Tacos Interrupted

  I am  walking with my sister Molly to the local Tom Thumb grocery store for taco fixings. We offered to make dinner for our family today.  I’m just a year older than Molly and a bit taller too. I’ve always been close with Molly, as we have so much in common. We love volleyball, and drama club, and spending time at home in the kitchen around the large island. We love to cook and bake, and Mexican cuisine is a favorite. We look like sisters, light brown hair and grey eyes. Well, Molly’s eyes are greenish in color. 

      As we walk through the automatic doors of the Tom Thumb, sweeping past displays of Valentine’s Day cookie kits and clementine mesh bags, I’m feeling watched as an ominous sense overcomes me, causing a mild shiver up my spine.  It feels as if invisible eyes are laser-focused on us. Molly seems a little insecure in her flip-flops, and I feel as if I am slouching. 

       I feel like shouting, “We have no cause for shame here!” We’re just shopping for dinner. What is the problem?!  That case of goods probably inspires people to make Mexican food, I think with a smile. The case is loaded with several kinds of guacamole, pico de gallo, onions, chile con queso, and a variety of salsas. We choose hatch chile guacamole and pico de gallo, remembering we have pineapple salsa at home. 

       Next, we stride down the bread aisle to the very end: tortilla central. We never have a problem finding all the soft tortillas we want phere. We grab two packs. Now, as we step over to the meat section, I still sense a strange atmosphere within the store. Molly is focusing on food, and declares, “Laura, we’re taking three pounds of ground beef!”  I agree, as everyone in our family loves taco leftovers! 

        The dairy department features a wide variety of sour cream brands, and we stick with Daisy brand. Molly has her nose near the list, but I can not help glancing often over my shoulder as we walk. A ticklish sensation surges up my neck. Am I paranoid? I do not recognize anyone in the store today. This store is five minutes from our house, and we usually see someone we know. Is that Mrs. Halisky, our beloved former math teacher? No, that is someone else. Oh, is that our brooding, reserved schoolmate Mortimer? No, no one looks familiar. 

      Molly turns to me in produce, and asks: “Shall we have cilantro? Limes? How about both?” I try to shake off my foreboding and join in on picking both cilantro and limes. We notice some strawberries, and grab a carton for our older sister Nancy who is obsessed with berries. 

     Oh, we have to go get some cheese! As we amble over, I keep thinking of the creepy atmosphere in the store? How strange to feel eyes boring into you from a distance? Molly chatters about maybe making a chicken bake tomorrow, when suddenly two hulking men bear down on us! The two men have short, dark, slick hair and tanned complexions. They are tall, and muscular, wearing dark suits. The first man speaks, revealing pointy teeth.

        “Excuse us, we are sorry to tell you that your parents have been arrested for tax evasion,” he says. I notice he has a mild foreign accent.

“You two girls need to come with us for questioning,” the other man growls. 

      We girls just stare at each other in amazement. This can not be happening. Our parents are the type to pay adult tickets for their over twelve year old children at the movies, even if said children can pass for younger. They have integrity. This must all be a terrible mistake.

Molly’s helpless submission is reflected in my face. Like two robot twins, we follow the men,  leaving the full cart of groceries behind. The pointy-toothed man flashes his unsightly smile as he explains that he and his colleague are two new IRS hires. He reassures us we will only be detained a short while to answer some standard questions. 

          Once out of the store, the men take an unexpected turn towards the loading dock behind the store. I look at Molly, scared and yet, curious too. This is all so surreal. As soon as I see an enormous white stretch limousine waiting for our group, my alarm bells start firing off! Two new government hires have been allowed that palatial car? I begin to look hard into the dark recesses of the limousine, and glimpse a middle aged, turbaned and bearded man waiting. This reminds me of stories of girls getting kidnapped and sold into slavery, which always feels like it cannot happen anywhere near this civilized place. My mother did tell me of an American pizzeria in Paris where it almost happened to her and her blonde friend thirty years ago. 

         Horrified, I grab Molly’s hand and drag her along with me as fast as I can. The pointy-toothed henchman pulls out a taser and springs at Molly’s ankle with it! Molly collapses on the ground, but my adrenaline is up, and I grab a cart and scoop Molly into it, even as I throw a stone at the taser-holding creep! I rush Molly forward, thinking of a friend who owns a restaurant just two blocks away. Molly is pale and groaning, I hope she is not seriously hurt. As I whip around to check on the enemy, the man in the turban came out to argue with Pointy that he should not have touched the beautiful girls. Meanwhile the other man is in pursuit. Past the Spanish restaurant I fly, nearly colliding with an old woman exiting her car. I keep going, panting and gasping, thinking: I am a fool to have ever gone with the men. Children of so-called tax evaders are probably always left out of the proceedings.  

      We finally make it over to the Spirit Grill. I wrench open the heavy door and thrust Molly, cart and all, into the place.  I breathe out, “Molly's hurt, kidnappers chasing us,” then sink into a chair. Mrs. Harris rushes to the door and applies the bolt, locking us in in safety. She boldly stands in front of the windows and calls the police.  The

two men figure out the danger, and  take off running back to the place where the turbaned man is waiting. We slowly catch our breath, and Mrs. Harris’ son Luke checks Molly’s pulse. It’s a little fast, but a promising sign that she will be okay. What an escape! I wonder how many other victims have fallen for their lines.

         We can never thank Mrs. Harris enough for taking swift action to save us. The police arrive and an ambulance to check out Molly. She is miraculously fine! 

       It finally occurs to me to call my parents and explain why we never came back home. My parents only believed our incredible and frightening story when Mrs. Harris got on the line to confirm. Then, Mrs. Harris has to tut-tut as they thank her over and over again. I reflect, That sixth sense which some call women’s intuition..there is something true in that gift.