Bolting from the Camry, Brian expected a clamor — crashing cymbals and hammering drums – a furor heralding the hero’s entrance in his opera. Yet, for all his agitation, the world remained curiously serene. Carlisle’s army of inflatable Trumps snapped and flailed in the distance. Plessy, microphone in his left hand, face, hair and clothes speckled with oily black dots, spoke calmly as he swung his right arm toward the bus. Monroe, camera on his right shoulder, tracked Plessy’s movement.
Captain Gofuckyourself called to his man atop the bus. “Becker, I need intel. What do you see?”
From the bus’s south end, binoculars to eyes, Becker pointed and hollered, “I see two, three, no wait, five – there’s five hostiles heading south…”
Captain Gofuckyourself shouted, “Five? Damnit to hell.” Then to the agent holding Carmen. “Russell, put her down. Bind her legs. Let’s go.”
“On it, Cap.” Russell used a right leg sweep to take Carmen to the ground. Pushing her back against a bus tire, he pulled a long black zip tie from his boot top. Kneeling, he wrapped her ankles twice. The zip tie made an angry buzzing sound as Russell drew its tongue through the lock. As if trussing a steer in a rodeo, he threw his arms in the air and shouted, “Done.”
“Alright, cowboy,” Captain Gofuckyourself shouted, “let’s move.” He and Russell started south, double-time.
With an eye on Becker atop the bus, Brian crouched low and began to creep toward Carmen. Monroe hissed at Plessy, jerked his head toward Brian, then eased the camera left. Plessy brought the mic closer to his lips and began whispering a slow steady play by play.
Brian bent down to Carmen, leaning his shoulder against the bus. “Do you believe me now?”
“Your people.”
“They’re not mine.”
Carmen worked her hands free. Legs still bound; she reached up to Brian. He pulled her to stand. She pointed toward her satchel. “My recorder.”
Brain crept toward the heap, grabbed her satchel and snatched the microphone. He dropped the mic in the bag and draped it across his shoulder. Spinning left toward Carmen, he looked straight into the lens of Monroe’s camera. Plessy gave him a thumbs up. Monroe said, “Don’t look at the camera. Keep going. This is for television.”
Brian glanced up at the bus’s top. Becker, at its far end, shouted directions to agents running south.
Carmen legs tied, shifted back and forth heel to toe.
“What are you doing?” Brian asked.
“Loosening the ties.”
“There’s not time.” Brian said and bent forward. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”
Carmen did and when he stood to his height, her feet rose off the ground. He cradled her hips and legs with both arms and began toward his car.
“I don’t need your help,” she said.
“I know,” he replied. “I’m not helping at all.”
“I can do this on my own.”
“I know you could. I’m sure you would. Now, will you please be quiet, please.”
Beside the car, he dropped Carmen’s legs and pulled the Camry’s passenger side door open. Brian looked at the oil staining his fingers and wiped them against his pant leg, leaving a black gash on his thigh. He put his hands on Carmen’s shoulders and said, “Lean back. Sit down onto the seat.”
“I don’t need help getting into a car,” she said.
“Fine,” he said, and let go.
On top of the bus, Becker turned a slow circle, scanning Plessy, Monroe, the Camry, Carmen and Brian with his binoculars. “Hey,” he shouted. Brian grabbed Carmen’s biceps and pushed her into the seat.
“Hey,” she shouted.
Brian lifted her legs into the car and said, “Put your seat belt on.” He slammed the car door, ran to the driver’s side, climbed in, pushed the gear shift to drive and started up Pan American Drive. In his rear view, Becker scrambled down from the bus. Plessy and Monroe climbed into a black SUV; its roof bristled with antennae and a satellite dish on a telescoping mast. Plessy drove; Monroe popped up through a roof top hatch and pulled the camera up onto his shoulder.
“Am I being kidnapped?” Carmen said.
“Kidnapped? What? No… It’s me or,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “those guys back there.”
“Those are not all my choices.”
“What?”
“Stop the car.”
“Now?”
“Si. Parete, ahora. Stop the car now. Let me out.”
“Your legs are tied.”
Carmen reached into her satchel with both hands and came out opening the blade of a Swiss army knife. She bent forward and snapped it through the zip tie binding her ankles. “Stop the car.”
“What? Here?”
“Si, here. Aqui…”
“I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go.”
“Parete, aqui. Ahora… Stop here. Let me out here. I will not be rescued. I will rescue myself.”
“You weren’t doing so good back there.”
“Stop the car, Brian. Or we will.”
“Siri?”
“She wants out.”
“I want out.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“She doesn’t want your help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“She doesn’t need any help.”
“Right. I should just take her back and put her on the bus.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No. What I want is to get out here. Here. Here.”
“Stop the car, Brian.”
Brian eased the Camry to the curb. Plessy and Monroe pulled up behind him. Carmen pushed the passenger side door open and climbed out. She reached back for her satchel. “You are not the hero of my story.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You have.” She closed the door.
Brian watched in the rear view as Plessy and Monroe climbed from the SUV. Monroe hoisted the camera onto his shoulder. Plessy, mic in hand, stepped in front of Carmen. She plugged her mic into the recorder and put the headphones over her ears. Monroe counted Plessy in with the fingers on his left hand and pointed. Plessy spoke to the camera, then turned to Carmen. He held his mic to her mouth. Carmen positioned her mic in front of Plessy’s face. She spoke. He spoke.
Siri said, “We like her spunk.”
“What about my spunk?” Brian asked.
“Don’t you have someplace to be?”
