The vehicle was a fully equipped SUV. No James, of course, but it was nice, and able to seat the four of us comfortably. Two seats had a built-in laptop, and just like airplanes there were screens on the back of the car seats in front. Our drivers were Farhad and Tomas.
According to the tracker, James was stationary somewhere at San Francisco International Airport. This could mean several things, I thought. We brainstormed as we sped our way down Highway 101. Nina thought that James was being stolen by a foreign country or company, and was being flown somewhere...China, maybe. Farhad suggested the thieves might be meeting a buyer at the airport, who'd rip out the AI and board a plane to Russia, or Japan. Tomas flashed his ID badge every time an airport cop wanted to stop us. Finally, we found James inside of an old hangar at the far end of a private runway – let's just say they're going to need a new gate and a new door.
Parked inside was a very expensive, private jet. A shot rang out and grazed Tomas on his shoulder. We all ducked to take cover behind whatever we could find, but we needn't have bothered – 5 seconds later, the gunman/pilot dropped to the floor. Standing over him was Derek (how the hell did my Devil Dawg move so fast?) brandishing a metal lug wrench. The sound of desperate pounding was coming from the Rolls Royce's trunk, along with unintelligible shouts.
"You could unlock it anytime, you know." Scarlett gave me a disdainful look.
"No," I deadpanned. "I don't have the key, remember?"
"Oh yeah, young Mister Fisk," said Farhad, "Your mother said to give you this. Just in case, you understand."
"Thanks," I said, grasping the key. I unlocked the trunk to reveal the last persons we'd ever expected to see. Micky and Manny, our former Mutt & Jeff Disney detail, last seen before we nabbed Tucker Chang. Mickey was sporting a huge gash along his leg and Manny a facial wound that went across his forehead. It was still oozing blood. That explained the stains in the Fairmont's garage.
"Oh, thank God!" Micky moaned.
"I quit!" shouted Manny to no one in particular. "I am too old for this crap, following spoiled rotten kids to keep 'em out of trouble. Say, what happened to Lance? First thing I know, he's bein' roughed up by these Russian guys, next thing I get smacked with a tire iron and stuffed into a trunk."
"Wait a minute, hon. What was Lance doing at the Fairmont garage anyway? He and Peter are no longer...oh, that good-for-nothin' – he was going to steal the car, wasn't he?" Scarlet was pissed. So was I.
"Truth is, ma'am," said Micky, "We're not sure. We were following him, per Joy's instructions. He started to drive off when another car blocked him. They yanked him outta this car, saw us and beat us up, then they put us in the trunk. Lance drove off in their car, leaving us behind to..."
"Behind to die! Joy is not going to be joyful." Manny sighed.
"Lance is going to need surgery when I'm done with him." Micky pounded his fist in his palm.
"Can you guys remember what either of these Russians look like? I took a class in portrait sketching years ago. It would help us to find them." Scarlett batted her eyelashes at Micky, who nodded and looked a bit flustered.
Farhad produced some paper and a pencil from the glove compartment. In less than 10 minutes, Scarlett had drawn two artist-quality sketches. In the meantime, I called mom.
"Pookie, you're alive!"
"Don't call me that, ever again. You can silently think it, but no more saying it out loud. I know that you know what we're doing. We've found James. You know we have the chip cover. It's all about the chip cover, isn't it?"
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The Summer I Really Didn't Kidnap Lance Hardwood || ONC2024
Teen FictionWhat do you do when a teenage movie star makes it seem as if you've kidnapped him? After working two summers at his father's health club as a towel boy, Peter Fisk saved enough money to visit California. He literally runs into Lance Hardwood in his...
