Chasing Hindy

by Darin Gibby

  Johnston looked around the room like someone else was listening.

  “I’m scared. Last night when I went running, something happened. When I got back to my car, somebody had gone through my things. Then somebody followed me home to my apartment.”

  “White SUV?”

  “No, black. Why?”

  “Just a hunch. Tell me more.”

  Johnston breathed deeply. As he began to speak, his voice quivered. “Three masked men came up behind me, forced open the door, and threw me down on the floor. They tore up everything. They said I had the catalyst, and that they wanted it. When I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, one guy punched me in the stomach. They said they wanted the catalyst Addy and her client brought to the interview.”

  Perry noticed a goose egg just above Johnston’s right brow. “Do you have it?”

  “No! The last time I saw it, Quinn was pouring it out of some container. I swear he set it down on the table. When the feds busted in, there was chaos. I have no idea where it went. I assumed the feds took it.”

  “But you don’t have it.”

  “No, and when these guys couldn’t find it, they banged my head into my kitchen floor. They said I have a week to find it.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “They said they’ll be back, and it won’t be pretty. They mentioned torture, like cutting off my fingers. And they said if I called the cops, I’d be a dead man. What if the federal agents did take it? There’s no way I can get it back.”

  Perry scratched his head. It was clear the federal agents who’d arrested Addy didn’t have the catalyst. But it was unlikely they had roughed up Johnston, making Perry wonder who it was who threatened Johnston, and what they knew. Clearly he couldn’t discuss any of this with the patent examiner, though.

  “But you know how to make it,” Perry said, taking a different tack. “Couldn’t you just tell them?”

  “I read the application,” Johnston said, “and I generally understand what Quinn was doing, but that doesn’t mean I could just go out and make a car run on water.”

  “It’s something to give them,” Perry said.

  “They want the catalyst. I was hoping Addy knows where it went. Can you ask her?”

  “I can, but I already know she doesn’t have it.”

  Johnston squeezed his temples.

  “Then I need some legal advice. I want to go to the police.”

  “I’m sure they told you it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Yeah, they said I’d lose another body part, one I can’t live without. But I’ve got to do something. They’re going to come back. Can’t you ask Addy who these people are?”

  Perry swallowed. He knew what terrorist organizations were capable of doing to people they didn’t like. He was worried for Johnston, but even more for Addy. And now he’d injected himself in her defense, he realized he also wasn’t immune.

  “Let me do some digging and get back to you,” Perry finally said.

  “What do I do in the meantime? The clock is ticking.”

  “If I were you, I’d go blow off some steam on the treadmill, then get a good night’s sleep. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

  When Perry pulled out of the parking lot and into the street, he peered in his rearview mirror. He was sure he saw a black SUV peel around the corner after him.

  30

  ADDY HAD RENTED a black Dodge Challenger. Big engine and fast off the mark. Right now, it didn’t matter that she was driving a gas guzzler. The car could move. She’d argued with the rental car clerk for more than thirty minutes after she insisted on paying cash. The clerk finally relented after Addy put up a two hundred dollar deposit.

  The moment that was settled, she found a payphone in front of a convenience store to call Perry, who related how Johnston had scheduled the meeting as a plea for help, and that he was certain that Johnston’s gym bag was not in his office. Perry said Addy’s best chance to find it would be to follow Johnston to the gym. She could expect Johnston to arrive about half past noon, giving her a chance to test out the Challenger’s engine as she rushed to a Target store to purchase some inexpensive workout clothing.

  Ultra Fitness was ultra-crowded on a drizzly Saturday, with partygoers trying to squeeze in their last-minute workout before a day of cheap bar food and desserts that always seemed to accompany Super Bowl parties. Addy had to park five aisles away from the entrance.

  The cool temperature dictated her choice of clothes—an old pair of black yoga pants and a matching top. In the cold mist, she rubbed warmth into her bare arms while she darted over the asphalt. She was greeted by a teenager wearing a black T-shirt with ULTRA printed across her chest.

  “Any chance I can have a day pass?” Addy asked.

  “I can set up an appointment with a membership manager.”

  Addy bit her lower lip. “I’m kind of in a hurry. You know, got to get my place cleaned up for the big game tomorrow.”

  “You and me both,” the girl said.

  “Can I get a pass for today, then come back and talk about a membership next week?”

  “We’re not supposed to do that.”

  Addy flipped two twenties on the counter. “Will that help?”

  The teenager looked behind her, scooped up the bills, and nodded Addy inside. “I can’t get you a locker, but you can use the cardio equipment.”

  “That’s all I need,” Addy said squeezing through the turnstile.

  The main workout area looked as big as a soccer field, with row upon row of cardio equipment, each with its own television monitor. The other half was filled with every imaginable type of weight training machine.

  Addy studied the layout. The treadmills were toward the front. Quickly, she darted over to a stair climber, realizing it would give her a bird’s-eye view of the facility. She set the equipment to the slowest possible rate and began scanning the sweating bodies in front of her while she methodically stepped in rhythm. Off to her right was the free-weight section, occupied mostly with well-built men working on their biceps or shoulders. She noticed a group of three staring at her while they bantered back and forth. They’d obviously observed she was a newcomer. One, dressed in baggy sweats and a muscle shirt smiled and waved. Since she’d already made eye contact, she couldn’t just ignore him. She waved back sheepishly, then looked down and pretended to change the speed settings.

  Addy knew Johnston would have to be on a treadmill. She scanned the runners in front of her, searching for a familiar sight—curly red hair and bulky white legs in short, brightly-colored running shorts. She saw him, about four rows up, his glowing legs churning up the miles. Now all she needed was his gym bag. Sometimes runners put their gear off to the side of the treadmill, but Addy didn’t see a bag near Johnston, just a white towel hanging from the front console. If he’d brought his bag, it was likely stored away in the men’s locker room.

  She hopped down and strode over to the back of the room, then hung a right down the hall toward the locker rooms. After passing the indoor lap pool, she came to a doorway with a sign showing a female stick figure. About twenty yards down she saw a similar sign with a male figure. She ventured inside the women’s changing room, figuring the men’s would have a similar layout. There was a long aisle with nooks of lockers off to the right side. The showers and vanity areas were off to the left.

  Addy opened one of the lockers, studying the lock—a keypad and a handle that permitted the user to select her own combination. There was no way she could break in. Her only chance would be to follow Johnston into the men’s locker room, wait for him to open his locker, then pounce on him, extract the vial, and hope to get out without being caught.

  Another attendant wearing a black uniform rolled a large bin full of used towels down the aisle. She thought about hiding in one, but then quickly dismissed the idea. She’d need someone to wheel her inside the men’s changing facility.

  She hurried back outside to make sure Johnston was still on
the treadmill. She found him standing off to the side, wiping his face with his towel. He pivoted and began walking toward her. Addy quickly bent over and pretended to tie her shoe, making sure to avoid any eye contact. But she could still see his bright florescent shoes as he headed toward the men’s locker room.

  The moment he left the main workout area she followed him, making sure to stay far enough back that he couldn’t recognize her if he suddenly turned around. She ventured down the long hall until Johnston hung a right and disappeared. Now was her chance.

  Addy paused at the door. She couldn’t see any way other than to bolt inside and grab the vial, hoping nobody would try to stop her. Perhaps a room full of half-naked men would be too shocked to see a woman in a yoga outfit darting past them to do anything about it.

  “Can I help you?” came a voice behind her.

  Addy spun around. The three body builders who’d had their eyes on her were arrayed behind her. She grabbed her chest.

  “You scared me.”

  “You passed the women’s locker room,” one of them said.

  “But if you want to come in a sit in the steam room with us, you’re more than welcome,” said another.

  Addy’s eyes were fixed on the guy’s enormous chest. It gave her an idea. “Well, that might be nice.”

  “Then come on in.”

  “No, that’s okay, but you can do me a huge favor. Did you notice that creepy-looking guy, red curly hair and shorts that are way too short?”

  All three burst out laughing. “Yeah, we know the guy. Always wears those Richard Simmons shorts.”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Addy said. “I’m embarrassed to say this, but we dated for a bit. It was a huge mistake. We’re lab partners in my geology class, or at least we were until we broke up. Look, he took it really hard, and stole one of my lab samples, hoping that I’d have to come back to get it from him. He’s a real jerk. Anyway, he’s hiding it in his gym bag, a red one, like his hair.” She started talking faster. “It’s in a vial, a small bottle. I think he stashed it right in the bottom. Any chance one of you could get it for me? My project is due Monday morning. I’ll buy you all a drink.”

  The body builder in the muscle tee pushed his other two compatriots aside. “Come to our Super Bowl party?”

  Addy shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re drinking.”

  “Whatever you’re bringing.”

  “Bottle of tequila I brought back from Mexico last month?”

  “Perfect,” he said. “It would be my pleasure. Be right back.”

  “This could be fun,” said another.

  Addy stood motionless next to the door, trying to calm her breathing enough to hear what was happening inside. All she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears. She turned and looked down the hall, but it was empty. If an attendant came, she was prepared to head him off.

  Finally she heard a squeal, then, “please don’t hurt me.”

  A moment later, the three well-built men emerged. The one in the muscle tee was holding the vial in the palm of his hand as carefully as if it were a butterfly.

  “Here it is.”

  “Did he put up a fight?”

  “No, he was more than willing to give it up.”

  Addy snatched it from his hand, realizing she had to get out of there. She turned, then noticed the disappointed look in the man’s face. She spun back around and threw her arms around his broad shoulders, jumping off the ground to reach his face. Hanging from his large frame she pecked him on the cheek. “I owe you all a drink.”

  She slid back down to the floor. All three had a giant grin.

  “Gotta go and finish my project.”

  “You know where to find us,” he said.

  Vial in hand, Addy tore down the hallway, only slowing at the counter so she wouldn’t look suspicious.

  She broke out into the cool air and nearly sprinted toward her rental car. Guessing she’d reached the fourth aisle, she turned and began searching for the dark-colored Dodge. Two cars in front of her, a black figure shot out, halting her progress. He was wearing a black ski cap, and from his thick beard he looked Middle Eastern.

  A wave of nausea disoriented her. She’d been mugged in Vietnam, beaten while riding her bike, and shot at while driving Hindy. And now it was happening again. She was the bait to get the catalyst. Now she had it, this thug figured it would be easy pickings.

  “Give me what you’ve got in your hand and nobody will get hurt,” the man said. She’d heard his voice enough times to know their paths had crossed before. A tight-fitting, long sleeve black shirt covered his arms, preventing any identification of his tattoo, but she didn’t need to see it. She knew.

  “No,” she said and pursed her lips. “This is mine.”

  Addy got ready to run, but the man pulled a gun. The barrel was long, like it had a silencer attached. Addy knew he was more than willing to kill for what she was holding in her hand.

  She held up both arms like she was being arrested. “No, don’t shoot. It’s not worth my life.”

  “Then hand it over.”

  Addy paused, hoping an idea would come. “Okay, you win.”

  The man reached out his free hand. “Easy, take one step forward and place it here. One false move and you are dead. I already broke your ribs, next time it will be your skull.”

  So this was her attacker. Her blood start to boil. There was no way she was going to let him do this to her again. She clasped her hands, pretending to beg while she switched the vial to her off hand.

  Addy slowly moved closer, then began lowering her loosely clasped fist toward his hand. When her hand was only a few inches from his, she tightened her fist.

  From her MMA training, she knew how to lay him out. Instinct took over. In an instant, her fist flashed through the air and landed on the man’s chin, stunning him.

  He reeled back a step. Addy knew she had to move fast. The moment he recovered, he would certainly aim and pull the trigger. She remembered how she’d been taught to land a hard blow, by lowering her shoulder and pivoting her hip. Using all of her weight, she loaded her punch and let it fly, aiming at the middle of his face.

  When her clenched fist crashed into the man’s nose, she heard it crunch, and knew she’d broken his nose. But it wasn’t enough. He shook his head and began raising his pistol.

  Addy short-hopped closer, reeled back her shoulder and punched again with all her might. This punch caught him in the right eye at the same moment she felt a pop in her hand, just above her pinky finger, followed by searing pain.

  This time, the man crumpled to his knees and grabbed the side of his face with his free hand. She did the best roundhouse kick she could muster, and caught the side of the man’s face with her foot, knocking him flat. She kicked him again in the chin, knocking his teeth together. Then again and again, until he dropped the revolver.

  After kicking it under the Suburban next to her, she turned to run, but then stopped. The memory of being punched in the stomach wouldn’t leave. She spun around and kicked him hard in the abdomen, feeling her foot sink into his fleshy midsection. “Now you know how it feels,” she snarled.

  Running on adrenaline, she bolted for her car. A moment later, she was streaking out of the parking lot. In her rearview mirror she could see her three new friends watching her car. But they weren’t alone. Standing behind them was Johnston, on his cell phone. He’d called the police, she thought. And he probably got the number on my license plate.

  Addy took the Sunnyvale exit, debating whether she dared go to her condo. She turned onto El Camino and tried to gather her thoughts while she waited at an endless series of stoplights. She noticed that the side of her right hand was swelling. When she tried to clench her fist, a mind-numbing pain shot up through her arm. There were no visible signs of a break and she could still move her pinky finger. Still, it was a serious injury.

  She needed medical attention, or at least some kind of painkiller, but if she went to the hospital, she ri
sked being reported to the police. For now, she could wrap it and take some ibuprofen. There were probably a couple of caplets left in her purse that she could take right now. But her throbbing hand was the least of her worries. She was a fugitive.

  Using the wrist of her injured hand, she slipped her newly purchased pre-paid phone from the glove box and dialed Perry’s number.

  Perry was at work, and she quickly filled him in on what had just transpired.

  “Get off the roads,” said Perry. “You need to get to a place where police cars won’t be roaming.”

  Addy hung a quick right and shot into an empty parking spot at a busy grocery store. She’d need a place to spend the night, but this would be good for now.

  “I’ve got the catalyst, we’ve got to execute,” she said. “What have you got so far?”

  “Lots of balls in the air, but making progress. With our limited budget, the local media is going to be our best bet. I’ve got our PR firm working on some options. They’re pretty sure they can get an exclusive with the local CBS affiliate. This was before you took out a terrorist. It can only get better from here. If the story gets traction, it will run nationally. At the same time, our PR firm is going to roll out a social media blitz. You probably haven’t noticed, but we’ve completely revamped your website.”

  She hadn’t been on the internet for days. “I keep dreaming about the Super Bowl. I guess I need to get realistic.”

  “That’s the other news,” Perry said with a hint of enthusiasm. “I called about an opening for a Super Bowl commercial. The network says they do have an open slot, several in fact. You were right. It seems like there a lot of people who want to run ads, but not at the price demanded by the network, especially for time slots that could be a bust.”

  “Like at the end of the game if it’s a blowout.”

  “Exactly. This year’s matchup between two mid-tier market teams isn’t commanding top dollar. The network will hold out as long as they can, but tomorrow morning they will start slashing prices. I discovered that they still have a pretty decent spot—right after the halftime performance, but they want cash up front. The other problem is that we don’t have time to make a commercial. We’d be doing a live commercial on the field. For that, they want top dollar.”