“I’m hurrying,” Quint said, unbuttoning his shirt.
Debbie Sue swallowed a lump in her throat. She had seen Quint without clothes, but not for many years. Finally, all he had left was black boxer briefs that clung to every muscle, sinew and body part. His body hadn’t changed much. He was still a fine specimen of a man.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Edwina and Sandi staring at him as he folded his pants and shirt neatly and laid them on Edwina’s station, the muscles in his arms and across his shoulders rippling with each movement.
Wilson’s voice brought her back to reality. He was pointing the gun at Edwina. “Tie him up.”
“With what?” Edwina said.
Wilson strode to Edwina and yanked the long orange, yellow and black scarf she was wearing from around her neck. She caught her breath and jumped back.
“Be quick about it, you skinny bitch. I ain’t got that much time.” He shoved Quint down into Edwina’s styling chair. “Stick out your wrists, asshole.”
Quint complied. Edwina took her time and ended with a big brightly colored bow binding Quint’s wrists together in front of him.
Wilson stared slack-jawed at Edwina’s handiwork. “Goddammit! What the hell is that? I said tie him up.”
Along with her heart, Debbie Sue’s mind was racing faster than she could keep up with it. If one of them could distract him again, maybe someone could get the gun again. She stepped forward. “Don’t you know a bow knot when you see it?”
Wilson stomped over to Quint, yanked one end of the scarf and the knot easily came undone. He pressed the end of the gun barrel against Edwina’s temple. Grimacing, Edwina squeezed her eyes shut.
“You crazy bitch, I oughtta blow your ass from here to El Paso. You tie that sonofabitch up so he don’t get loose.”
“A bow knot if all I know how to tie,” she whined and began to sniffle.
“Shut up! Quit bawling!”
Edwina’s voice hitched. “I never was...a Gir—Girl Scout...or anything.”
“Goddammit,” Wilson mumbled, reached across all of them, grabbed Sandi by the wrist and dragged her forward. “You. Tie him up.”
Sandi, too, was in tears. “I can’t tie either,” she whimpered.
“Jesus Christ! What the hell is wrong with you people? You can’t tie somebody up?”
Hands shaking, Sandi began to wrap one of Quint’s wrists with the scarf.
Wilson pointed his gun at Edwina’s chair. “Tie him to that chair arm.” He yanked an electrical cord attached to a curling iron out of the wall and threw the appliance at Sandi. “Tie up his other wrist.”
Debbie Sue winced. Shit! My best curling iron.
He turned his attention to Debbie Sue. “You. Who runs this place?”
“I do.”
“You got cash. Where is it?”
“It’s over at our payout counter.”
“Get it.”
Debbie Sue sidled gingerly to the payout counter.
“Move your ass or I’ll blow a hole in this skinny bawling bitch.”
The payout counter was chest high on most women and hid the desk. Under the desk top was a panic button that sent a radio signal and set off an alarm in the sheriff’s office. Buddy had had it installed years back when he was the town’s sheriff. They had never used it. Debbie Sue had no idea if it still worked. She could only guess the hysterics in Billy Don’s office if and when it ever went off. Before she opened the drawer and pulled out the cash, she pushed that button.
At the same time, she handed over the money. “A hundred dollars. That’s all we’ve got. It’s what we start the day with.”
Wilson tilted his head toward Quint. “Get his wallet.”
Debbie Sue left the payout desk, walked over to Edwina’s station where Quint had put his clothing, pulled Quint’s wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and opened it. Payday! As he always had, Quint carried a thick sheaf of bills in his wallet. Debbie Sue had known him to have more than a thousand dollars in cash on his person. She pulled the bills out and handed them to Wilson.
Quint closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Nice.” Wilson stuffed the wad of folded money into his own pocket. “Who does that red truck belong to?”
“Me,” Debbie Sue said.
“Gimme the fuckin’ keys.”
Debbie Sue started to slide her hand into her jeans pocket. “Wait a minute. Slow. I’m watching you. Come over here.”
Just then, the front door opened and Nick Conway strolled in. All eyes swung to him.
“What the hell is this, a fuckin’ convention?” John Wilson shouted.
Nick’s gaze darted from Quint to Debbie Sue, then Sandi. “Sandi!”
Wilson pointed the gun at Nick. “You! Get your hands up. Get over here!”
Nick raised his hands and sauntered over to where everyone stood in a group. “What’s going on?” His eyes homed in on Sandi who was still trying to tie Quint’s wrist to the chair arm with the curling iron cord. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yes, but—”
“She isn’t the only one here who might not be okay, you know,” Debbie Sue snapped.
“You, mister,” Wilson said to Nick. “Nice and easy, pull out your wallet. Gimme the cash.”
Nick reached back and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, thumbed through a small sheaf of bills and handed them over. Wilson grabbed them and shoved them into his pocket.
Just then, with a loud squawk, Jake glided toward Edwina’s station and on his way, dropped a huge, messy package onto the front of Wilson’s head. Splat!
“Aargh!” He slapped his palm against his head, brought it back and saw an icky mess of gray and white bird poop covering his palm.
“Thank God for greens,” Edwina mumbled.
The parrot landed atop the coat tree that stood beside Edwina’s station.
“You sonofabitch!” Wilson fired at Jake. Blam!
Jake leaped into the air. “Aawrrk! Murder! Murder!” He swooped into the storeroom.
Debbie Sue darted to her own station, grabbed a can of hair spray and blasted it directly into Wilson’s eyes.
“Aaarrgh!” Blinded, he fired again, barely missing Quint’s head. The mirror at Edwina’s station shattered.
Sandi ducked.
Quint’s shoulders scrunched up
