BY Robert Louis Scribbledorffer
They did everything absolutely wrong! If criminals were smart enough to get a real job, they wouldn’t be criminals, would they?
My wife and I were kidnapped, for the big ransom that my ‘rich’ father would pay. One of them lived to regret it. I don’t. Dad’s money is all tied up in investments. With the economic downturn, he’s barely making the mortgage payments on his ‘mansion.’ Besides, even though I’m an only child, I’m still not Dad’s favorite son. They didn’t research that very well.
They got into the house somehow. The first we knew of it was when one of them flicked the bedroom lights on at 3AM. We woke to two scruffy oafs in balaclavas, waving guns at us, telling us to get out of bed. They secured our hands behind us with nylon zip-ties, and prodded us in bare feet and pyjamas, outside into the back of their van.
The ‘leader’ warned us not to yell, or he’d shoot us. It wasn’t till I really woke up that I realized that a dead hostage gathers no ransom, but they might have shot my wife, and I don’t know whether the neighbors would have roused, that late at night.
They didn’t blindfold us. I’d seen their van, though not the licence. I watched through the windows as we drove, at every street and every turn. I saw their house when we arrived. I could find this place in my sleep. That worried me. Did they intend to kill us?
They herded us into a back bedroom, and made us sit on the bed while they added zip-ties around our ankles. Then they turned to walk out. I yelled, “Hey, you can’t just leave us like this. I have to piss!” The Boss said, “Tough, hold it.” Speaking of pissed – if I wasn’t before, I was then.
It is said, that a dog can strain against a leather leash, until it rots – or snap it with the first lunge. I had no room for lunges, but I could certainly strain hard. As soon as they left, I looked around the room. On the far wall was a mirrored aluminum dressing table with squared-edged legs. I rolled/crawled over to it, and put my back against it, and started rubbing the nylon wrist tie against the corner.
By the time baddy #2 came back in, the next morning, the wife and I were both a sodden mess. He tipped half a bottle of water into each of us, and turned to leave. Without much hope of it, I asked, “What about some food?” He replied, “You better hope your Father brings some pizza, when he drops off our money.”
He came back with some more water later that afternoon, and again the next morning. We, and the bedroom, got wetter and smellier, how demeaning. Between the visits, it was a constant rub, scrape, rub, scrape. Finally, on the second afternoon, just before I thought he might come in for our water break, the zip-tie parted.
I found a nail-clipper, and managed to get the tie at my ankles off. That was about the best thing in the bedroom for a weapon, unless I wanted to hit him with a pillow. I quickly rubbed full circulation back into my hands and feet, and moved to check the door – unlocked – well, of course, this is just someone’s house.
I risked a cautious look. The bedroom opened into the kitchen, and there was no-one in sight. I quickly eased out. All kitchen knives must be in drawers, and I couldn’t risk making a noise, rummaging around, so I grabbed a heavy frying pan off the stove.
I peeked around the corner, into the living room. The apprentice dummy was standing, looking out the little window beside the door. I quietly padded across the rug behind him, quickly, before he smelled me. Just as I raised the fry pan to knock him unconscious, he opened the door.
There, just outside, was ‘The Brains’ of the pair, coming back with a bag of groceries. In desperation, I quickly swung. Later, the police pathologist said that, instead of catching him with the flat of the pan behind the ear, I caught him in the first cervical vertebra, with the edge. It crushed the bone and severed his spinal cord. He died instantly, and dropped like a rock.
Still not too firm on my recently-shackled feet, he took me down with him. Boss-man gaped, then dropped the food, leapt forward, and began clawing at his kidney area, I assumed, to draw his gun. As I fell, I did the only thing I could. On the way down, I backhanded him in the knee with the frying pan…. And another bad guy dropped like a rock – this one screaming until his face smacked into the floor, and he lost his gun.
They were armed. I acted in self-defence. Two minor, known-to-police hoodlums with guns, out of circulation, a dozen minor crimes solved, no-one said a word about the fact that one of them was dead. Instead, I got a Civic Medal of Bravery, a television interview, and a book deal.
I was told that the ringleader will walk – not out of jail – but out of the prison hospital ward, once he gets a new knee and kneecap to replace the one I smashed. Dad claimed that he tried to get the $2 million, but, you know….the markets – the banks. Gee, thanx Dad.
We got showers and clean clothes at the police station where we made our statements and ate Whoppers and fries, a little book royalty to augment income, a new respect from neighbors and coworkers, and best of all, NO PTSD. Guns and all, it was hard to take ‘Boris and Natasha’ seriously. What an adventure! Let’s not do it again. 😯