Turn it on, Tangy, Tangerine thought. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. Her war paint was flawless, as usual. She popped the hood and got out of the truck. She went around to the front and raised the hood, then made a show of looking at the engine in case Mr. Gatsby Culpepper was peeping at her through his bedroom window. Throwing up her hands in exasperation, she walked up the gentle rise to the front door.
The dulcet tones of “Moonlight Sonata” echoed through the house as Tangerine pushed the doorbell. House? Calling this place a house was like calling the Taj Mahal a crypt. Technically accurate but wholly incorrect. North Point was a three-story English Tudor monstrosity that spilled over a half-acre meticulously landscaped lot surrounded by a throng of ancient oaks, maples, and dogwoods. Lights flicked on in the second story, then the first story. A large black door that was more like the drawbridge of a castle opened abruptly. She hadn’t heard any footsteps approaching or the mutterings of a poor soul roused from his slumber at one o’clock in the morning.
“Can I help you?” the man standing in the door asked. He was a few inches taller than Tangerine. He had a shock of snow-white hair parted on the left side and swept back from his forehead. He was wearing a light-green golf shirt and tan khakis. He was standing in a foyer that was as big as her first apartment; it led to a great room with sprawling vaulted ceilings. Tangerine barely noticed. Her eyes focused on the gun in his left hand. It was a huge Dirty Harry–style pistol with a long barrel that was laying against the man’s hip.
“I said, can I help you?” Gatsby asked. Tangerine froze. She tried to force her mouth to make words, but all she could do was look down at that cannon the old man was holding.
“Miss?” Gatsby asked. Tangerine snapped her head up and gazed into the old man’s eyes. They were green with impossibly huge pupils. She swallowed hard. They were not the kindly eyes of a good Samaritan.
“Um, my car broke down and my cell phone is dead. I was wondering if you could come take a look at it. Maybe it needs a jump or something. I know it’s late but I’m not mechanically inclined,” she said. Gatsby gave her the once-over. Tangerine smiled at him. Gatsby smiled back. Even though she was a foot away she could smell whiskey on his breath.
“And what do I get in return?” Gatsby said. Tangerine suddenly felt a lot better about what was going to happen to this old man. Gatsby laughed lightly.
“Just a joke, dearie. Let’s go take a look at it,” Gatsby said. He closed the door behind him and followed her to the bottom of his driveway.
“How’d you find yourself out this way, dearie?” Gatsby asked. He still had the gun in his hand.
“Was leaving a friend’s house and my truck just died.”
“If you were my friend you’d be spending the night,” Gatsby said. Tangerine fought down a rising tide of nausea as she took her place at the front of the truck. Gatsby leaned under the hood. He lay the gun on the fender.
“Here sugar, hold my phone. There’s a little flashlight doohickey on there,” Gatsby said.
“I got it,” Tangerine said. She brushed her knee against the gun. It tumbled off the fender and landed on the ground.
“Damn it, darling, be careful; that’s a loaded pistol,” Gatsby said. He bent over to retrieve his gun.
Ike and Buddy Lee emerged from the darkness at opposite ends of the truck. They were wearing matching blue bandannas and black knit winter caps. Buddy Lee kicked the six-shooter out of Gatsby’s reach. The older man rose up to his full height.
“What the hell is this?” he asked. His tone made it clear he was a man who always expected his questions to be answered.
Ike struck Gatsby behind the left ear with his right fist. The old man fell to the ground like he’d been hit with a hammer.
“That was smooth, knocking that gun on the ground,” Buddy Lee said as he picked up the .44.
“Can we just get him in the truck and get the hell out of here?” Tangerine asked.
They tied his hands and feet with zip ties and covered his mouth with duct tape before throwing him in the truck bed and covering him with a heavy tarp. Ike got behind the wheel, Tangerine moved to the middle, and Buddy Lee got in the passenger seat. As they left North Point in the rearview mirror, Buddy Lee clucked his tongue.
“What?”
“I’m wondering if he had video cameras,” Buddy Lee said.
“We got on masks,” Ike said.
“I don’t,” Tangerine said.
“You see that house? If he has a camera system, it’s probably one of them fancy ones that’s hooked to his smartphone. We’ll just make him erase it,” Ike said.