Page 73 of Too Old for This
Next to the recliner, there’s a side table with a lamp, the TV remote, a box of Kleenex, a half-empty box of cigarettes…and the lighter. It would burn through the rope, but it might burn me up as well.
I’m sure Norma has a few sharp things in her bag. Nail file, keys, maybe even a little pair of scissors. But it’s on the floor.I’d have to bend over with this chair on my back and pick it up. Risky. I could end up falling over.
My options are the bag or the lighter. Both are terrible.
And now she’s back.
“Your liquor selection sucks.”
Norma falls into my recliner. She has a wineglass filled with gin, and it sloshes over the side. Her cigarette is burned down to the filter. She throws it in the trinket bowl and lights another.
“Now, where were we? Oh, that’s right. You were going to tell me what you did with Plum.” She focuses on me, her eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with you?”
I shake my head. My breathing is slow and labored. “I don’t know.”
“Speak up.”
“Too tight.” I nod toward the ropes.
Panic flashes in her eyes. She leans forward and touches the rope across my middle, pulls on it a little. “It’s not that tight. You can breathe just fine.”
No answer from me.
“I’m not loosening those ropes until you talk,” she says.
I nod toward the file. It’s on the chair, under Norma’s thigh. “That.”
“What about it?”
“It’s not the only thing I have,” I say.
“Not the only thing of Plum’s?”
“I have more.”
She jerks upright. Cigarette ash falls on the floor. “Where?”
“Loosen the rope.”
“How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“You don’t.” I pause to take another deep breath, grimacing like it’s painful. “But if I die, you’ll never know.”
It only takes her a second to decide. She keeps the cigarette stuck between her lips and moves around to the back of the chair. After bumping her leg on the coffee table—“Dammit!”—she bends down and starts untying the rope.
I can’t overpower her. And even if I could get free of the chair, my ankles would still be tied together. The best I can do is pull my arms forward as much as possible, making the rope seem tighter than it really is. Tonight, Norma’s drinking is my friend.
She reties the knot and walks back around to face me. “Better?”
“Better.” I keep my arms stiff so it looks like I still can’t move them. “Thank you.”
“Where are Plum’s things?”
“Upstairs. There’s a guest room at the end of the hall, on the left. Everything is in the closet.”
She rushes off, nearly stumbling on the edge of the rug in the entryway. As soon as she’s out of sight, I wiggle one arm and lift it up, right out of the ropes. Same with the other arm. But when I reach back toward the knot, I can’t get to it.
I stretch, but it’s still too far. The pain in my shoulder makes me stop.
