by Darin Gibby
Staring blankly at her phone, she remembered seeing a familiar icon on the second page. She exited the geo app and went back to the main screen. She hadn’t been imagining it. In the row above the geo app was one from a taxi service.
Quickly, she tapped the screen to see if it worked. It loaded instantly. And, Quinn had set up a prepaid account. Quinn was definitely making it easy for her to get to South San Francisco. She wondered whether she should take the chance. There was no time for debate. If she didn’t have a car, she didn’t have a commercial.
Addy threw together a new plan. She asked to have a driver meet her in the back parking lot of the apartments behind the row of hedges. In a matter of seconds, her phone buzzed as she received a text. She pumped her fist when she saw the banner at the top of the screen. Be there in three minutes.
She leapt into the truck, revved the engine and illegally darted across four lanes of traffic, barely avoiding a collision with a yellow Corvette. She maneuvered parallel to the first pump and hopped out. Addy shoved the gas hose into the tank and hurried to the back of the convenience store to the bathrooms, head down, eyes raised, trying to remember the exact bush where she’d buried the vial in the Ziploc bag.
She remembered it was four bushes to the right. Her dart across the street hopefully slowed down her pursuers enough so that they wouldn’t see what she was doing, but she didn’t dare underestimate them. Even so, if she didn’t get the catalyst now, everything she and Perry and Quinn had been through would have been for nothing.
Crouching, she scurried over to the spot where she found a familiar, slightly pink cobblestone. She had chosen that one so it would be easy to find. She quickly hefted off the three cobblestones, expecting to find a plastic bag. Her heart sank when the only thing beneath the stones was bare ground and a few ants.
Addy looked to her right at the next bush. No, she was sure this was where she’d put it. But now they all started looking the same. She shuffled to the adjacent bush and tore away the stones. Again, bare ground. This time she went to her left, checking beneath the stones of the next two bushes, all with the same result.
Addy squeezed her temples. This couldn’t be happening. After everything she’d been through.
She sank to her knees and pounded the dirt with her good fist. Someone had watched her deposit the catalyst and had taken it. But who? There were plenty of others who still believed she had it.
She looked over her shoulder. Parked at the pump in front of her truck was a sedan with tinted windows. A man was standing, arms folded, watching her while he pumped his gas. She remembered the sunglasses. It was the same man who had passed her in the muffin shop. He quickly looked down and fiddled with the gas hose.
She heard a vehicle on the other side of the hedge. From her vantage point, she could see into the parking lot of the apartment complex. It was a green and white Prius. Her taxi had arrived.
“Are you looking for something?” came a voice in a thick Spanish accent.
She lifted her head and spun around. A short man with a dark, leathery face and wearing jeans and a long-sleeved button-down shirt was peering down at her. It had a logo embroidered just above his bulging pocket—the name of the convenience store.
“No, I mean yes. I’ve misplaced something. I figured someone may have found it and put it in the rocks.”
The man patted his shirt just over his heart. She could see the bulge in his pocket. “I saw you put it there. It must be valuable.”
Addy shot out her hand. “Please, I’ll give you anything.”
“At first I thought it was drugs, but I tasted it. It tastes like dirt.”
Addy moved her hand closer. “Please sir. It’s a chemical. I need it for my chemistry class. My boyfriend tried to steal it when we had a fight.”
It was the same story she’d told before, but from the blank stare she could see it wasn’t registering.
“Okay, how much do you want for it?”
Now the man smiled.
“How much do you have?”
Addy figured she had about a hundred in change left in her purse. She offered him all her money.
“A rich girl like you driving a truck like that, you’ve got to give me more. I wish I could drive a truck like that.”
“It’s yours,” Addy quickly offered, having no intention of getting back into that truck. “The keys are in it, and my wallet too.”
The corner of the man’s eyes crinkled, as if he were being played for a fool.
“No, I’m serious. Take it. Just give me what’s in your pocket.”
The man looked back at the truck with its chrome package and oversized tires. “It’s a nice truck.”
“And it’s yours. Just give me back my chemicals.”
Slowly, the man unbuttoned his pocket, removed the plastic bag containing the vial and placed it into Addy’s outstretched hand. She shoved it down her shirt, the plastic pressing against her skin. The clerk’s body was positioned so that the man pumping gas could not see the exchange.
“Go get your truck,” she insisted, and she went down on all fours and crawled through the hedge. When she emerged on the other side, she brushed off her yoga outfit and opened the back door of the Prius.
“To the San Francisco Hilton?” the man asked.
“Yeah, for now,” Addy said. “And make it quick. I’ll give you a hundred-dollar tip in cash if we get there in thirty minutes.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said gunning the car before she’d even closed the door. Addy strained to look through the row of bushes as the car gained momentum.
Peeking through a gap, she noticed that the black truck with big mud tires had already pulled away from the pump. Her stomach sank. If the man was followed, who knew what might happen to him? She didn’t know if she could handle another death on her conscience. She hoped it turned out to be the FBI and not some terrorists.
“You should have waited another hour until the game starts,” the driver complained as he turned onto the 101 Freeway. “This traffic is impossible. For a Sunday afternoon, there’s a lot of congestion.”
Addy leaned forward and stole a glance at the digital clock. Kickoff would be in two hours. Even if the driver managed to reach the warehouse in South San Francisco in thirty minutes, that left her less than an hour to retrace her path and continue south to Levi’s® Stadium in Santa Clara.
She did a quick mental calculation. She had a thirty-minute buffer, but the number of vehicles on both the north and southbound lanes could easily eat that up.
“What’s going on at the Hilton?” the driver continued. “Super Bowl party?”
“Something like that,” Addy said, fidgeting with her phone. “Are you going to watch?”
“No, I’ve gotta work. Besides that, I’m not into American football. Where I come from, the football is round and you can’t touch it with your hands.”
“Soccer,” Addy said, staring unfocussed at the brake lights in front of them.
The driver reached over and switched on his radio to an AM news station. The host was discussing the strange case of Examiner Johnston’s murder.
“Can we listen to another station? I want to hear what’s going on at Levi’s® Stadium.”
The driver held up his hand. “Just give me a second. I want to hear about this. You been following this case? Some patent attorney kills an examiner and gets accused of stealing government secrets. Just today her former partner is murdered in his house and a neighbor saw her running away.”
“He’d already been dead a day,” Addy said, then instantly regretted it. “How about listening to the Super Bowl, something a little less depressing?”
“You’re the client,” he finally said, switching the channel. “But she sure seems guilty to me.”
Once they passed Hillsboro, the traffic broke free, and the Prius reached nearly eighty miles an hour. At the last second, Addy gave a new set of instructions.
“I need you to exit right here on Grand Avenue, then take
a left on Linden Street.”
His head swiveled around like an owl’s and he scowled.
“I’m the client, remember?”
He swerved the Prius and shot down the exit ramp, following her instructions. In a few blocks they approached a warehouse in the shape of a giant barn with red walls and a corrugated metal roof. It had five bays for semis to dock and unload their wares. Two dozen unhitched trailers were stacked and waiting for a hookup. A wide chain-link gate blocked the entrance.
“This is it,” Addy said.
The driver handed her his mobile phone, and Addy approved the payment with the promised tip, then jumped out and waved the driver on.
The taxi sped away, and Addy rolled away the gate and slipped through, nervous and uncertain. Would some masked men take her down and conduct a thorough body search?
She darted across the pavement and crept along beside an unhitched trailer. She wondered which one, if any, held Hindy II. When she reached the set of bay doors, she noticed one was a few feet open. This could be a trap, she thought. She might never come out alive. Could she trust Quinn?
Time was running out, and she was out of options. Addy flung herself down on her belly and wiggled her way through, hoping to find Hindy all ready for her Super Bowl appearance. A sharp pain shot up from her bandaged hand, but she had no time for medical attention. Ignoring the pain, she pushed herself upright.
Inside, the air was cool and damp. With no windows, the warehouse was dark except for the light streaming in from underneath the bay door. Addy waited for her eyes to adjust. The warehouse was nearly full of cardboard boxes, none of them large enough to store a full-sized vehicle. As she took in the scene, her neck and shoulders prickled as she half expected to be clubbed from behind.
“Quinn,” she softly called out.
An eerie silence followed. Addy could feel the blood thudding in her ears. Then she heard a faint bang, like a door slamming. Addy turned in that direction while feeling her way along the wall until she encountered a light switch. Turning it on would give away her position, but she needed light to find her way around the stacks of boxes. But time was running out, so she shrugged and flipped it on. A row of incandescent ceiling lights banished the gloom.
Now she could see the entire warehouse, which was big enough for a 49ers practice. There were brown cardboard boxes everywhere. But nothing that would hold something the size of a car.
Off to her left she could see another door, which she assumed led to the front office. The slamming door had come from that direction. Addy dashed over and gently turned the handle, wondering if this would be the end of her quest.
She cracked the door a few inches, and suddenly she heard another loud bang, then another, then someone rustling papers. She pushed the door open far enough to poke her head through and peek inside.
By light from a small desk lamp, she could see Quinn frantically flailing his arms, tossing documents out of drawers, then slamming them shut. Sweat was dripping from his nose and his pupils were dilated.
She nudged the door further and it struck something on the floor. Instantly, Quinn pivoted, yanked out a gun from his pants and pointed it at the door.
“Quinn,” she whispered with her finger over her lips.
He slowly lowered his weapon, his eyes focused on her small frame.
“Is that you, Addy?” he said stepping forward.
She held up her hand. “Wait, don’t come any closer. Are we alone?”
“Unfortunately,” he said. “I could use a little help.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Quinn wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve, but remained silent.
“Let me tell you what you don’t want to hear. Perry’s dead. He’s been murdered. And you know what he did right before he died? He paid for the commercial with his own money.”
Quinn’s jaw dropped. “I’m so sorry,” he stammered.
“Oh, no you’re not. You know what else I found out? Janice tried to give me fake wiring instructions. You were going to wire the money back into your own account and make it look like you’d paid for the commercial, just so you could get your catalyst back. But it didn’t work. Perry beat you to it. And I’m not going to let you tie me up and take the catalyst.”
Quinn ran his fingers through his saturated hair. “Addy, none of that’s true. I called Perry last night, right after you and I separated. I told him about our plan, and that I was supposed to get him the rest of the money and track down the car. But the problem was that there was no way I could get the money.
“When I called Korea, it set off all kinds of red flags. They froze all the accounts. When I explained that to Perry, he said not to worry, that he’d already arranged for payment, and all he needed me to do was to get the car to Levi’s® Stadium.
“He said that no matter what had gone on between us, he was sorry for how he treated me and that he believed that I was the only one who could help you. He said that if anything happened to him, I needed to make sure I got the car to the stadium in time. He said it was your only hope, but that he knew I could do it.”
Addy folded her arms. If what Quinn was telling her was true, Perry had not only given all his savings, but he’d also admitted that he needed Quinn, and had even asked his forgiveness. Her chest felt tight. She’d misjudged her former partner, but too late to thank him.
“What about Janice?” Addy said.
“She must still be working for WTG. That explains why they froze my accounts. They knew I was trying to get money for the commercial even before I called. They must have given Janice the wiring instructions, hoping to prevent your Super Bowl appearance.”
Addy swallowed and blinked hard, trying to contain her emotions. “Are you telling me the truth?” she finally asked.
“I’m truly sorry about Perry,” he said. “I misjudged him. He was an amazing human being.”
Addy couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. She rushed to Quinn and threw her arms around him. His tight-fitting black shirt was damp and hot. She felt his strong arms pull her tight, then drop.
“I’m afraid I’ve let you both down,” he whispered. “The only task Perry gave me was to get Hindy to the Super Bowl. It seems like I can’t even do that. I’ve got Hindy in one of those semi-trailers out there, but I can’t find the truck keys. Without the keys to the tractor, I can’t hook up the trailer, and the game is ready to start.”
She stepped back and looked into his brown eyes, then smoothed back his rumpled hair. All she felt was relief that he hadn’t betrayed her.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”
He shook his head. “I’ve torn this place apart. They’re supposed to be here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said, sinking onto the floor, utterly exhausted. “Without a car, Perry’s death is going to be in vain. What are we going to do?”
She pulled the vial from out of her shirt and held it up. “No, Perry didn’t die for nothing. I’ve got the catalyst, and we are going to find those keys. We didn’t come this far to fail. Perry wouldn’t have wanted that. He believed in both of us. Now it’s time to prove him right.”
Quinn raised his eyes and she could see a glimmer of hope. “I’m not sure where else to look.”
“I have an idea,” Addy said and raced back into the warehouse. She remembered hitting her head on the corner of a thin cabinet next to one of the bay doors while she was feeling for the light switch. At full speed, she ran back and found a small oak cabinet the jutted out a few inches from the wall. She swung it open as Quinn raced to her side. The interior held five rows of brass hooks from which dangled an assortment of keys. She plucked off a half dozen and slapped them into Quinn’s hand.
“Start with these. I’ll bring the rest. One of them has to work.”
He quickly leaned over and kissed her, then raced for the big rig.
The tractor Quinn was going to use to haul the semi-trailer housing Hindy was br
ight blue, with Jerry’s Trucking emblazoned on both doors. It had polished chrome exhaust pipes running along each door. Quinn was standing on the runner shoving each key into the lock. Addy noticed his hands were shaking.
“How much time do we have?” he said.
Addy switched on her phone. “Forty minutes.”
Quinn threw a key to the ground and tried another. “It takes that long just to drive there, and we’ve still got to figure how to hook this thing up.”
“Keep trying. One of them is going to work.”
The next key slid into the lock and he turned it clockwise. The door popped open. “Someone is watching over you,” he said jumping inside and starting the diesel engine. A dark plume of smoke billowed out the exhaust pipes.
“Have you ever driven one of these?” she asked.
“Never,” Quinn said. “Have you?”
“Only once. The father of one of the families I stayed with in high school was a trucker. He said I was a terrible driver when I drove over one of his sprinklers, so I bet him I could drive his big rig through the McDonald’s drive through and order a hamburger.”
“Did you?”
“Not even close. I ground the gears so many times getting out of our neighborhood that he said the bet was off.”
“At least you know how they work.”
Addy screened the mass of semi-trailers strewn out over the parking lot. “Which one has Hindy?”
“That one,” Quinn said, pointing to an unmarked gray trailer at the front of the second row. “You stand in front of it and help me get this tractor truck lined up.”
While Addy ran to the front of the second bay, she heard Quinn grind the gears. The truck lurched forward and died. She laughed when she saw Quinn bang the steering wheel. He tried again, and this time was able to direct the cab to the front of the line of trailers.
“Keep coming,” Addy said, beckoning with both hands while Quinn shoved the cab into reverse and gently released the clutch. When the hitch was aligned, Addy held both hands high in the air. “Okay, stop,” she yelled.
