Meryl and Salvadore sat strapped in their Lazy-Boys, wrists and ankles tied with rope to the chairs and their mouths sealed shut with duck tape. The thug had knocked Salvadore out cold with a single elbow blow to the back of his head, and had assaulted Meryl and tied her up long before Meryl could get up the courage to call the elder police.
The man rushed about the house, Meryl could hear, drawers opening, doors slamming shut, pots and pans clanking in the kitchen. Meryl tried to turn her head, to see Salvadore, but she couldn’t turn her head. She had the shakes and couldn’t stop them, either – surely a slow, painful death awaited her and Salvadore, once that man got what he wanted?
He came back in the room and Meryl had a good look at him. Half-shaved head, the other half, long and stringy hair that’d been dyed blue-gray. A face-fall that had gone bad. One side of his face, all wrinkled, sagging, and pockmarked with brown liver spots, had all the beauty and grace that only the best models in the world sought. But the other side of his face – smooth, taut, blemish-free, a milky white complexion that highlighted a strong jawline – was revolting and repulsive, to the point that no one on the street could look at the man without vomiting. Meryl herself felt the urge to retch, and panicked anew. What if she vomited into the duck tape?
“Got me what I want,” the thug said. Meryl saw what was in his hands – Salvadore’s bow ties from the Lawrence Welk Show. Her own Preparation H and orthopedic oxfords. Meryl was crushed – their most prized possessions. All would be lost.
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