Page 107 of Mensa's Match

As I backed out of the room, the ugly shower curtain caught my attention and an idea struck me. My junior and senior year of high school, I’d been on the track team, not for running but for shot put. I pulled down the curtain, wadded it up, tucked it under my arm, and grabbed the toilet tank lid. It wasn’t an ideal shape, but the concept was still the same.

The plastic chair wouldn’t bust through the window, but a toilet lid most likely would. If it didn’t shatter along with the glass, I could use the lid as a weapon when I ran into someone preventing me from escaping.

At the window, I set everything down, and yanked on the cord to raise the blinds. The light flooding the room made me wince. My eyes were downcast and the glint of something metal caught my attention.

My cell phone was on the ground in the corner of the room. That was strange, but I had to guess they were more interested in my handgun than my phone.

I picked up my cell and my growing relief shriveled up. The screen wasn’t just cracked, it was clear they’d stomped on it. I hit the power button, and nothing.

Nevertheless, I tucked it in my back pocket and picked up the toilet lid.

Before I could swing at the window, I heard multiple bikes outside. Outside the door to this room, I heard the commotion of footsteps pounding down the hall.

Through the window, I saw four bikes pulling into the backyard. All of those riders wore Corrupt Chrome patches.

So much for busting out of here.

“What the fuck are you doing?” a man demanded.

I whirled around, but the door to the room was still closed.

A gruff voice spoke on the other side of the door. “I’m gonna bring this blonde bitch out front. She’s the type our brothers from Georgia like.”

I’d left the plastic chair close to the door, and I quickly dragged it back to where I’d initially been situated. Whoever came in would expect to see me sitting there, hopefully with the chair in the right spot it would take them an extra second or two to register that I wasn’t where I should be.

I moved to the closet door and pressed my back against it.

The first man spoke. “You’re out of your mind. That bitch is Rod’s. You bring her out here, he’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

“No, he won’t. He’ll be pissed he didn’t think to hand her over to them.”

My eyes closed as I took a deep breath. The idea of being handed over toanybodydidn’t sit well with me. My hands were getting clammy. I opened my eyes and shifted the lid to one hand while I wiped the other one on my shorts.

Nothing about this situation was ideal, but I sent up a prayer that only one man came into the room. One on one, I might stand a chance – especially if he were unarmed. Two on one, I had to hope my guardian angel came ready to tussle and kick some ass.

“You’re a moron. Rod’s been jumpy as hell all week. He’ll slit your fuckin’ throat you even go in that room.”

The man with the gruff voice let out an annoying laugh. “Even better. Someone needs to show Rod his place. You want in on this action?”

“Fuck no. And why are you carrying a gun? She’s tied to a chair in there.”

“The gun is to scare her. I like it when they’re scared. You gonna rat me out to Rod?”

“Should, but I won’t, Scaler.”

Scaler? What kind of road name was that? At least I knew this asshole had a weapon.

I heard a set of footsteps move away from the room, then I heard a key being inserted into the doorknob just before country music blared from the adjacent room.

Even if the tunes were annoying, they might drown out the sounds of me fighting with this asshole.

The door opened and an overhead light came on just as I heard the door slam shut.

With the door closed, I was able to hear him speak. “Hey, Blondie— what the fuck?”

I had to wait for him to step further into the room. As luck would have it, he had his gun in his left hand. I raised the toilet tank cover high and cleaved it down on his arm. It took more effort than I expected to keep hold of the lid after impact.

He yelled in pain, dropped his gun, and reached out to punch me. My reflexes kicked in and I blocked his punch by holding the lid out like a shield. He howled at punching the porcelain. Before he could lunge at me again, I threw the lid at him. It hit him in his sternum. I didn’t watch what he did next, opting to scurry to his gun instead.

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