I’m a fugitive. His first thought was of the Harrison Ford movie. Only difference was that he had committed the crime for which he was wanted. He couldn’t turn himself in now. Not as long as he knew that he was being hunted by someone other than the police. If it had been any of the dozen war zones he had seen, the big blond would have been dead. But it wasn’t. Or was it? He was so confused. This was nothing he had trained for.
He fell to his knees, painted in shadow under a tree that was in dire need of pruning. Tears streamed freely down his face. He wanted to scream, rent his clothes. Instead he allowed himself a few moments to cry. He could do that much.
Once that was done Matt stood and took stock. It was time to go into survival mode. He had to assume that by the time he got home, easily an hour’s walk from here, his place would be under surveillance by someone. He had a gun, his driver’s license, and the clothes on his back. Unfortunately he also had on a pair of handcuffs. He could pick the lock given some time and the right tools. It had been a while, but certain skills had been drilled deep into his skull.
He stood in the back yard of a house that didn’t look currently occupied. In this neighborhood, that was the rule. There was no graffiti, but a few of the windows had been broken in. He walked up to one and looked in. The room was empty, but the teddy bears on the wallpaper screamed nursery. It was faded and peeling though, sad somehow. He picked up a rock and knocked the rest of the glass out. The screen pushed in easily and he swung himself in.
There was a dull echo has his feet hit hardwood. Built-in bookshelves and a closet door were on the wall opposite him. The door out of the room was to his right. He flattened to the floor and crawled. The place had a musty smell and a thin scrim of dust got up his nose, causing him to sneeze. The next room was probably a dining room and beyond that probably a small kitchen.
Sure enough it was, though all that was left to make it so was an old stove. He rose to his knees in front of it and lifted the top. He found a few things that might just work, plenty of wires and cheap, pliable metal. It took longer than he wanted, almost a half hour of sweating even in the coolness of the empty house. Time though was to some degree on his side. He knew that the police would be sweeping out from the area of the crash. For the first time in almost an hour he thought of the detective.
Winston’s head injury had looked pretty severe. Matt said a quick prayer for him. Now that his hands were free he looked around the rest of the house. Apparently someone was slowly working on it. He found some cans of paint and a battery operated radio. A quick spin through the dial revealed no mention of his name. It was probably too early for that. He really needed to get to a phone now and make a few calls.
There was a bandanna among the drop cloths. He tied that over his hair and liberally specked his dark jeans with the beige paint. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it would have to do. Waiting for the cover of night would have been preferable. He moved quickly back through the house and exited it through the window. Hunched over and walking quickly, Matt came around to the front. No cops anywhere to be seen and just an old Hispanic lady walking her equally ancient terrier.
A few blocks down and he saw a corner store. There was a pay phone and it looked intact from here. “Thank you Jesus.” A middle aged man, with light brown skin and a thick goatee stood near it, drinking something from a paper bag. Matt didn’t feel like anyone would recognize him just yet. He passed by the man and nodded.
The phone gave him a dial tone. He knew better than to call Robin. It would have to be collect. Jose would be the man to call, but he doubted his work would let him take it. He turned to look at the guy hanging out. “Excuse me.” He addressed him in Spanish. He stayed fluent by teaching the kids in one of their Sunday School classes.
He looked up from his beer. “Yeah?”
Matt continued. “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had a quarter so I could make a call?”
The man spoke in English. “No problem.” He dug in his jeans and flipped a silver coin over.
Matt caught it in midair and looked. Sure enough, it was a quarter. “Thanks. God bless.” He turned and dropped the quarter in. Seven beeps later and it was ringing.
Jose answered. “Go ahead, make it good.”
“Jose, it’s Matt. I don’t have much time so don’t interrupt. I have to talk to you in person. Something seriously bad has gone down. Can you pick me up? Soon?”
“Course I can you stupid gringo. Where and when?” There was a light tone that covered most of the worry in his voice. Robin had told him what went down last night, most of it anyway.
“I’m at… the bodega on Fourteenth and Elm. Get here as quick as you can.” His hands were clammy.
“Whoa, not a good part of town for a white boy to be in. You sit tight, I’ll be there in twenty.” The phone line went dead.
Matt turned to survey the area and noted that the man who had lent him the quarter was gone. He went into the store and browsed the shelves. His stomach began to rumble as he looked over the sweats and realized that he was incredibly thirsty. He had burned quite a few calories and hadn’t really felt like breakfast this morning. The twenty minutes stretched by. The lady who ran the shop, probably in her early thirties, kept shooting him nervous glances. She probably wanted him to buy something or leave, but was too afraid to say anything.
The radio blared some upbeat ballad inter cut with an overly enthusiastic announcer. None of it did anything to lift his spirits. He had made his second circuit around the tiny place and had actually begun to straighten some thing on a shelf when the chime over the door announced someone’s entrance. It was Jose.
The thick computer geek was wearing an electric blue number with a blindingly white shirt and bola tie. Razor thin shades covered his eyes. He scanned the store and saw Matt. “Sup Jorge!” He shouted.
Matt quirked an eyebrow at his old friend. “Nada mas, chico.” He walked over and they hugged with three strong pats punctuating its end. “Can you spot a brother a few bucks? I ain’t had anything to eat since yesterday.”
“Sure, sure. Get what you want. It’s on me.”
Matt grabbed a tamarind soda and a couple of bags of corn chips. He placed them on the counter and Jose paid up. Matt nodded at the lady and they headed out into the cool air.
“When we get back to my place I’ll make you some real food.” He stretched out a short, thick arm and pointed a ring of keys out. “Like my new ride?” The jet black 1961 Jaguar E-type looked crouched at the end of the parking lot.
“Not bad.” Matt grinned. Jose changed cars every six months or so. One of his brothers had a classic cars dealership. Jose would help him with the wiring and any electronics. As trade he drove whatever he wanted. Jose was a big believer in the barter system.
“Not bad? That’s all you can say? Well I guess not everyone’s cut out to drive a pair of Chucks.” Jose never could understand Matt’s insistence on walking everywhere. “Get in.” They both climbed down into the low slung sports car.
Jose fired it up and Matt’s jaw almost hit his lap. A head’s up display painted the lower third of the windshield. All of the normal dashboard functions and a few that the car, built in the sixties, had never seen in its own time. There was a map, the readout for a satellite radio, and a small web browser one that Jose had programmed himself. “Not bad at all.”
“Yeah. The guy that’s buying really wanted this thing tricked out but he wanted it subtle. ‘Don’t mar the lines.’ He said. Don’t teach your mother to suck… Well never mind what I said and never mind the guy or the car. We need to talk about you.” He slowly backed out. “Robin clued me in on what’s going on with you as best as she could. I thought you were turning yourself in today. What happened?”
In between munching on corn chips and sips of the soda, Matt clued him in on what had transpired.
“Sweet Mary. You sure know how to start your day off. Me I try to stick to reading the paper. You, you shoot people.” Jose eased out onto the highway.
“Yeah I’m funny that way. One of us needs to call Robin and Chris and let them know what’s up.” He looked for a cell phone.
Jose looked over at his pale friend. “Um, no. That would probably make them an accessory. We can’t do that. I’ll call them later and make sure that they’re alright. Right now we need to get you out of sight.”
“Accessory? Oh crap.” He just realized what he had done by involving Jose. “Man, I’m sorry.”
“For what? Look Matt, I’m a big boy. God knows I’ve broken my share of laws. I still do every day thanks to the R.I. double A. This is a little more serious, but if we play our cards right we’ll all be okay.” He saw the exit up ahead. “You can’t go back to the cops until you can be sure that this big redneck is off your case. I’ll help you do that. That’s what brothers do.”
They pulled off the highway and were shortly in on of the older, slightly higher class neighborhoods. “Thanks Jose.”
“No thanks necessary. So you didn’t recognize the nut job, and the detective didn’t say your name. Maybe he doesn’t even know who you are really. Right now the only people who can identify you as the suspect are Father Chris and this Detective. What was his name?”
“Winston. Lee Winston. Yeah. I didn’t hear him give my name to the dispatcher. Still my prints are no doubt in some governmental system and hopefully Winston will wake up so my identity will be out soon enough.” The car pulled into the drive of an unassuming little ranch-style house. The garage door opened to let them in and closed behind them.
Both men got out of the sporty little ride. Jose walked up to the door and it beeped and clicked as he approached. He opened it and led Matt into the cozy kitchen. “Sit down. I’ll throw some of soup on.”
Matt sat on a barstool at the kitchen counter and watched Jose. He got out a soup pot and removed a container from fridge. Within a few minutes something was beginning to heat up. “Mama’s chicken soup. Man it’s been too long.” He had early memories of Mama G’s chicken soup. She had been one of Matt’s foster parent’s over the eight years that he was in the system. So in a way he and Jose were very much brothers. She had adopted Jose and his brother and kept several dozen foster children over the course of thirty years.
While they ate Jose hit a button on a remote that was sitting on the counter. A small flat screen lowered from a kitchen cabinet and cut on. A picture of Matt’s face featured prominently next to the handsome announcer’s graying head. His voice came on in mid sentence. “…armed and presumed dangerous. The identity of his accomplice is unknown at this time. Detective Lee Winston,” a stock photo of the officer faded in over Matt’s “is still unconscious at this time. Stay tuned to News Twelve throughout the day for any updates.” The scroll across the bottom of the screen urged viewers to call with any sightings.
“Well. That makes things a little more complicated.” Jose put his spoon down. He cut the television off. “I guess your ‘accomplice’ is that big blond and only Detective Winston can testify as to what went down. That man needs to stay healthy or your goose is pretty much fried.”
