by Blou Bryant
He’d always considered himself good at reading people and often surprised himself at how easy it was to understand the motivations of others. This didn’t work when he was involved, instead it was only useful when he stood back and watched at a distance. It was a wasted skill that didn’t help him with anything other than feeling superior. Unlike Ford, he couldn’t remove himself from the equation. Ford was the one person he couldn’t read.
It was five minutes before Jessica spoke again. “Take the 294,” she said and he did. The car was easy to drive and he quickly lost the nervousness he normally had behind the wheel. Perhaps this was the trick, introduce a greater stressor into the equation. He didn’t need to always have his eyes on the road and watched as the landscape passed by. They passed brightly lit factories, each with driverless trucks lined up to take goods, mostly produced by machines. Each filled the equivalent of several football fields but likely employed few people, whose primary job would be to make sure that the machines that serviced the machines, kept working.
“To Detroit, I suppose,” he said, not really a question.
She didn’t answer so he flicked on the turn signal, and moved into the right lane to let faster cars pass. He no longer had illusions about police catching up and rescuing him, but he wasn’t going to speed on his first highway drive. “So, will you tell us what we’re doing or where we’re headed?” he asked. Detroit was a big place, and he wanted very much to learn her plan.
She didn’t answer. Wyatt looked at Ford, who had become quiet. He’d been full of questions and then had just stopped. Ford had learned something earlier, and Wyatt wondered what it could be. After a few moments no answer came to mind, so he turned on the radio and flipped stations until he found a song he liked. He sang along about “Eyes that shine like a midnight sun.” The music relaxed him but he had an ulterior motive and after the song ended, he looked for the news.
He hit the skip button again and got a country station. Another flick and hard rap filled the car. Ford started singing along and Wyatt skipped again, ignoring the dirty look from his friend. Ford reached up to change the channel but put his hand back down at Wyatt’s angry glance. It was almost time for the news on most channels. Public Radio was good for talking heads, but he didn’t know the station setting. He flicked again, this time he found a golden oldies station and stopped there. Those stations always had a quick semi-serious news update at a consistent time.
It didn’t take long for him to be rewarded. Well, sort of, because the station didn’t mention a murder in the ‘burbs or a kidnapping of a famous daughter of a famous father. It did open with news about two shootings, it was Chicago after all, but Justin wasn’t mentioned.
“Your daddy has kept things quiet,” he said, “That’s really impressive, a shooting and kidnapping, both covered up.”
“You don’t really understand how the world works, do you?” she asked in reply.
“How about you educate us.”
“Who do you think owns the station?” asked Jessica.
Wyatt replied, “Let me guess, your Dad?”
Jessica leaned forward, between the two boys, “No, but the guy who does probably sat in box seats at the game tonight with him. Or perhaps it was the Mayor. Or maybe Mom went to a show with them or with other friends of the owner. They all know each other. We all know each other. There is a separate world that people like you don’t even know exists because you’re not invited.”
“So, all the news is lies? You sound like a conspiracy nut.”
Jessica laughed out loud. “No, that’s the best part, it’s mostly true, of course it is. It’s just not complete,” she said. “It’s not like the powerful get together and plan this. We’re human, we protect our friends,” she continued. She stopped talking at the sound of loud banging from the back of the car.
“What’s that?” asked Wyatt, his first thought that he’d hit something.
“It’s nothing. Keep driving,” Jessica replied.
“Help,” someone yelled out.
Ford said, “Sounds like the something in the trunk woke up, Jessica.”
Jessica sighed, “Fine, whatever. She should have been out longer, just keep going.”
“She,” asked Wyatt? “She who?” The something that Ford had said was in the trunk was a person? He put on the blinker and slowed the car to pull over when cold metal pressed up against his neck.
“I said, keep driving,” said Jessica.
“Help, help, please,” the voice yelled, and the banging intensified. Unsurprisingly, the something in the back didn’t like being locked in the trunk.
Wyatt kept in the lane, but left the blinker on. As the banging continued he chose right over easy and said, “So, shoot me, you can let her out and drive,” and pulled over to the side of the road. “No point in shooting me, but if you want to, go ahead,” he said.
“I can shoot you and make the other idiot drive,” replied Jessica.
Wyatt said, “Why bother, you’re going to have to let her out sooner or later. Might as well be now.”
“Might as well be later,” she replied, but pulled the gun away from his neck.
He stopped the car and had just put it in park when the trunk flipped open. He saw a flash of big, thick hair shine in the brake lights as the hostage got out, looked around and ran in the opposite direction.
Jessica hadn’t noticed, too busy with being angrily at Wyatt, but Ford had been looking back and said, “You’re aware that trunks open from the inside, right?”
She swore.
Ford opened his door and got out, leaned back in and asked her, “Shall we go get her?”
Wyatt gave his friend a questioning look. He wanted to ask Ford why he was so willing to help out but with Jessica right behind me, it wasn’t the best time for a chat. His friend winked at him, clearly he understood.
“And what, he drives off?” asked Jessica.
Ford said, “That’s why I’ll go with you, I’ll be your hostage.” She didn’t reply so he said, “Your other hostage is going to get away and I’m pretty sure you need her for whatever plans you have for Detroit. I suggest that we talk about this later,” he said, and shut the door behind him.
Jessica opened her door and got out, with one parting comment, “You move an inch and I’ll shoot him. And in case you don’t care, I’ll find you and shoot you too.” With that the two ran off. Alone, he sat in the car, its engine still running, and reviewed the chain of events that left him alone at the side of the road, half-way between Chicago and Detroit. He drummed on the steering wheel with his index finger. One, two, three, pause. So, what to do. He couldn’t leave Ford and the other girl behind with Jessica. Should he follow them? One, two, three, pause. There wasn’t anyone visible in any of the mirrors. One, two, three, he tapped and paused.
He turned off the engine but left the keys in the ignition and the lights on. He opened the glove box, hoping to find something, anything useful but it housed only a map, the owner’s manual and a pair of sunglasses. Jessica had left nothing behind, not even a purse.
The car was new, he thought, it would have an integrated phone. He could call the FBI or anyone other than Golde and his crooked cops he decided as he pressed the call button, but there wasn’t any response. He pressed it again and then again a third time. What the heck, why wasn’t it working? He hit the button hard and the console finally flashed a brief message, “No service.”
“I’m a few minutes outside Chicago, the hell there’s no service,” he said and pressed the button again.
“Wyatt, stay with the car,” appeared on the display. He looked at it with disbelief. He held the call button down. “Call police,” he said. The message flashed once and remained in place. How had his tormenter hacked the car in such a short amount of time? He slammed his palms into the steering wheel.
“Screw you,” he shouted and got out of the Audi, and ended up almost hit by a car that sped by, its high beams blinding him momentarily. As he watched it speed o
ff, he realized, this was his possible escape route. Joe couldn’t hack everything at once, no matter how good he was.
As another set of car lights approached, he stepped onto the road and waved his arms in the air over his head. ‘Stop, please stop’, he thought. As the car approached, this changed to ‘please slow down’. The car horn sounded as it got closer but it showed no signs of slowing. Only seconds before it would have hit him, he jumped off the road.
Wyatt swore out loud and yelled after the car, “I know I was on the road; that was the whole idea, idiot, why do you think I was waving my arms in the air?”
He paced, three steps back and forth as he debated between waiting at the car or hiking it. He looked for lights but didn’t see any. He cursed at the driver who’d passed him and said loudly, “Perhaps I needed help, hey, how about that?” As he finished the statement, he heard a noise from the bush and jumped in fear, assuming it was Jessica. “Don’t shoot, I’ll get back in the car,” he shouted.
“Shut up, you idiot,” was the reply. A strong and clear answer, with none of the girlishness that infected everything Jessica said.
“Who’s there?” he asked and was surprised when the girl from the trunk stepped into the light; all long red hair and curves. She wore a black t-shirt, just like his, tucked into tight ripped jeans which were in turn tucked into knee high black leather boots. “You came back? Why?” Wyatt asked.
Where Jessica was soft, the hostage was strong. She strode forward confidently, shoulders back. “I didn’t leave, dumbass. I ran down just a small ways and hid.”
Wyatt paused, considering, and said, “Dumbass?”
The girl slowly walked closer, and stared questioningly at him. “She kidnapped you as well?” He recognized her vaguely from track meets, but it was hard to be sure in the dark.
“Jessica?”
“Yes, you know, the one who took us both at gunpoint? Oh, for crying out loud, you wondered why I called you dumbass?” she said. “I’m sorry, you’re a genius. Let’s hit the road, Einstein, before she gets back.”
Wyatt hadn’t recovered enough from the surprise to decide how to reply. He tapped his index finger against his left jean pocket. One, two, three, pause, he counted to himself.
“Are you counting?”
“What?” he asked, realizing that he had been doing it out loud. He was acting exactly like the idiot she’d called him. “Yes, I was. It calms me down, helps me focus.”
“You know what calms me down?”
“I don’t know you,” he replied.
“My name is Hannah Murkshaw, and what calms me down is getting away from the crazy assed bitch with a gun.”
“Her name is Jessica.”
Hannah stared at him for a moment then said, “Yes, you mentioned that. Tell you what, how about we have a nice talk later and right now we get in the car?” She proceeded to do exactly that, and ran to the driver’s side and got in.
“Hey, wait,” he yelled, realizing that he’d left the keys inside. He ran her door and pulled at the handle but it was too late, she had already locked it.
She rolled down the window an inch. “How about you count to three, again. If you’re not in the car when done, I’m driving away.”
“But my friend is still out there with her, and she…”
“That’s gotta be two, are you at two yet? I’m at two.”
Wyatt realized that she was really going to leave him standing by the side of the road. He ran to the other side as she started the engine and didn’t even have his door closed as she peeled off the gravel onto the dark highway.
Chapter 5
Wyatt buckled up quickly as Hannah sped down the dark highway. He blinked a couple times, and looked straight forward in an attempt to clear his head, and figure out what had just happened. He briefly looked at the driver, yes, it was still a red-head named Hannah. He opened his mouth to speak and then stuttered when he realized that he had no clue what to say. After a moment, he blurted “My friend is still back there,” despite knowing she wasn’t going to go back.
Hannah shushed him, “He’ll be her hostage either way. You want to save him, then you need to stay with me. We’ll call the cops.”
“She said she’d shoot him if I left,” he said. “And her father owns the police in Chicago. We can’t trust them.”
Hannah glanced at him, “Don’t worry, he’ll live, she has no reason to kill him. I don’t think she’s evil, she is just completely without morals.”
“There’s a difference?” asked Wyatt. He took a moment to look at her more closely, her face illuminated on and off by passing highway lights. Highway maintenance wasn’t well funded, and only one of every three or four were lit, but they were sufficient to show the strength of her face. While attractive, there was something different about her, more interesting than pretty.
Instead of replying, she asked, “So, how’d you two get dragged into this?”
Wyatt settled into his seat and cursed briefly under his breath. “First, I don’t know what this is and second, I have no clue.”
“You like ordering things. You’re interesting. Also a bit slow.”
He grimaced at the insult. He’d met her only minutes before and she’d already called him dumb at least twice. “I’ve been tested,” he protested.
“To determine if you’re dim?” Hannah asked with a broad grin filled with straight, blindingly white teeth. When he didn’t smile back she said, “God, you’re sensitive. Do you want me to hold your hand as you explore your feelings? I’m sorta in the middle of something, can we do that later? The last thing I remember was being at the party and getting woozy after taking a drink Jessica gave me. Then I wake up in a trunk somewhere on some highway. And buddy, unlike you, I’m still doing fine.”
Wyatt ignored the insult because it felt mostly true and turned his focus to the road, scanning for escape options. He pointed at a notice for an upcoming exit. She said, “No shit, Sherlock,” and took the turn-pike at high speed. There was a lit sign far down the road on their side of the highway, she noticed it as well and hit the gas, not bothering to stop or even brake as they rounded the corner and drove towards the lights.
The sign advertised “Ma’s Fresh Grill,” but there was nothing fresh about the building, an old one-story box, its paint dull and flaking green. Regardless, its large and well-lit gravel lot was filled with trucks, even at this late hour. Hannah skidded in and parked immediately in front of the entrance, one hand opening the car door before the engine stopped rumbling while the other unbuckled her seat-belt. She ran in, not waiting for him to join her.
Wyatt watched her with envy. She’d been out of the trunk for no more than fifteen minutes and hadn’t wasted a moment. As he followed her in, he heard her ask an old man behind the counter if he had a phone.
The server didn’t as much as raise an eyebrow. “Can’t park there. Entrance.” His age was evident in his grey hair, lined face and his ‘I’ve seen it all before’ attitude.
“This is an emergency,” Wyatt said, joining Hannah. “Can you help us?”
“Hrm,” said the old man. “You don’t have un? Seems everyone has un.”
“If we had a damned phone, would I have asked you for one…” Hannah said.
Wyatt interrupted her, “Sir, ours were stolen. We’re in a bit of a situation and need your help.”
Hannah added, “We need the police. I was kidnapped.”
At this the old man looked up and strangely, in response to this statement, smiled a broad toothless smile. “You don’t look kidnapped. Was it him?” he asked, pointing at Wyatt.
“We escaped,” she said. “And God, no, he didn’t kidnap me.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, girl. Anyhow, it’s your lucky night.” He nodded to the far end of the counter where a police officer was focused on a piece of pie and a cup of coffee. He yelled out, “Lewis, kids here to talk to you. Better finish that up.”
The officer dwarfed his snack, the counter,
and the seat he sat on. Wyatt assumed there was a seat, but he there wasn’t any trace of it under the bulk of the man. The officer turned his cleanly shaven head and looked toward the entrance, a piece of pie on its way to his mouth. “Is that so, Wilbur?” he asked in a high, quiet voice. The giant chewed slowly, clearly taking enormous pleasure in what appeared to be homemade blueberry pie. He smiled, gently put down his fork and picked up his coffee, took a long sip, and nodded to Wilbur, waving the cup at him. “A bit more, please,” he asked.
He finally turned his attention to the two youths, and said, “Well then, kids, you want something? Polite thing would be to wait on a man to finish his pie and coffee, but it’s a quiet night and I can give you an autograph or take a picture if you like.” He took another slow sip, and beckoned them over to join him.
Wilbur hadn’t moved. Focused on his own cup, his head down, reading a newspaper, he said, “Eat up quickly, youngster. These two ain’t here to tell you how wonderful you are, I think they has real work. Might make you get off your ass.” Wilbur laughed, a strange sound that started high and wobbly and ended rough.
Hannah had already run over to Lewis, Wyatt following closely. “Autograph? What are you talking about? I’ve been kidnapped and need protection,” she said, and took him by the arm. “Help me,” she pleaded.
“No touching, please,” the man asked, gently removing her hand from his arm. “I thought you were fans,” he said, apologetically. He turned his bulk slowly and looked at Wyatt. “Is this the kidnapper?” he asked.
Wyatt would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so urgent. Hannah stood in-between the two men but while she was tall, he was taller and easily made eye contact with the officer and shook his head. “No, Sir. Jessica, a girl from my school, she took Hannah here, locked her in a trunk and then took me and my friend Ford hostage.”
The officer stared at him for a moment, processing the information. “Bunch of kids tried to do that to me once, frat thing. Didn’t go well for them,” he said, quietly. “So, this a school prank, then? You two need a ride back to town?”
