“What?” Gay got out too, joined Maggie on the sidewalk.
“I’m tired of this guy stalking me. This time I’ll be the one waiting with the gun.”
“Like when you hid in that bathroom?”
“That was different, I was scared, surprised.”
“And you’re not afraid now?”
“I’m terrified.”
“That’s reassuring,” Gay said.
On foot in front of the house, Maggie saw a neatly manicured lawn with a picture perfect flower bed, roses ran along the front of the house. She wondered if Nighthyde kept the lawn looking that way or if he had a gardener.
She passed the lawn, hooked a left up the driveway. She took quiet breaths, as if the neighbors could hear. The gate had a string through a hole above the latch. Maggie pulled it, the latch clicked and the gate opened with a screech that shivered up her spine. Surely someone had heard. But no lights came on.
Gay followed her through and Maggie steeled herself as she screeched the gate closed. Inside, she found they were protected from the neighbors’ eyes by a five foot brick fence that surrounded the backyard. The yard, like the front, looked professionally managed.
“I still think this is a stupid idea.” Gay was so close behind Maggie that she felt her breath on the back of her neck.
“Let’s check the back door.” Maggie stepped up the back porch, tried the knob. “Locked.”
“Maybe we should go.”
Maggie backed away from the house, studied it. “The bathroom window’s open a crack.” She went to it. “Give me a boost.”
“Right.” Gay laced her fingers together. Maggie stepped into them.
Maggie slipped her thumbs under the window, slid it up. “Piece of cake.”
“This is stupid.”
“Oh stop.”
“Stopping.”
“Can you boost me a little higher?”
“Boosting.” Gay pulled Maggie up enough, so she could squirm through the window, like a gopher squeezing into a hole, she thought.
Then she was in and falling. She hit the floor on her backside as an animal roar filled the bathroom.
Bear was her first thought.
Then it was on her.
“Gay!” she screamed
The thing wrapped itself around her and squeezed. Maggie smelled its breath, foul, as if raw meat were decaying in its mouth. It wheezed as it squeezed, choking her, suffocating her. It had her arms pinned to her sides. She was helpless.
She kicked against it and it answered by gripping harder. Maggie was caught in its killing embrace and there was nothing she could do about it. Blood rushed to her head as she thrashed like a netted fish trying to get away, trying to breathe.
From somewhere in the distance she heard the sound of breaking glass. She heard her name shouted, then light replaced the dark as Gay screamed, “Let her go!” And Maggie saw into the dead eyes of the old woman who had her in her grasp, saw Gay’s hands grab the old crone’s hair. “I said let her go! Let go or I’ll rip your head off!”
But the old hag flexed her great arms and crushed Maggie into her bulging breasts. The monster woman wailed as Gay jerked her backward by the hair. Maggie kneed the woman in the groin, kneed her again, felt the woman’s grip slacken. Somehow Gay had gotten an arm around the old hag’s throat and now the two woman were riding a bronc from hell as the hag bucked and thrashed about the bathroom, banging herself, Maggie and Gay into the cabinets below the sink, the bathtub and the toilet.
Then all of a sudden she let go her grip. Maggie rolled away and Gay jumped back as flabby arms flapped against the floor like a great seal’s flippers. She was on her back now, head banging the tiles.
“What’s going on?” Maggie said, out of breath.
Vomit spewed from the hag’s mouth.
“Grand mal seizure!” Gay went to her knees. “Help me turn her onto her side, so she doesn’t drown in her vomit.”
Maggie grabbed onto her shoulder, Gay her buttocks, and they heaved, but the old woman flung an arm around and caught Gay full in the face, sending her flying across the bathroom.
In an instant Gay was back. “Come on, she could die.”
“Okay, push,” Maggie said and she did. “It’s working, she’s going over.”
But as quickly as they’d rolled her onto her side, the hag flipped herself back again, flinging Maggie and Gay aside.
“Get her!” A man’s voice rang through the bathroom.
Maggie turned, barely able to register that the man was shouting in Japanese, before something slammed into her chest and knocked her wind away. She gagged, sucked air, tried to get up when the man slapped her face with an open palm, knocking her back to the floor.
There was another Asian on Gay. Maggie struggled to stay conscious, saw a tattooed arm slam Gay to the floor, spin her onto her stomach, even as the man on her spun her onto her own stomach. Head turned to the side, she saw grotesque tattooed hands frisk Gay, find the gun as she felt her own attacker pull the Sigma out from behind her.
Who were these men, why were they shouting in Japanese?
Hands pulled her to her feet, were dragging her out of the bathroom. She tried a feeble kick, got hit on the side of the head for a reward. She gave up, let the man drag her down a hallway, through the living room and into the kitchen. He pulled a chair from a breakfast table and flopped her into it as the other man dropped Gay into its mate.
They were silent now. Maggie saw one had a roll of duct tape. They were quick and efficient as they taped her hands behind the chair. Then they went to work on Gay. The men taped their feet to the legs of the chairs. They were trussed up like rodeo calves.
Able to breathe now, Maggie took in her captors. They were Japanese. They wore black leather motorcycle jackets with the sleeves cut off. Their arms were covered with tattoos. They were young and one of them was the man who had brushed against her back in that liquor store when she was buying the Frosted Flakes.
He was short, with a scar under his left eye, as if he’d been the loser in a knife fight. His hair was cropped close and he danced around on the balls of his feet. The other one was slightly taller, with long hair pulled into a ponytail. He was thin but muscular, and he had twice the tattoos as Scarface. His black eyes were glued to Maggie. Maybe he was going to kill her, but it was obvious what he wanted to do first.
Yakuza thugs.
Why?
“What’s going on here!” The voice tore through the kitchen like a gunshot. Maggie turned her head toward it, saw Horace Nighthyde. His face was going red. He didn’t look stable.
“Mr. Nighthyde,” one of the Japanese said in heavily accented English, “these women entered your house through a back window. We surprised them as they were struggling with your mother.”
“What?”
“She’s on the bathroom floor. We were just about to move her to the sofa,” Ponytail said.
Horace Nighthyde ran out of the room.
The Japanese started whispering among themselves in their own language, unaware that Maggie understood every word.
“We should kill them all and go,” Scarface said.
“No, Mr. Striker was very specific. First we find out how much they know and who they’ve told,” Ponytail said. “You will take Nighthyde to the others while I question the women.”
“I know what you want.” Scarface laughed.
