"It's all your fault, you got caught"
-- Garbage, Untouchable

Instinct guided my body into the first defensive stance I had ever been taught -- left leg in front of the right, hips square to the ground, both hands up, the left open to deflect a blow and the right in a fist. Apparently I had been a little rash in packing up the paranoia. It wasn't the best time for self-reflection, but it occurred to me I should have waited till I got back to Portland before letting my guard down. Now I had to pay the piper for that mistake.

My mind raced as I searched for options. Who was it? No shots had been fired, there had been no flash-bang, and there was no coordinated movement. I could rule out military and SWAT from that. There was no yelling of commands or any attempt to identify who they were, or anything else control the situation. So it wasn't Police. Now that I had excluded those two options, there was only one good option left.

The door was the only viable way in or out of the room at that moment. There was no practical egress that could be made through the bathroom. There was a window just large enough to fit me, but the metal and glass leaves would need to be removed first. The window by the door might work, but I didn't have anything handy to break it. I could try and kick through, but the drapes were closed. They would dampen too much of the force and I would be exposed while I tried it.

I could try and get the gun from the bag, but the first of Vance's Boys was already through the door. I could deal with him, or go for the bag. I pivoted so I my right leg was leading. I balled my fists, and shifted my weight to my left foot. At the same time I bent both legs. This lowered my center of gravity and made me more stable. It also pulled my right foot off the ground.

There's little point in my kicking above the waist. The only good target above the stomach I could go for was the face. A kick that high would leave my groin exposed. I went for his knee. Not as painful as the crotch, but easier to hit and would be just as sure to drop him.

He cried out when my foot connected. His knee and leg twisted under the pressure. I could have carried the motion forward and followed my foot to the ground. If I did, I could have broken his leg, but I pulled my foot back. That would take more time that I wanted to spend and I had other pressing concerns. Two more of the Boys had come in through the door. I didn't know how many of them there were, but I had to assume at least two more. If there were, they would be in the room in a moment. At that point, I'd be out of options.

There was no clear route to either phone, and even if I could muscle my way to one of them it would take too long to dial. This might have been my court, but they had all of the advantages. I was going to need to change the rules. If I could get out into the open, their numbers wouldn't be as much of an issue. I kicked at one of the new arrivals, but it didn't do as much good as with the first one. I connected, but he didn't go down. I made an elbow strike as I passed.

I made it to the door before the Boys in the room were able to make a grab for me. It wasn't the deciding factor -- it didn't slow me down that much -- so much as the fact that the next thing I did was to -- quite literally -- run into Vance. He had stepped into view, blocking the door. He was ready, so it was far too much like hitting a wall. He tried to knee me in the groin, but I shifted and caught it on the hip. The blow pushed me back into the other Boys. They got a better hold on me this time. They pushed me up against the wall.

I knew what was coming next. I tightened the muscles to take the blow to my stomach. Unfortunately, Vance had played this game before. His first hit was high in my chest, forcing me to exhale. So much for being braced for it. The next blow was to my abdomen. It was like an electric jolt. I wanted to throw up. The Boys pushed me back against the wall. Vance held my face in one of his hands. His hands were big. He was big. He was easily six and a half feet tall. In person he looked even more like James Dean -- the jeans, wifebeater, and cowboy boots completed the effect. He wasn't my type, but I could see the attraction.

"Know what?" Vance asked. "This's all your fault."

I don't know what I expected him to sound like -- probably something low and smokey. I was surprised to hear what actually came out. It was very male, but it had a lyrical quality -- soft and delicate. It made you want to listen to him. His size, his looks, and that voice would pull people to him like a magnet. He took out the picture Betty had given me and looked at it.

"So how is the red haired bitch?" He asked.

I resisted the urge to be a smart-ass. That would just make the blow come quicker. I wanted to see how much of a pro he was before that.

"This was the wrong time to go stickin' your nose into my things," he said and shoved my head back to make his point. The back of my head met the wall and I felt the force all the way to my eyes.

"Any of my things," he said.

He didn't have to spell it all out for him. I knew what he was talking about.

"Sucks ta be you," he chuckled. "Everything that happens now is your fault."

He let go of my face and looked at the pizza box with the map and the pictures. He shook his head.

"You got a picture of Tommy here," he said, gesturing at the first man -- the one I'd kicked.

I hadn't been able to tell at the time, but he had been the one who had given me directions. He was now on the bed nursing his knee.

"That ain't good," he said.

He picked up my bag. I rebelled when he did, I'm not sure why. Perhaps it was because it held most of what I owned. The contents were a part of me, even if I was trying to put that part away. It didn't matter that I objected; the Boys weren't giving me any play. Vance unzipped it and peeked in. He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"You got nice toys." He actually sounded appreciative.

He put the bag back down, and turned to face me again

"Now see," he said, "if you'd just left well enough alone, then none of this woulda had to happen. Becks don't want you here, and I sure as hell don't. If you hadn't gone and shown up, she'd be out on her ass in a day or two. She was getting uppity. Hell, even if I did keep her round for a bit more fun." There was a cut to his voice that implied it would have been against her will. "I'd bored of her in a week.

"But you just had to show up now, and that ain't good. Not right now. So I got to do something with you. Too bad she ain't dumb. She might be mad at ya, but she'd still ask after you, and then she'd get nosey too. So I'm gonna have to deal with both of you."

"See." He slammed my head against the wall again, "your fault."

I didn't have time to reflect on that depressing thought, because he hit me in the stomach again. Then slammed his palm hard into my forehead, and I blacked out.

I started to come to as they dumped me in the trunk of their car. I didn't get a look at it, but from the inside it was fairly roomy, so it would be a safe guess it was a Falcon. If it wasn't the one from the picture, then it was similar. I did my best imitation of dead weight till they closed up the trunk. They never suspected that I might have been awake, but they weren't acting like professionals. They might have had the badass thing down, but they didn't know how to do a grab-and-run.

Much to my disappointment, they weren't complete fools. My hands were tied. They'd thought it through that far, but they were bound in front of me. That was a mistake. If they'd tied them behind my back, then I wouldn't have been able to use them for much of anything. They hadn't bothered to tie my feet at all. I could kick, run, or any number of inconvenient things. I hadn't been gagged or blindfolded. There's a checklist of things I'd do before putting someone in the trunk. They would have lined the trunk with plastic, to minimize the skin, hair, and fibers that would be left in evidence. It probably wasn't planned, but they had the music turned up loud, that would cover any cries for help. I thought I could make out Reverend Horton Heat, Baddest of the Bad.

I'd be better off if I could get away before we reached my final destination. I had no idea what Vance was into, but I didn't think he really needed to raise the stakes this far. I don't know if Vance had killed before, but there was no way I could see it ending with just a kidnapping -- for Becks or me. I needed to get control of the situation and I needed to do it soon. It wouldn't take long to get back to the garage.

At that moment, my biggest advantage was that they didn't know I was conscious. At worst, I could wait until they opened the trunk and launch myself out. I could try and use the element of surprise to get away. I didn't give that good odds, and I would be on their turf. I would need some other advantage. I felt around, hoping that they'd been amateur enough not to completely empty the trunk before putting me in. After a moment, I found a road flare. It would be hard to light with my hands tied, but it could be a weapon. I kept searching.

The next thing I found was far more useful. It was a screwdriver -- it was long, flat headed, and had good weight. It was both a weapon and a tool. I could strike out with it when they opened up the trunk, but I had a better plan than that.

I turned until I was facing the back of the car. I pulled myself to my hands and knees and arched my back until I had lifted the top enough to let in a crack of light. The trunk locked with a hook that held onto a fixed bar on the body of the car. The hook was attached to the lock, and the key would turn it. It was intended to keep people out, not much though had been put into keeping people in. The entire mechanism was covered, but it was far more exposed on the inside.

I pressed the head of the screwdriver into the gap between the door and body. I pushed my weight behind it, and forced it deeper. Then I worked it closer to the lock, trying to not let the shaft come out. I was working in the dark, and largely from the memory of a diagram I had seen years before. It was at times like that I wished I had a photographic memory. When I felt metal hit metal, I threw my weight against the handle. I was pushing down and to the side. The lock wouldn't give without a struggle, but if I could push the hook off the bar, then I could get free.

I eased up on the tire screwdriver, to reposition it and try again. I pulled it back into place, and I felt the car stop. I hoped it was just for a stoplight. I thought to myself that now would be a very good time for things to come together. I shoved down on the metal shaft again. This time I could hear the truck creak and felt something shift. I dug deep and applied more pressure and the trunk flew open. My dark world was now flooded with light from the sun. I had no idea where I was or where I should go, but away seemed like a good idea.

I rolled over the edge and hit the ground. Vance and the Boys would certainly have noticed that their trunk had opened without their permission. I needed to get away as quickly as I could. Without a better option, I ran in the direction I was pointed.

There was the sound of a horn, and then the squeal of brakes. I nearly lost consciousness again when the car hit me -- clipping my side. I had still been hunched over as I ran, keeping my head low, so most of my upper body made contact with the large, white, American-made blur. My side burned with pain. I stumbled and started running again.

Another horn sounded, but it didn't sound like it was coming towards me. Then there was a loud sound -- pistol fire. It was very loud, so it would be a larger caliber. Most of larger rounds travel faster than the speed of sound, so they have a tinnier quality. This was lower, like a roar. Vance, being a traditionalist, would carry a .45. That wasn't a round that gave second chances.

My eyes had finally adjusted to the light. Until that moment it had only been a painful swirl of color. I saw a building across the street and ran for it. It looked familiar. I was sure I'd seen it before. I cursed myself. This wasn't a good time to have a failure of memory. Vance and the Boys were still in control, and I had lost the only weapon I had.

Regardless of where I had seen the building before, it was my best option. I was a two-story affair. It might have been residential at one point. Now it appeared to be abandoned. Then the memory came to me: It was one of the abandoned buildings I had seen when I had been scoping the area. I had even taken a picture of it. Now I knew where I was.

Vance's garage was four or five blocks away from the building. I needed to get off the street. A barefoot man, with his hands tied, and a torn shirt hanging from his shoulders was unlikely to provide immediate assistance. They'd mind their own business.

I had to assume I they knew where I was headed, and unless I was very careful, that my freedom would be brief. I needed to shift attention onto Vance, and away from me. I had to make it too risky for Vance to keep pursuing me. That wouldn't do anything to help Becks, but at this point I had to do one thing at a time.

The front door of the building was ajar. I could see a think crack of color from the inside. I held out my hands to push it open as I ran through. Closing it behind me would take too long, so I didn't bother. I caught the smell of urine and stale beer. Someone still used this building, either as a squat or as an impromptu shelter. There were large empty rooms on either side of the door -- they were too obvious and exposed. Down the hall from the door was a staircase. The railing was missing, except for a segment about two feet long at the top of the stair. I braced one foot on the wall and pushed. It broke free. Now I had a weapon -- I felt more complete.

I rounded the corner into the room on the left. There was a large window that faced the street. I crossed to it, crouching low to avoid notice. I knelt by the side of the window and peered down. It looked like the Boys were fanning out and searching the area for me. One of the Boys was heading into the building. He wasn't tall enough to be Vance. He didn't have a limp so it wasn't Tommy. That covered the ones I knew by name -- not that their names mattered.

I searched my memory of the attack. First there had been Tommy, then two more, and finally Vance. That made a total of four. It would take the others a while to search the block. I could hear his footstep echo in the room below. I crossed over to the door by the stairs, moving carefully so as to make little noise. I had no shoes, which was an advantage. I would step first with the front of my foot, testing the board to make sure it wouldn't creak. I'd ease my weight onto it, and take the next step -- lather, rinse, repeat. I crossed to the door in a handful of steps. My target would have had to be very good to have heard me.

I wrapped my hands around the jagged end of the handrail. I wasn't sure how strong it was, but it had taken some force to pull it off the wall. That was a good sign -- hopefully it was up for a couple of blows. I held it like a bat, with my arms crossing my body. I listened to the steps as he climbed up the stairs. At the top he would either go left towards me and I would have to attack him from the front, or to the right and I could strike from behind. I'd have preferred if he went to the right. That would give me an extra advantage. He hadn't asked my preference, and turned to the left. I held my breath, and waited. I waited till I could see him out of the corner of my eye. I needed this to go well, and with a minimum of fuss and noise.

I tried to anticipate the moment just before he would notice me. I swung the rail into his belly. He saw my makeshift bat as it made its path, but made the mistake of turning towards it. He should have turned away letting it hit across his back. It would still have hurt, but not as much. He made a cut-off "gak" and doubled over. I brought the club down on the back of his head. The railing cracked as it hit him. I didn't break in two, but bent into a V. He collapsed and fell flat on the floor. I knelt down and pressed my fingers to his neck, just below the jaw.

"He dead?" A voice asked. I spun to face it.