somebody moving through the shadowy interior.
'At least somebody's home,' Rhonda said, noting the Isuzu Trooper parked in front of the house as well as a sporty blue CRX sharing space in the carport with a decade-old maroon Cutlass.
'He may have company,' I said. 'By my count that's two more cars than drivers.'
I pulled to a stop behind the Isuzu. The windows had been tinted so dark they were practically black. That's something that makes sense in the Arizona desert but not in sun-starved Seattle. The plates said Sonora, Mexico, so presumably Guy Owens did have company.
Without waiting for me, Rhonda got out and hurried to the door. She rang the bell, but by the time I joined her, no one had answered.
'Try again,' I said. 'I'm almost positive I saw someone moving around in there as we drove up.'
She rang the bell again. Eventually, after what seemed like a long wait, the dead bolt clicked and the door handle turned. A haggard Guy Owens stood in the doorway.
'Sorry, Sue,' he said, looking directly at Rhonda. 'I won't be able to go to lunch with you and John. I'm not feeling well.'
Sue??? Rhonda had opened her mouth to speak, but she stopped, stunned by what he had said. I could understand her confusion. Was this a genuine case of mistaken identity, or was something else going on?
'Wait a minute,' she said, moving toward the door. 'You don't understand. I've got to…'
Guy Owens caught my eye. There was no mistaking the warning shake of his head, but I didn't know what to do about it. Following Guy's lead, I quickly took hold of Rhonda's arm.
'Come on, Sue,' I said, trying to pull her away. 'We'll talk to him tomorrow when he's feeling better.'
She looked up at me questioningly, but was allowing me to lead her back toward the car when a man emerged from the shadows behind Guy Owens holding an AK-47 assault rifle. He motioned for us to come inside. Just then a second man came loping around to the front of the house from the carport. The second one was wearing military fatigues.
At first I thought he might be there to help us, but I was wrong. He was carrying a 9-mm semi-automatic which he trained on me all the while shielding it with his body from the view of people on the roadway. The handgun may have been more subtle and more readily concealed than the AK-47, but it was sure as hell as lethal. Now we were trapped between the two.
'Looks like you and the lady better go on inside,' the man with the 9-mm said, prodding me forward with the barrel of the gun.
He had Hispanic features and a decided accent. He was slight and scrawny. Hand to hand, he wouldn't have lasted a minute with me, but with the gun…Without argument, I went inside.
'They're friends of mine,' Owens was explaining to the man with the rifle. 'We were supposed to go out to brunch.'
The importation of AK-47 assault rifles had been banned by the Bush Administration. Unfortunately, the old adage is proving true-if arms are outlawed, only outlaws will have arms. The crooks carried AK-47s long before the ban and they carry them now that the ban is in effect. Up against them, my puny little five-shot. 38 was nothing more than a glorified peashooter.
'These friends of his sure as hell ain't going to brunch now, are they, Paco.' The second man grinned an evil, gold-toothed grin and strutted his way into the house, shutting the door behind him. 'Brunch? No. A little ride? Si. And maybe after that, a long siesta.'
Rhonda looked anxiously from face to face, trying to make sense of what had happened. 'I don't understand. What's going on here?'
They've got Michelle,' Owens answered, his voice thick with defeat. 'They brought me back here to get the money.'
'What money?' I asked.
'Money Joey Rothman evidently stole from these people. Or maybe it was plain old-fashioned extortion. I can't tell which. However he got it, Joey left the money with Michelle for safekeeping.'
'Is Michelle all right?' Rhonsa asked.
Owned nodded. 'I guess so. For now.'
'Shut up,' the man with the semiautomatic snapped.
Paco looked at his partner questioningly. 'Did you find it, Tony?'
Tony nodded. 'I think so. Right behind the dryer, just like she said. I was about to pick it up when the doorbell rang. Maybe the lady here would like to go get it for me while the rest of us wait.'
He waved his weapon in Rhonda's direction, and she shrank away from it and him.
Guy Owens nodded reassuringly toward an open doorway. 'The laundry room is just beyond the kitchen,' he said. 'Michelle said she hid the briefcase behind the clothes dryer.'
Rhonda nodded mutely then disappeared through the doorway, while Tony stationed himself and the semiautomatic near enough to the opening that he could keep an eye on her as well as on us. He seemed to be in charge, but I still wasn't quite sure.
Cop or crook, in this business overconfidence can be a deadly mistake. So far, it hadn't occurred to either one of these gun-toting clowns that the people coming to take Guy Owens to a Sunday brunch might possibly be armed and dangerous themselves. Owens had faked them into believing his story, that we were nothing more than casual, harmless friends, and they hadn't bothered to search us. Considering the difference in firepower, it was a small mistake, but a mistake nonetheless, enough to give me an inkling of hope.
I tried to catch Owens' eye to see if he had any ideas, but he too was watching the doorway, waiting for Rhonda to reappear. She did, carrying a man's thick briefcase. Her face had gone deathly white, and I was afraid for a moment that she was going to faint. Instead, she stopped in the doorway and dropped the briefcase from knee level. It flopped onto the carpeting and fell over, but it didn't pop open.
'Come over here and open it, Paco,' Tony said. 'Let's make sure his little girl isn't jerking us around. There's supposed to be money in there, and some kind of paper as well.'
It was issued like an order, and Paco obeyed without question. Putting his AK-47 on the floor beside him, he knelt and fumbled with the lock.
'Shit, man,' he said after several futile attempts. 'I can't. It's one of those damn combination locks. Want me to shoot it open?'
'Don't,' Rhonda said. 'I can open it. At least I think I can.'
Surprised, we all looked at her.
'It's JoJo's,' she explained. 'I gave it to him for Christmas years ago when they were first coming out with the combination locks. Of course, if he's changed the combination…'
'Wait a minute,' Tony said. 'Whose did you say?'
Without bothering to answer him, Rhonda knelt on the floor and began tinkering with the lock, biting her bottom lip in concentration, oblivious to the two men watching her every move. Noticing their momentary lack of attention, I caught Guy Owens' eye.
Paco, kneeling beside Rhonda, was closest to Guy, and the deadly AK-47 still lay where he had left it, on the floor near his feet. Guy Owens rolled his eyes toward Paco in silent acknowledgement, while I calculated the seemingly immense distance between me and the death-dealing semiautomatic.
I knew only too well that we were taking a terrible risk. Withering fire from the semiautomatic would cut us to pieces if I was even a moment too late, but it was now or never. We wouldn't ever get another chance.
I edged closer to Tony, willing Rhonda to keep his attention focused on her slender, nimble fingers, praying that the creeps wouldn't sense the sudden surge of almost electric tension in the room.
The lid of the briefcase popped open revealing a briefcase full of money-tens, twenties, and hundreds, bound in careful stacks. That much money has a magnetic effect on some people, crooks in particular. Fortunately for us, both Paco and Tony were highly susceptible. While their eyes remained riveted to the spilling contents of the briefcase, Guy Owens and I launched our attack.
I didn't see Guy's well-placed kick. Instead, as I threw myself toward Tony, I heard the thud of a shod foot connecting with flesh followed by an agonized groan as Paco fell face down on the floor.
There was no time for me to draw the. 38. I threw myself toward Tony, aiming low, hoping to catch him in the abdomen before he could raise the gun to a firing position. He grunted in surprise as I crashed into him. The force of the blow knocked the pistol from his hand and sent it spinning onto the hard tiled surface of the dining room
