by Blou Bryant
Hannah made a sputtering noise. “God, what’s with all the guys tonight? No, Sasquatch, it wasn’t a game.”
Wilbur coughed when she cursed and moved down to stand across from them, likely sensing something interesting. Coffee in hand, he leaned against the counter and said nothing.
“Don’t be rude, little lady,” said Lewis, ignoring Wilbur.
“Rude? You’re a police officer and I just reported that I was kidnapped…” she said, but Wyatt interrupted her.
“Officer, she shot someone,” he said and then quickly added, “No, not Hannah. Jessica,” when Lewis raised an eyebrow. “She still has the gun and my friend is her hostage, somewhere just up the highway.” He looked to Wilbur for support but received nothing other than a grin from the man, who was enjoying the spectacle.
Lewis had been moving his last piece of pie to his mouth but put it down at this. He stood up and beaconed them to a window booth. He said, “Wilbur, be useful and get the kids a couple of cokes while minding your own business.” Hannah and Wyatt sat beside each other as Lewis slid into the other side of the booth, taking up the full bench.
“Tell me everything,” Lewis said and they did. Wyatt did most of the talking and, Hannah had little to share, having been drugged, unconscious and in the trunk for most of the adventure.
Wilbur returned with drinks halfway through the story and hovered by them until Lewis shooed him away. “Don’t you have other customers? Surprise them, ask if they’d like something, or perhaps refill their coffee.” He turned back to Wyatt, and said, “So, she’s still out there, is armed with a gun and has your friend?”
“Yes, we left them only a few miles back.”
“Which direction?”
“West. They got out of the car in the eastbound lane,” said Wyatt, “We need to go back there, we need to rescue him before she does something stupid.”
“Are you crazy?” Hannah asked, her eyes wide. “You know, I’m flipping back and forth between crazy and stupid, do you really thing we’re getting into the middle of this? I’d stay in this shitty diner until I die before I go back.”
Despite his age, Wilbur’s ears worked just fine and he coughed at the insult.
“No offense,” she said.
Lewis settled the argument, “You’re not going, either of you. I’m calling this in.”
Wyatt thought back to his last meeting with cops and carefully considered what to say next. “Who do you call this in to?”
Lewis had stood up, his face set and grim. “Sheriff’s office, they’ll know what to do.”
“Is that private or contracted out?”
Wilbur grunted from his place by the door. Lewis looked over at him, a flash of anger on his face and then said to Wyatt. “There are full time officers. Don’t fear though, I may be an occasional but I can still protect you both. He patted the weapon on his hip. “I have this,” he said, and crossed his arms over his chest and patted each of his massive biceps, “and two of these.” With this, he strode purposely through the diner, moving to a jog as he slammed the door open.
Hannah whispered to Wyatt, “Is he for real?” as they watched him run to his car.
Wyatt said, “I’d rather have him protecting me than Wilbur,” and took a moment to look around the restaurant. It was bigger than it appeared from outside and exactly as dirty as he expected. The old Formica tables were a color that had likely started out white, years before. Still, the food was likely good, judging from the number of truckers sitting along the counter and individually in booths on the far side of the room.
Wilbur showed up with a basket of fries and two steaming mugs balanced in his left hand. “Figured you’d use something warm and those cokes he ordered would rot your teeth. Not good to drink that. Hot chocolate, natural cure for what ails you.” He said as he handed them the mugs.
Taking a sip, Wyatt coughed. Wilbur had added more than milk to the drink. “What’s in this?”
“You’ve had a hard day boy, just a bit of special juice to put hair on your chest.”
Hannah grinned and tried hers. “And for me, hair on my chest?”
Wilbur cleared his throat, but didn’t reply.
“Tastes good,” she said.
Wyatt quickly said, “So, what did Lewis mean when he said he was occasional. Are police services contracted out here?”
“Yup, well, some are, to help pay for some of the more expensive toys.”
Wyatt felt his skin go cold at finding out that Lewis was a contractor. He looked through the window at the officer who was sitting in his car. He needed to leave before more crooked cops showed up.
There had to be a back exit, he thought, and glanced at the entrance to the kitchen. Adrenaline coursed through his system as he prepared to move, needing to do it before Lewis returned. Fingers snapped in front of his face and he looked up at Wilbur, who had moved from behind the counter and sat down across from him. “Mind if I join you for a moment?”
Wyatt nodded.
Wilbur said, “In Orleans years ago, before you were born, there was a girl. Heh, one thing I know for God’s honest truth, there is always a girl. Anyways, this one, she was a beauty, I tell you boy, she’d give your lady here a run for her money,” he said, looking at Hannah. “This girl of mine, she was tall, thin and black as a fall night. Fine if that was it, but she was also a devil who played all us for the fun of it. We were young and dumb, and didn’t or wouldn’t care.”
“One a night in a cornfield, her wearing a strapless red dress, cut low and cut high and my oh my. Me and one of the other boys, we got into it. I won’t ever forget her laughing while we fought. I’m not much to look at now, but when young, I’d served two tours and fancied myself a tough guy. That night, I handled the other boy too hard and ended up on the road with no girl, no nothing.”
Wyatt said, “I like the story, but I really…” but stopped him when Hannah hushed him. She liked the old guy. Likes him better than she likes me, he thought, but kept quiet.
“I figured the police would be on me and a guy who looks like I do, well, let’s just say it’s easier to not answer questions. ‘Specially back then, having served wasn’t something that made police give you benefit of the doubt. Spent a few years running. Turns out, I hadn’t hurt him like I thought I had and nobody made no charges, police didn’t care that some boy from the poor part of town got it handed to him. I didn’t know, but I went on the run for nothing, just cause I was scared. Had some good times, had some bad, but didn’t make the choice for the right reasons. You gonna run, run for the right reasons.”
Wyatt protested, “I wasn’t going anywhere.” Wilbur looked at him with disbelief and Wyatt blushed. Lying wasn’t his forte. He asked, “Are you telling me not to run?”
Someone called out for coffee and Wilbur waved his hand and yelled back, “You know where the pot is, Jimbo, and I know you ain’t going to tip me no matter how much free coffee I give you. Go fetch it yourself.” He turned back to Wyatt. “Where was I?”
Hannah rolled her eyes, but it seemed feigned to Wyatt. She prompted, “Something about Wyatt running?”
Wilbur groaned and got up, taking his coffee and said, “Was he going to run? No, son, no moral to the story. I’m just an old man talking. But I do know a few things. One is that Lewis there,” he nodded at the window, “is a good man and you can trust him to do the right thing.”
“But he’s a contractor, who does he work for?”
“He isn’t contract. He works for fun. They don’t pay him, he pays them for the chance to be police. LaPorte police let rich folks act as cops, if they’ve got enough money,” he said, shaking his head as if this was the craziest idea he’d ever heard. “He’s a famous football star, but wants to do something that matters, so he says. He buys them a car or some other expensive equipment every year, and in return, he gets to hang out here, drink coffee in uniform and now and then roust some drunk.” Wilbur nodded towards the window, and they turned to see Lewis close the car door a
nd stride back to the restaurant. Wilbur said, “Trust him. He’s alright.”
Moments later, Lewis strode through the doors, agitated, his hand on his gun, his eyes scanning the room. When he got to them he stood next to Wyatt, blocking his exit from the booth. He said, “Talked to the Sheriff himself. The office had already been told, he’s left his cottage and was on his way in. We’ve got a few cars out now, looking for your friend and the girl.”
Lewis didn’t sit down, staring intently at Wyatt. “Son, what’s your family name?”
“Miller.”
Lewis grunted, “You got a gun on you?”
“What?” asked Wyatt, trying to understand what was going on. He looked to Hannah and Wilbur, but neither said anything, both likely as confused as him. “Why? No, I don’t.” he said.
Lewis didn’t answer the question, stepping one foot back to give him room and said, “How about you stand up, slowly, please. Get out of the booth, son.”
“I’m going to search you. Are you sure there are no knives, nothing like a syringe that I need to know about?” Wyatt shook his head and stood up slow, although he was shaking all over.
Wilbur had stood up as well. “Lewis, what are you doing? The boy isn’t a threat.”
“Wilbur, you mind your business and keep out of the way. He’s a wanted fugitive. Kidnapping and murder.”
Wilbur didn’t move away, but didn’t interfere as Lewis frisked Wyatt, who held his arms out like he was about to take flight. Wilbur shook his head. “You know the boy didn’t do nothing. Well, no boy has done nothing, this one’s no kidnapper.”
Hannah tried to get up as well but ran into one huge hand. She sat right back down.
As far as Wyatt could tell, the entire restaurant was watching the spectacle and he felt his cheeks turn red at being arrested so publically. He remembered training for shot put on the track team. When he first started, he’d always failed when the pressure was on, he did great until people watched. Coach Jackson had talked him through this. Breath in for three seconds, hold it for three seconds and then breathe out for three seconds. Focus on the breath.
As he focused his mind, normal color returned to his cheeks. He looked Lewis in the eye and didn’t blink. “This is wrong,” he said. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I didn’t kidnap anyone. I am the victim. You’re going to get me killed.”
“Oh, come on, Lewis, this guy couldn’t hurt a drunk fly,” chimed in Hannah.
Wyatt said, “Only reason you heard I did it is because Jessica’s dad is the owner of the Chicago Police, or owns the security company that contracts it out.”
Lewis continued patting him down but replied, “What? Nobody can own the police.”
Wilbur interrupted, “Lewis, you know government’s for sale. Always been.”
Lewis said, “I don’t know about that, Wilbur, but Sheriff said he shot the girl’s boyfriend, that he’s the kidnapper, not her. I have to take him into custody. Deciding if he’s guilty isn’t my job, that’s for judge and jury, better men than me can sort this out.”
Wyatt felt his calm disappear and took another deep breath before saying, “Please, Lewis, you can’t turn me over to them. I won’t even see a judge or jury, they’ll kill me. I didn’t do it. All I did was respond to a stupid text.”
Hannah stood up again, this time avoiding the hand that tried to hold her back. “Don’t you touch me,” she shouted, “I’m an American and have a right to talk. You put a hand on me again and I’ll scream. This guy may be an idiot, but he’s no criminal,” said Hannah.
“You said before that you just met him, how do you know he’s not working in concert with the other girl,” replied Lewis, and backed up a step as she pushed right up against him.
“Getting to know someone takes brains, eyes and ears. I’ve got those, in spades. I heard Jessica threaten to kill him, and I heard him try to flag a car down to escape. Would a killer or an accomplice do that? That’s enough for me.”
“Please, Miss, sit back down,” asked Lewis, unsure of himself and how to handle this strong, physical woman.
“Are you going to make me?” she asked.
“I’m a police officer and I’ve given you a direct order.”
“And I’m ignoring it. Deal with it.”
Wyatt listened to the two and looked again at the exit. It wasn’t too late to try to escape. “Lewis, please. I promise that I’m not lying. Don’t hand me over to them.”
Hannah stepped forward again and Lewis put his arm up, and the two collided, knocking her back down onto the seat.
“What’s going on over here,” asked a trucker who had moved behind Lewis. The guy had two buddies standing behind him. “Did you just hit the girl?” The trucker gave him a push from the side. He was a big man but nowhere as big as Lewis, and from the gut that stuck out of his checkered shirt, not half as fit. Angry at the lack of response he said, “I’m talking to you, boy, guys like you don’t push girls like her around.”
Lewis was boxed in by Wyatt, Wilbur and the three men, and was looking flustered. He put a hand down to help Hannah back up, “I’m sorry, you bumped into me, are you OK?” he asked, ignoring the trucker.
“I’m fine,” Hannah said, “but he’s not going to be if what he’s saying is true. I called him an idiot, but he’s not, he’s just a freak and a geek. No way he’s a kidnapper, if anything he rescued me and I’ll testify to that.”
The trucker’s face turn red at being ignored. Wilbur had gotten up and walked back behind the counter. Wyatt wondered if he could get out of the way as well, it was probably the smart choice. He didn’t want to be between these men. The trucker gave Lewis another shove, it didn’t move the man in slightest.
Lewis said, “All of you go back to your seats and keep quiet, this is police business.”
The other man pulled his jacket back, revealing a holstered gun. “I know my rights and in my country, guys like you don’t get to push girls like her around.”
At the sight of a gun, Lewis responded. He yanked Wyatt out of the way, tossing him against the counter. His other hand moved quickly and before Wyatt could see how he did it, the gun was removed from the truckers holster, the clip was ejected, and both were placed on the table.
Checkered-shirt said, “That’s it, boy, I’m going to learn you some manners,” and he pulled back an arm, his hand tightened into a fist.
Before he could take a swing, Lewis grabbed him by the neck and crotch, picked him up and threw him over the table and through the window, which shattered with a large ‘bang’.
Lewis turned to Wyatt, “Don’t move,” he said and then in two quick moves, he climbed on the bench, then the table and before Wyatt could process it, Lewis was out the window after the man.
An audible click behind him made Wyatt turn to see Wilbur standing on the other side of the counter, a shotgun pointed at the two men, one of whom had a small gun out. “Boys,” Wilbur said to the men, “How about you put those down before you make me spend the night cleaning you off the tables?”
The first man put the gun down on the table next to the one Lewis had deposited there. The second man didn’t move until Wilbur waved his long gun, “I’m talking to you too, Martin, I can see a bulge under your arm there and I’ve been around enough years to know it’s not a Christmas present.”
The man pulled out a revolver and put it on the table. He said, “Sorry, Wilbur,” and stepped back.
The situation to his right defused, Wyatt looked out the front window to see Lewis bend over, raise one big arm and bring it down, hard on his target. He winced at the sound of fist hitting face. He didn’t have time to think, this was his moment. He took one step back and then another. He saw that Wilbur was watching him. He stared at the other man and shrugged.
Wilbur shrugged in turn and said, “Your call, son, I won’t stop you, man’s gotta do what he’s gotta.”
“Thanks,” Wyatt replied and backed towards the kitchen entrance. Nobody moved to stop him. The two
truckers had their hands up, Wilbur still pointing his shotgun at them.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Hannah. He caught her eye, but ignored the question, and shook his head.
She looked disappointed but didn’t get up from her seat. “You’re leaving me alone to deal with this, you’re just running away? What a hero,” Hannah said and turned her back to him, looking out the window. Lewis had the trucker up against a car, and was placing cuffs on him. The man’s head was down on the hood and he didn’t move, much less resist.
Despite her judgmental tone, Wyatt didn’t feel any guilt. He turned his back to the scene, rushed behind the counter, and barreled through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Flames licked the old grill and pots bubbled on a big black stove, but those didn’t interest him. He saw what he was looking for, on the far side, a dirty white screen door. The room was unoccupied and nobody was there to stop him as he darted past cutting boards, stoves and an enormous deep fat fryer.
He shot out of the building and scanned for an escape route. There was a large dumpster in a small wooden enclosure, garbage on the ground in front of it. The road on his right side was open and unwelcoming. To his left the parking lot offered no route to escape, he’d be seen right away.
He looked across the side lot to the bushes about thirty feet away and wondered if he’d make it without being noticed. His hesitation saved him as police cars pulled up on both corners of the restaurant, bright lights flashing, and sirens off. They were emblazoned with the logo of the Chicago Police Department. He was trapped.
Chapter 6
Wyatt rested on one knee, just outside the diner, waiting for the police to find him but instead found himself alone as everyone rushed to the front of the building. He scanned the gravel lot and was about to dart for the bushes, no matter the risk, when the door opened behind him.
