Mama

I grew up listenin’ to this,” he said, nodding at the radio that cast a pale yellow light in the cab of the old pickup truck.

“Shot a man in Reno, just to watch him diiiiiie — ” he bellowed in off-key enthusiasm. “Right there it is. Damn, that part always gets me. Whatchoo think?”

The man looked to her for a response but none came. He frowned and clicked on the large metal flashlight on the bench seat beside him. She lay in a motionless heap on the passenger floorboard, wrists and ankles bound by wet rope smeared with dirt and grease, her long black hair in a chaotic tangle.

“I’m gonna call you Tiffany I think. Yep, that’s it. All fancy with that exercise outfit — prolly cost more than my truck.”

The lighter in the dashboard reported for duty with a percussive chonk. He clicked off the flashlight, pulled a bent cigarette from behind his ear, and lit it with the glowing red coil.

“I mean, what you thinkin’ girl? This side of town, this time of night? You musta been lookin’ for trouble. You musta wanted me to save you from your stuffy-ass life with your boring-ass husband. Is that what it was?” He pulled hard from his cigarette, the smoke billowing from his mouth as he continued his frantic monologue. “You two get in a tiff — ha. You hear that Tiff-any? Meant to be. Yeah, you had your little Tiffany-tiff over your new hair-do or what color to paint your foyer — foy-yay, or whatever. Point is, you wanted me to take you and I’m happy to oblige. We were meant to be you see? Perfect couple. I’m like your knight in shiny armor or some shit.”

They drove on in silence. On a tree-lined road well outside of the city, he turned into an overgrown driveway marked by a mailbox with leprous white paint and worn numbers. The old Ford pickup plunged into the woods, bobbing and groaning over the rutted two-track, branches whacking and scraping the sides, the noise halting the tree frogs’ nightly performance.

The truck soon emerged into a clearing and came to a stop before a mobile home — white corrugated aluminum bisected by a wide mustard-yellow stripe. A lonely lightbulb atop the front door strained to illuminate the clearing, its light swallowed by the surrounding darkness. A swarm of mosquitos worshiped the bulb in dance and warm television light flickered through the front screen door.

With his captive still crumpled and unmoving on the floorboard, he killed the engine and jumped out of the cab, darting enthusiastically up the front steps of the trailer. “Mama, got us another one.” The man declared triumphantly, the slap of the closing screen door punctuated the statement.

A stocky woman in a baby blue bathrobe, thick brown hair in pink and yellow curlers, feet stuffed into dirty gray slippers dangling off the leg rest of her brown recliner, sat with her back to the door, her attention on the shopping network host fondling garish earrings. “You did what?!” Her shrill reply over the blaring tv was ripe with disapproval. “We ain’t even got rid of the other one. What were you thinkin’ boy?!”

He glanced to the far corner of the room where the young girl lay curled up in a large metal dog crate, cocooned in a canary yellow nightgown.

After a moment, he resumed with a repentant timidity. “Sorry Mama, I — I didn’t plan to. It just sorta happened. Saw her runnin’ and I just had to get her. She’s so pretty — and rich from the looks of ‘er. Like one of those fancy ladies from your shows.”

“Use your head boy,” she scolded, her words a snakebite dripping with venom. “Only reason we ain’t been caught is we been careful. You take ’em too quick they gonna notice and come lookin’. You wanna get mama throwed in jail?”

“No mama,” he said quietly, choosing to stare at his shoes instead of meeting her harsh gaze.

“Not much we can do now,” she relented. “Bring that bitch in Danny — Mama needs a look.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, enthusiasm resuscitated. He spun around to carry out Mama’s orders, a triumphant and toothy grin plastered on his face until he noticed her. “The hell?” His Tiffany was unbound and standing next to the truck at the edge of the darkness.

Danny slinked out of the trailer, crept down the stairs, and approached her like you would a dog who had gotten off-leash. “What you doin’ girl?” he said softly, stopping a few feet in front of her. The woman stood before him, obscured by shadows, motionless apart from the rise and fall of her chest, silent apart from the sound of her heavy and jagged breathing.

“You were in a car accident and bumped your head pretty good.” He paused awaiting her response. “You must be in shock, darlin’. Ambulance is coming though. We’ll get you all fixed up.”

“Where is she?” The woman’s words a low, breathy growl.

“Where’s who?” he replied. “Ain’t nobody here but me and Mama. Let’s get you inside. You’re confused. I’ll get you a Pepsi or somethin’.” It was then he noticed the subtle glow of electronic light — the outline of a smartphone she held pressed against her left thigh. “Wait — What is that? What — What did you do, Tiffany?!”

At this, she took a step forward into the light and held up the phone so her captor could see the screen. It displayed Emergency Call with a call time of 25:46 and counting. Her lips curled into a slight smile.

Danny lunged forward and snatched the phone from her hand. Whether animal instinct or a disturbance in his peripheral vision, he became aware of the attack a moment before impact. His own flashlight, two full pounds of anodized aluminum, struck him in the side of the head. He fell hard into the truck, dazed and clinging to the hood.

The woman gripped the metal club with both hands and swung with all her strength. The flashlight made perfect contact with the back of Danny’s head — the impact accompanied by the sound of cracking bone. Gravity took over, pulling Danny’s limp body to the ground.

“My name,” she panted, “is Candice.”

Candice dropped the flashlight and, with trembling hands, retrieved a small rectangular device from a pocket of her running jacket. She exhaled deeply through pursed lips, and sprinted toward the trailer. Bounding up the stairs she met a large figure at the door, about to exit. Candice crashed through the screen into a startled Mama, who let out a sharp yelp. They tumbled over the recliner and began wrestling once they hit the floor — a flurry of elbows and fists as they grappled. Mama had the weight advantage, but Candice had the element of surprise and 25,000 volts. She thrust the stun gun into the base of Mama’s neck, the crackling device incapacitating her in fits and spasms.

As Candice untangled herself from the incapacitated woman, she was struck in the heart by a familiar voice.

“Mommy!” cried the girl from the crate in the corner.

Never did that word sound so sweet. Overcome by a joy so raw and intense, Candice scrambled on all fours to the crate and ripped open the door. The little girl crawled out and collapsed in her mother’s arms. They clung to each other and wept as the sound of distant sirens drew near.