The actual drive there was surreal. An hour of tension so thick Zane could almost grab it. The man kept his gun at his chest the entire time, tensing up every time they would pass a car. "Keep your head forward," he would say. And Zane obeyed without any real thought.
When finally they arrived in El Paso, it was as if suddenly Zane's awareness came flooding back to him. If he didn't escape, there was no telling what would happen. The professionalism that both kidnappers portrayed was also terrifying. Whatever they were going to do to him, they had done before.
Not quite knowing what he was doing, he blurted out, "Burger King would be nice. We don't have one where we live." He laughed nervously. "Isn't that weird?"
The woman looked emotionlessly at him in the rear-view mirror, and the man stared at him with acute fear and disbelief before exchanging knowing looks to each other.
Suddenly, the woman pulled into an alley and put the car in park. "Michael," she said, signaling for him to follow her out of the car.
"What are you doing?" Zane thought to himself. "I'm trying to create an emotional connection. They say that works," he explained. "Just shut up!"
Still pointing the gun at Zane, but holding it more discreetly close to himself as they got out into view, he stepped aside and asked, "Yeah?"
"You drive. He needs to be kept concealed."
He nodded, and they passed each other, the man- Michael, apparently- handing her the gun and then adjusting the seat back to sit up front; the woman scooting in next to Zane with a completely unmovable expression, pointing the gun at him solemnly. She went through the bag that was sitting in between them and got out a large strip of tape. "Give me your hand," she said, reaching out impatiently for it.
He reluctantly handed it to her, and she immediately set about to taping their hands together.
He watched her, slightly terrified, but not knowing any reason to be. What could she possibly do?
Satisfied that all was secure, Michael pulled back out onto the road, drove purposefully by a Burger King and into the next nearest line at a drive-through- a Taco Bell.
They waited impatiently for two cars ahead of them to place their orders, before finally driving up to the speaker.
A perky female voice crackled metallically at them, "Hi. Welcome to Taco Bell. May I take your order?"
Michael suddenly realized how extremely stupid this all was. He cleared his throat tensely and said, "Uh, yeah. Can I get three bean burritos with no onions and, uh, three waters?"
"Will that be all?"
"Yeah." He sucked his lips in uncomfortably.
The rest of that transaction was completed, and he drove forward, careful not to make eye contact with the woman or Zane. "Schakowsky," he suddenly said, not looking back. "Do you have money?"
With is free hand, he abstractedly went through his pockets. "No, Michael. I do not."
The man looked out his window, obviously aggravated.
The woman, hands occupied with the gun and Zane's other hand, pointed with her chin to the bag. "See that front pocket there?"
Zane nodded.
She pointed the gun more securely toward him. "Slowly reach into it and take out what's inside."
He flipped the pocket open, pulling the strong Velcro apart and carefully reached into the pocket. His hand was stopped almost immediately by the feel of paper crinkling. He pulled it out and viewed it briefly before handing it to the man. Michael reached into the large, white envelope, filled almost so that it couldn't be closed and pulled out a crisp one-hundred dollar bill, and handed it back to Zane who, with a nod from the woman, put it back in its respective pocket.
The last car pulled away- it was now their turn to receive their order. The woman clasped Zane's hand tightly, pointed the gun closer to him, and whispered, "Don't make a sound." Zane shivered as an unexplainable wave of nausea washed over him.
Zane nodded, but wondered how that would make the least bit difference. The windows were heavily tinted, but all the server in the restaurant would have to do is lean forward slightly and she would see the woman holding a gun to Zane's head. His making a sound wouldn't matter much at that point.
They pulled up to that ominous window, and the perky young woman with a gold nametag that said "Tara" opened the window with a small smile. "Hi," she said, and then, as she viewed the man within the car, she grinned flirtatiously. "How are you doing today?"
"Fine," he said, smiling only as much as he felt he had to.
Tara surveyed him shamelessly, eyeing his lean, but fit muscular body under his tight, dark grey shirt.
He uncomfortably looked anywhere but at the young woman, although Zane could see the flattery was getting through to him as his ears turned red.
"Sorry. All I have is a one-hundred," he said, handing her the bill.
Now was Zane's only chance. For whatever reason, perhaps her infatuation with Michael, Tara had been completely oblivious to the fact that there was even anyone else in the car up to this point. He'd have to get her attention somehow, and it'd be now or never.
As she handed Michael the white paper bags, filling the car with smell of fast food, Zane knew that now was his moment. He leaned forward, almost parallel to Michael, and said, "Hey! Help! Their kidn-" but the woman had dropped the gun and gotten her tiny hand over his mouth in an instant, pulling him back firmly into the back seat on top of herself, legs wrapped firmly around his waist, before he could say anything else.
"Sorry? What was that?" Tara asked.
Michael, as soon as he had seen Zane beside him, had thought quickly and turned on the radio. Unfortunately, the volume was down so low, Zane's shouting could easily be differentiated from the low static.
Michael cleared his throat to stall for time. "I said, '...Can I have your number?'" he smiled charmingly, if not a tad sheepishly.
She smiled and giggled. "Sure."
Zane grunted in exasperation. Couldn't she see the two passengers struggling in a death grip in the back?!
The woman grinned as she got Michael's change and wrote her number on the back of his receipt. "Here ya go," she said, leaning forward more than she had to as she completed the transaction.
He flashed his perfect white teeth at her, slightly caught up in what he had to remind himself was a charade.
Once more, Zane thrashed, hitting the woman's head with the back of his own, making her let go. "Help me!" Zane shouted, and his heart lept into his mouth as the girl finally looked toward the back seat. Finally! She had to have seen him!
Not seeing anyone, she blinked confusedly, and went back to smiling at Michael. "See you later."
"Bye," Michael said, driving off in a hurry.
Zane felt sick with disappointment. The woman had looked back- right in his direction!- but seemed to just see right through him.
"You okay, Lilly?" Michael asked, looking at her in the rear-mirror.
"Lilly?" Zane thought. How... unfitting. Again. First her size, then her voice, now her name. This woman was just one typecast breaker after another.
"Pull over."
Zane shuddered. The anger in her voice was chilling. He suddenly very much regretted hurting this woman.
Michael obeyed, pulling in between two empty buildings, an obvious sense of fear in his posture, as well.
Lilly looked up from the floor at Zane with odium in her eyes. Her nose was bleeding.
Zane looked around fearfully, looking for anything to protect himself with. Like a godsend, he looked own at the floorboard, and saw the pistol Lilly had dropped. He reached down quickly and picked it up with his free hand.
"Michael!" Lilly screamed, and Michael responded without hesitation or pause. He flung himself back and seemed to simply clutch the gun for a moment.
And then there was stillness.
Zane hardly had time to register anything. It was all so fast. After a moment, he looked at the gun, which, oddly, he found still in his hands. He dropped it with a gasp and backed towards his window, pulling Lilly, who was still taped to him. It was no longer a gun he had been holding in his hand.
Lilly picked it up carefully with her free hand and displayed it further to Zane.
It was now just a clump of mangled metal. The barrel had been imprinted with Michael's hand, as if it had been clay when he squeezed it.
Lilly cut the tape holding them together with a pocket knife in her pocket, and got out of the car, still holding what used to be the gun.
Michael got out of the car as well, and opened Zane's door, making him fall out onto the ground shoulder first. He grabbed his shirt and pulled him effortlessly to his feet, dragging him behind a dumpster where the cars on the street were less likely to see him.
Lilly walked over and stood in front of him. "Do you see this?" She held up the piece of black metal, just barely able to get her finger through the trigger guard it was so bent. "If you ever try something like that again, Michael won't hold back, and this'll be your wrist. Do you understand me?" She looked at her partner and nodded. She turned around without another word and walked back toward the car, leaning on the hood.
Without another word, Michael covered Zane's mouth and trapped his arm between his, taking hold of his hand so that he couldn't move, although Zane was so dumb-stricken with fear he didn't even try.
Michael held Zane's hand steady as he separated Zane's right ring finger away from the others.
Up until this point, Zane wasn't sure what was going to happen in this alley. Now, his eyes went wide, and he screamed under Michael's hand, thrashing and trying as hard as he could to get his hand away.
Michael hardly had to put any pressure at all, before the sharp, wet pop and a piercing cry of pain from Zane told him to stop.
Zane's vision faded in and out for a moment and his hands shook. Tears began flooding from his eyes as a pain so intense he felt like he was go to faint paralyzed his entire arm.
Michael let his arm go, letting Zane take hold of his injured hand, and practically pulled him towards Lilly, where she was nonchalantly cleaning the blood from her face. "Put him in the car," she said, not looking at them.
He did so, and started to open the driver's side door, but stopped when she said, "You stay."
He subconsciously gulped and walked over to where Lilly was standing, preparing himself for the worst.
"What the hell was that?" She looked venomously into the man's eyes, not at all daunted by the fact that he was a good foot and a half taller than she.
"What do you mean?" he put his hands on his hips defensively and tilted his head slightly to the side.
"You know exactly what I mean. The Taco Bell girl. You were sloppy, Michael. And that's why this happened." She gestured toward her orange-stained face.
He dropped his head a little.
"I'd report you, but you saved my butt back there with the gun thing," she said, shifting her weight to the other foot. "You're new, I know, but there's no learning curve on this job, Michael. You got that? This kid's dangerous. They all are."
"You mean we all are."
She looked purposefully at him, trying to decide what he meant by that. She decided to dismiss it, and just said, "Put him in the trunk again."
"What about his food?"
She laughed. "I'm not sure I'd give him any even if we could. But actually while we were driving I realized that we can't feed him. We can't risk a cross-contamination."
He nodded. "What do you want me to do?"
She smiled a little, slightly pleased with the thought of reprisal. "Nothing. Put him in the trunk." She walked around him towards the driver's seat, saying, "Just be sure to take care of his hand first."