself enjoy the rest of the ride as we talked. I even convinced him to turn off the air conditioning and roll down the windows. I felt oddly exhilarated. We got to the shop and I picked out a helmet fairly fast. The guy who worked there knew Grunt and never made any indication that he expected us to pay. We walked out of the shop less then fifteen minutes later.
I wasn’t really familiar with this part of town. To get to the shop, we had turned off U.S. 441 and were now on some shady-looking backstreets. It was an odd mixture of businesses and old houses, kind of like someone messed up badly with the zoning ordinances. Next to the shop, I saw a guy building a wooden fence. I wondered if it was his fence or if he was the hired help. He had given me a disturbing look on the way into the shop.
Now as we were coming out, he yelled, “Hey, sweet thing. You wanna spend some time with a real man, why don’t you come on over here? Tell your baby brother he can come back for you in an hour. Make that ten minutes.” Then he gave this awful laugh that turned into fits of coughing. What a creep.
I looked over at Grunt, who just ignored him. Well, that’s good. If I was with Grizz, I’d probably be an accessory to murder. Honestly though, if I was with Grizz, I bet Mr. Build-A-Fence wouldn’t have said a word. Still, it was probably a good thing I was with the youngest of the group. I didn’t want any trouble.
After we got inside the car, Grunt said he wanted the air conditioning on this time. We rolled up the windows, and he started the car and turned on the A/C. He took the Simon & Garfunkel eight-track tape out and stuck in Pink Floyd. Then he turned to me.
“Stay here. Do not get out of this car for any reason. You got it?”
Before I could answer, he blared the music really loud and got out of the car. He started walking toward Mr. Build-A-Fence. Oh no. Oh, dear God. Grunt is going to try to act all tough and get the crap kicked out of him. I looked around, wondering what in the world I was going to do if something happened.
They disappeared behind a part of the fence that was already built, so I couldn’t see anything, and with the music up so loud, I couldn’t hear anything, either. After a few nervous minutes, I decided maybe I should turn down the music. But before I could, Grunt came walking around the side of the fence. He looked okay. He didn’t look hurt. Maybe he told the guy someone was going to come back and kick the crap out of him. Grunt jumped in the car, and before I could say a word, we took off. I decided not to mention it.
We spent the next couple of hours running errands—picked up some groceries, got gas, went by the drugstore. I even got some new sunglasses. Grunt was careful to pick out-of-the way places. By mid-afternoon, we got back to the motel, and he went to his room. I went to number four to check on Gwinny and make sure the dogs were fed. Grunt reminded me I could borrow any of his books any time I wanted. I thanked him for the day and I told him I would definitely take him up on his offer.
As evening approached, I decided to stay inside. The pit had no appeal for me, and I made myself a bowl of cereal and sat on the couch to watch TV. I decided to watch some local news. I was always hopeful of seeing something about me, but too much time had passed and I’m pretty sure my abduction never made the news in the first place. I was certain the police didn’t take it seriously, anyway. One visit with Delia and they would have assumed me to be a runaway. Of that I had no doubt.
I flipped impatiently through the few channels we had. Those were the days before cable and you watched what was in your viewing range. The volume was turned down, and I thought I saw a reporter standing in front of a familiar place. I turned it up.
“We’re at the house of Raymond Price,” the attractive reporter was saying. “Earlier today, Mr. Price was rescued by a couple walking their dog who heard muffled screams. When they investigated, they found Mr. Price had been brutally attacked. He was found standing with his back to a fence with his hands stretched out on each side.” The reporter paused here for effect. “Mr. Price’s hands were nailed to the wooden fence he had been building. There were several nails in each hand, making it impossible for him to get himself free without ripping his hands to shreds. A rag had been stuffed in his mouth making it difficult to call for help.”
The reporter then squinted as she listened to someone asking her a question from the small crowd that had gathered.
“I’ve just been asked if Mr. Price could identify the person or persons who assaulted him,” she said, her pretty face frowning. “In a strange twist, the Riverview Police Department told us Mr. Price has refused to tell them anything. They’re concerned he might have been threatened and is afraid of retaliation. Police say this particular area is well known for motorcycle gangs. One gang in particular has been known to frequent this shop next door.”
The camera panned over behind the reporter, and my stomach roiled. I now saw why the scene looked so familiar. Right there on TV, I could see the shop where we had picked out my helmet that afternoon, and the newly constructed fence dividing it from the house next door.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My heart pounded thickly. I swallowed and took a deep breath.
I had read Grunt all wrong. He was no defenseless runt.
He was one of them.