Part 33 (1/2)
”Idiot. Where is that byeazoomyets.”
”He has be there, boss,” a low voice said.
”Then how did this lock come?”
”Uhmmm. I could shoot lock off.”
”No. Maybe I let you shoot byeazoomyets. He must be at the club. Come.”
A few moments later, car doors slammed and the engine was heard to turn over and fade away into the distance.
This door looks like the only way in or out,” Ross said scanning the warehouse. ”No windows that I can see.”
Pus.h.i.+ng and tugging the door proved futile even though both Ross and Mo partic.i.p.ated. It barely gave an inch in either direction. Mo struck at the door with her shoulder.
”French fried fajitas!” Mo exclaimed through chugging breaths. She hit it again and the door didn't budge.
Ross pulled her into his arms. ”Stop it. You're going to dislocate your shoulder.”
”We have to get out of here before they come back.”
”Obviously,” he said with a quirk to his lips. ”But injuring yourself isn't going to do it. Let me try.”
Ross set her gently aside and then kicked the door forcefully. It bent but didn't give way. Retrieving the metal chair he'd been tied to, Ross rammed at the door with its legs, which produced nothing more than four round leg-sized dents in the metal.
”Maybe we should try to hide,” Mo said.
”Where? There's nothing in here to hide in.”
”What about the float?” Mo asked.
The two of them climbed aboard the paper mache monstrosity. At the front of the float trailer a miniature model of downtown Savannah had been constructed dominated by a tenth scale version of the gold domed city hall. A similarly scaled model of a suspension bridge spanned a blue tissue paper Savannah River between the downtown and the strip club.
A quick inspection revealed that the replica of the Hoochie Mama's House building had been fastened to a green toilet paper covered hill constructed over what felt like a wood two-by-four foundation about six feet in height.
The house had an interior about six feet square, not including the front porch area.
”They'll look in there first thing,” Mo said.
”Yes,” Ross said his face set in lines of concentration. ”But I have an idea. Get the duct tape remnants and the nail file.” Ross examined the hill and then prodded at it with careful fingers.
When Mo had retrieved the items. Ross took the nail file in hand and began cutting into the side of the mock gra.s.s near one of the corners, a straight line for approximately three feet. More cutting and he had created a paper mache entrance. The interior was a tissue paper cave.
Just then they heard a car engine approaching.
”Get in,” Ross said.
Mo made a move to comply then stopped. ”I'm claustrophobic.”
”They have weapons,” Ross reminded her.
”Good point.” She climbed in. ”I'm more gunaphobic.”
Ross followed pulling the paper door over the opening. He took the duct tape from Mo's hand and applied it to the corners of the opening.
”Let's hope they don't look at this side very carefully,” Ross said.
”Yeah, we're sitting duck a l'orange in here.”
Mo knew air could pa.s.s through the toilet paper, and it wasn't even that dark. Nevertheless, the walls seemed to be moving closer. She put an arm through Ross's and the two of them stood, Ross with a slight hunch, silently listening to the metal clank of the Russian mobsters entering the warehouse.
”They gone,” a baritone voice exclaimed.
”They can't be. I locked the door,” a higher voice with a frightened tremor said.
”Well, they are.” Kubikov sounded disgusted.
”Maybe they hide,” the baritone said.
Fingers snapped. Mo heard scuttling about on cement. Obviously, the goons were looking for them. Her grip on Ross's arm tightened and, in the dim light of the toilet paper cave, her frightened eyes met his. He was a great actor, but she could tell his calm was too studied and deliberate to be real. Bless him. He was trying to be rea.s.suring. He dropped a silent kiss on the tip of her nose.
They both jerked as a movement near the float startled them. Through the small breaks in the paper, Mo saw Gigantor near the edge of the trailer holding the float. He bent and crawled under the edge. A b.u.mp on the floor under her feet nearly produced a gasp from Mo, which she prevented with a hand over her mouth.
After a few seconds, Gigantor emerged rubbing his head. Excellent, the monster had hit his head.
”Anything over there?” Kubikov asked.
”Nothing. But I look more.” The thug jumped up onto the trailer and Ross steadied Mo when the floor dipped with his weight. He climbed the stairs and Mo heard him clomping around on the plank of plywood over their heads. Two steps this way, three steps that. Would he think to look beneath his feet? Were any of the cracks wide enough for him to see them?
”Anything?” Kubikov's tone was impatient.
”No. They not here.”
Scuttling noises, then the little goon yipped. Mo leaned closer to one of the paper rips to see the smaller thug in the grips of the larger one.
”Is Stephen Dagger and his girl do the magic?” Kubikov asked.
”I don't understand,” the little guy sobbed.
”They are either magician and have dematerialize or you let go.”
”No, boss. No.”
”Yes. I think they make deal with you.”
”No. I just went to get some wings at the club. I was hungry. They were here when I left. They were still tied up.”