The Iron Tiara

Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to flirt back, so I reopened my book and just pretended to keep reading while he talked.

After he finished his soda he asked, “So, what are you doing sitting in front of the convenience store? You waitin’ on someone?”

“Yeah, my stepdad is supposed to pick me up. He should be here in a minute.”

He stood up and looked around. “Well, I can give you a ride home. How far ya live?”

“Oh no, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want him to show up and me not be here. He would worry.”

Actually, that wasn’t true. Vince wouldn’t see me here and assume Delia picked me up, and he would just go home.

“Can you call him or somethin’ and let him know you’re gettin’ a ride?” Before I could answer he said, “You ever been on a motorcycle before? You’ll like it. I’m a safe driver. I’ll go real slow and let you wear my helmet.”

Again I didn’t answer, just looked at him.

He laughed then and said, “It’s not like I can do anything to hurt you while you’re on the back of my bike. Seriously, it’s just a ride home. If you don’t want me to know where you live, I can drop you at a corner close to your house. C’mon. Make an old guy’s day.”

“Why not?” I thought as I tried to mentally guess his age. He was older than me, but I didn’t think he was an old guy. I closed my book and stood up.

“Well, I guess it’d be okay. I live off Davie Boulevard, just west of I-95. Is that out of your way?”

“No problem at all.”

He tossed his Coke in a garbage can, came back over to me and held my bag open while I stowed my library book away. He made some comment about how my satchel was probably heavier than I was. He walked toward his motorcycle and grabbed his helmet, which had been hanging on the handlebar, and gave it to me. I put my bag on my back, took the helmet from him and put it on. It was loose, so he tightened the strap under my chin.

He swung a leg over the bike, started it up and then stood. I realized he was standing to make it easy for me to get on behind him, which I did with no problem. He revved the engine and I felt a little thrill at being on the back of a motorcycle with an older guy. I wasn’t the type to care, but for a second or two I actually hoped someone I knew might see me. How prophetic that thought seemed much later. I yelled that I was going to have him drop me at Smitty’s Bar and asked if he knew where it was on Davie Boulevard. He nodded yes.

I guess that was the moment I was officially abducted.

We started out in the direction I’d told him. At a red light he turned and asked if I was enjoying the ride. I nodded yes and he said very loudly that he was going to take a different route to give me a little longer ride. Not to worry though, he would get me safely to Smitty’s. I didn’t worry. Not even for a second. I was enjoying myself too much.

It wasn’t until we were on State Road 84 heading west and missed the right turn onto U.S. 441 that I felt my first stirring of fear. It was then I realized I didn’t even know his name, and that with all the small talk and questions he had for me at the 7-Eleven, he’d never even asked mine. That suddenly struck me as very weird.

I leaned up so my mouth was near his ear and shouted, “Hey, this is the really long way around. I have to be home soon or my parents will be worried.”

He never acknowledged that he heard me.

I leaned back against the backrest on the motorcycle. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic. My bag was still on my back, and I could feel the library books digging into me through the thin fabric. It was then that I noticed his jacket for the first time.

It was a skull with a sinister smile and what appeared to be some kind of horns. A naked woman, somehow tastefully covered, was draped seductively across the top of the skull. She had dark brown hair with bangs and big brown eyes. As I peered closer, I saw she was wearing a brown peace choker. I raised my hand to my neck. It looked just like mine. Before I could ponder that strange coincidence I looked lower. To my horror, I noticed the name embossed beneath the morbid design.

Satan’s Army.



Chapter Two



I’d soon find out I was nothing more than a thank-you gift after a long initiation ritual.

I sat in the rickety lawn chair and surveyed my surroundings. I clutched my bag to my chest as I tried to adjust my eyes to the dimming light. There was a campfire and a hodgepodge circle of people surrounding it. I can’t remember now if I couldn’t make out their faces in the waning light or if I was too frightened to notice. I knew where I was but wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it. I’d started praying as soon as I realized the seriousness of my predicament. I should’ve taken my chances when there were more people and cars around. I should’ve risked jumping off a moving motorcycle. It would have been better than what I faced now.

I remember starting to physically shake when the reality hit me as we’d made our way west on State Road 84.

These days 84 is updated and modernized, but in 1975 it was an underdeveloped two-way road. Today it runs parallel to a super highway, I-595, that takes you from the Everglades to the beach in a matter of minutes with all kinds of development in between—houses, schools, shopping centers and gas stations. In ’75, it was the highway to hell, famous for its head-on collisions. It had little to no turnoffs with the exception of a little bar called Pete’s.

When we passed Pete’s I felt the nausea rising in my stomach. I knew there was nothing beyond it except the entrance to the deathtrap highway called Alligator Alley that connected the two Florida coasts. I thought the Miccosukee Indian Reservation was out there somewhere, but I didn’t have a clue where.

It was getting dark and there were no other headlights in sight. About ten minutes after passing Pete’s, we slowed and made a right onto a dirt road. I noticed some dim lights for the first time. Just a little way off the road, and barely visible due to the growing brush, was an old motel.

It was one of those little fifteen-or twenty-unit motels with old jalousie windows. It had an unlit sign identifying it as the Glades Motel. I hoped maybe it was still in business. A working motel might be good. Someone had to be running it. This might be my chance to explain I had made a mistake and ask to use the phone.

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