Just then, the door flew open and Blue came in, walking straight toward me.
“Get up. Now. You’re coming with me.”
Before I could ask anything, he walked past me to the bedroom and found my backpack hanging on a hook behind the door. I followed him into the bedroom, pelting him with questions about what was going on. He was too focused to talk. He kept looking around the room.
“Where’s your stuff, Kit? You got anything personal here? Like if you were going to stay overnight somewhere, what would you need?”
My hands were shaking. “Where am I going?”
“I don’t have time to explain anything to you. What would you have to have with you?”
Without answering him I went into the bathroom. I took my birth control pills, my toothbrush and my hairbrush. I opened a dresser drawer and grabbed some underwear and a nightshirt. I opened another dresser and grabbed some shorts and tank tops. I still only had my one bra, which I was now wearing. I guess that was one article of clothing I needed to try on for myself. I quickly stuffed everything into the bag.
“Good girl.” He saw my new helmet sitting on the coffee table and picked it up. “Get your shoes on. We gotta go. Now.”
I dashed to the kitchen counter and picked up my reading glasses. I shoved them in my bag along with a magazine as I slid my feet into sandals. I was still wearing what I had on that day. A pair of jeans and an unremarkable top. He carried my helmet and I followed him out.
“Gwinny!” I shouted, remembering the cat.
“She’ll be okay. Moe will take care of her and the dogs. Let’s go!”
We were on his motorcycle and I was still fastening my helmet when we sped out of the motel and onto State Road 84. My arms wrapped tightly around him as we drove off into the night. We took State Road 84 east and turned right at Pete’s. This was Flamingo Road, and as it was the seventies, just like on State Road 84, we were in totally undeveloped territory. Flamingo Road was mostly pastureland.
Fear began to fade. At one point, I even laughed to myself as we passed an old two-story house with a big sign in front of it. The owner had spray-painted in big, black letters on a piece of plywood propped up on his second-story porch: “Wife wanted. Must cook and clean. Husband will pay bills.” That particular wannabe husband has since sold that property. I’m pretty sure a shopping plaza is there now.
We headed south on Flamingo until we got to a little town called Pembroke Pines. We turned left onto Taft Street and were suddenly in a beautiful and tastefully landscaped housing development. After a few more turns, we pulled up to a very nice house. Someone inside must have heard the motorcycle, because the garage door opened as if on cue. Blue pulled the bike in and cut the engine.
As I lifted myself off the back, I noticed an attractive, tall and very tanned brunette standing at the door that led from the garage into the house. She had her finger on the garage door opener, and as I waited for Blue to get off his bike, the door went down. She walked toward me then and held out her hand.
“Hi. I’m Jan. Blue’s wife,” she said, smiling warmly. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
I couldn’t have been more surprised than I was the day Moe showed me into Grizz’s room. Blue’s wife? It had never occurred to me that Blue, or any other member of the gang, could have been married or actually lived somewhere other than the motel. I just hadn’t paid enough attention to what everyone else was doing.
Blue and I followed Jan into the house. Just then, two little boys ran toward Blue and grabbed him around his legs. They were both wearing matching overalls without a shirt underneath. They were young, and it looked like the smaller of the two was wobbly on his feet. He was probably just a little over a year old. His older brother was maybe three.
“Daddy! Daddy! Play with us,” the oldest roared.
“Let him have some dinner, boys, and then Daddy can spend time with you,” Jan told them, laughing.
“Who that girl is?” the oldest asked.
“This is Kit,” Blue said gently. “She’s my friend. You boys be good while we eat dinner and I’ll come see you in a little bit.”
They bounded away happily toward what looked like a very comfortable family room. The TV was on and toys were everywhere.
“I already fed them.” Jan explained. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”
Since my dinner of cereal and milk was interrupted, I was eager to eat the meal set before us. I made the sign of the cross and said a mental blessing. Then, while Blue talked, I thoroughly enjoyed the homemade meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. He explained the reason for our abrupt departure from the motel.
Moments before I had seen the news clip about Mr. Build-A-Fence’s attack, Blue was getting paged at work by Grizz. Grizz had been tipped off that the police were going to be visiting the motel. Apparently, Grizz had people everywhere, including the various police departments in South Florida.
Not everyone had pagers back then. They were relatively new, but I wasn’t surprised to know Grizz and some in his group had them. The key to communicating through a pager, though, was you had to find a phone to call back the number the pager digitally displayed. It was easy enough for Blue to call Grizz back. He was on top of a telephone pole doing a repair. He’d tapped into a line and called Grizz immediately.
This was also something I’d been clueless about. Blue worked for the telephone company?
“But why would the police be coming to the motel?” I asked, pushing my other questions aside.
“After the little stunt Grunt pulled, there would definitely be a police visit,” Blue said, shaking his head.
“But how would they know it was Grunt?” I asked, confused. “We didn’t have a motorcycle. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Heck, we never even paid for my helmet so it’s not like there’s a receipt to trace. And anyway, how did you know it was Grunt?”
“Grizz has eyes everywhere.” Blue said. “And it doesn’t matter if it was Grunt or not. Just the mention of a motorcycle gang and there are certain police departments that jump on any excuse to come out to the motel and try and shake things up. They know our base, and Grizz wanted you out of there.”
Jan passed over some more mashed potatoes. “I saw the news. I could have guessed your baby brother had something to do with that,” she said to Blue with a smile. “Grunt is quite the creative tormentor.”
She said this with the attitude of a proud mother as she then helped herself to more green beans. I looked up from my plate. Creative tormentor? What an odd description. I looked over at Blue, who was watching Jan with an expression I couldn’t read. Before either of us could say anything or question her comment, she started talking about something cute one of the kids did earlier that day. I looked toward the family room where those two sweet little boys were playing. Yes, Mrs. Misplaced Pride, your son is the one responsible for blowing up that building. You should be so proud. These people were a mystery.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Will Grunt get in trouble with the police?”
“No.” Blue sounded casual. “There’s no doubt the guy won’t identify him. There’s nothing to tie him to the scene. Even if his car was identified, it won’t matter. They’d never think a kid could do that to a grown man. They’ll just go to the motel with their warrant and look around and try to dig up anything they can on Grizz. He’s the one they want anyway.”
“What about Grizz, though? Will Grunt be in trouble with him?”
“Don’t know. He’ll have some explaining to do. It’s up to Grizz.”
I didn’t understand. “But aren’t you scared or worried for him? I mean, he’s your brother.”
Blue just shrugged and spooned some more green beans onto his plate. “Grunt’s old enough to face the consequences. He knows what he can and can’t get away with. At some point, you have to let people fight their own battles and take responsibility for their choices.”
That night, as I tucked myself comfortably into the bed in Jan and Blue’s guestroom, I couldn’t help but worry about Grunt. My friend.
It turned out the police did raid Grizz’s rooms that night. If circumstances were different, I might have been rescued. If someone had remembered the girl who went missing was talking to a guy with a motorcycle out in front of the 7-Eleven. If someone had remembered seeing me climb on Monster’s bike, even if they didn’t see his jacket, it might have sparked some recognition in the officers who were combing through Grizz’s rooms. If there was even a hint that I could have been abducted by a motorcycle gang, then the police officers that searched Grizz’s rooms might have noticed some clues.
Like the three county library books sitting on top of the dresser with my brown peace choker draped across them.