I heard gunshots and saw the glass door to my right shatter, I ran through the glass in an attempt to get out faster. I might have cut myself, but I couldn’t tell.
With a backpack full of money, I hopped onto my bike as more cop cars whipped around the intersection. I heard bullets fly past.
I popped a wheelie, maneuvering myself around the cars. When I turned on the next street, I went back on two wheels and accelerated as quickly as I could. In my rearview I could still see the police. I-95 would be coming up any moment. I saw the sign and looped onto the on-ramp. My knee scraped the asphalt as I leaned into the curve. Without a destination, I sped up over 150 miles per hour on I-95 South.
“How in the fuck did we lose him?” I shouted and slammed my hands against the metallic counter. I felt my left eyelid twitching and I had my teeth clenched.
The fifty-something people in the room stared at me. I couldn’t wait to see which one of these mindless shits had the nerve to speak up first.
“Ma’am, those were the Richmond Police. The FBI and Homeland Security were shortly behind them. Something went wrong. Apparently someone had access to the bank’s main server and assisted Owen in his robbery.”
I pursed my lips and exhaled through my nose. I was furious. A tiny bead of sweat began to drip down the forehead of the man who had answered my question.
“You are the Central Intelligence Agency for Christ’s sake! How in the hell are you going to let him slip by so easily? Everyone in this room is going to need to take their position more seriously, unless you want to end up decommissioned with a reputation so terrible you won’t be able to land a job as a mall cop.”
No one said a word.
“We just got word Owen is heading south on I-95,” someone said in the crowd.
The security camera video populated the many screens in the room. It showed Owen tucked into his bike, zipping by like a little black blip.
“Get a chopper in the air,” I demanded. “Call all the police stations along 95, give them his info. We are not going to let him get away again…”
I was headed west towards the city. Around thirty minutes ago I saw a helicopter flying behind me in the distance. Given the fact that I had already lost the police, if the helicopter were to stay with me I would have never been able to escape. I maintained a higher speed and took the exit to merge onto the less traveled Highway 64. Now, the highway had become I-495, and I knew within a few miles I would hit more congested roads from entering the city. It was time to hide.
I saw an exit sign.
I smiled when I saw the name of the road, and took it as a message to get off the highway. When I came to the stoplight I turned left and went south. The road was windy and had very few cars on it. It was relieving to see that. I came to an intersection. The street sign read Poole Road. I recalled going over a bridge just moments ago on the highway and a river ran beneath it. Contemplating my orientation, I took another left.
Poole Road was just as barren as New Hope. The road curved gently, and it was enjoyable after the hour-long blur of racing down I-95. After a mile, in the distance I saw what looked to be a small bridge; murky water slipped beneath it.
As I approached, I saw a small wooden sign for Poole Road Park. There was a tiny dirt parking lot on my left and I was beaming as I pulled in. There were only two other cars parked. This was exactly what I needed. A park—no security cameras and minimal traffic.
I idled as I drove around the lot. When I saw the river, I followed the walking trail along its edge. I wanted to be as far away as I could. Stealth was key. A half-mile of wandering later, I found an open, flat part of the forest which would be ideal for me to ride through. I followed it, and ended up a few feet from the water and surrounded by trees. I stepped off my bike and glanced back through the trees to see if anyone was around—no one. I exhaled and sat on the ground facing the river, leaning against a tree trunk.
The exhaustion I felt was overpowering. The nerves in my hands and wrists felt numb, almost shocked. Vibration from the throttle at such a high speed was the culprit. I could barely hear the river running past. The shrill growl from my bike still rang in my ears.
I closed my eyes—resting them. The woods surrounded me, and for the first time since hearing the news yesterday, I felt safe.
The lumpiness of my backpack was causing me pain. I slid it off and set it in front of me. Opening the flap, I actually laughed to myself as I stared at the huge bundles of hundred-dollar bills.
I fucking robbed a bank. What a day.
Out of curiosity, I took out one of the bundles and removed the paper bands. I began counting…ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one-hundred.
Ten thousand dollars. I shook my head in disbelief at the amount of money I was holding.
I guess this is what a big-time drug dealer feels like.
I dug around my backpack and pushed around the different bundles. I glanced back at the woods behind me again—no one.
I set the bundles of money out in front of me in a line. Soon, it became two lines. When I was finished counting, I had one-hundred and twenty thousand dollars. I could hardly think straight. There was no way I would ever need this much cash, even in my escape.
I wondered if Grey had wired the money successfully.
1.4 million dollars. I couldn’t fathom that kind of wealth. Then again, facing the federal government, our 1.4 mil was a drop of water compared to their ocean of funds.
I rested my arm on top of my helmet and zipped my jacket up tight. I had to let the time slip by, perhaps rest until the sun began to set…
The sun was gone and the twilight began fading away. After meandering around the outskirts of Raleigh for a while, I saw a small motel to my right. From the exterior, it appeared like it had seen its fair share of everything; it was a little run down. I was sure that anyone with a TV would recognize me, so I would have to approach check-in with caution. Maybe, just maybe, I could blend in for the night with the other locals who frequented this budget motel.
The parking lot was devoid of activity. As I pulled in, I noticed around the back there was a line of Leyland trees by the dumpsters. I hopped my bike onto the curb and tucked it behind the Leylands. There was a dark-colored fence a couple feet behind it, and as I walked away it was camouflaged perfectly.
I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets and walked towards registration. I kept my helmet on for anonymity, and I opened the entrance door. A bell jingled.
No one was at the counter. Even when I went to the desk, there wasn’t the slightest indication that someone was on duty.
I calmly waited.
Finally, a weary-looking guy came to the desk in a blue polo shirt and some khakis. He had dark circles under his eyes, and I could smell the mix of cigarettes and cologne as he stood across from me. He appeared to be my age.
“Do you have a reservation?” he asked.
“No, I need a room for tonight.”
My helmet muffled my words. He gave me a peculiar, contorted expression.
“I can’t hear you, sir. Could you take off your helmet, please?”
I swallowed. I was exhausted from being on the run, and I really hoped I could have a place to lie my head down tonight. In the corner of the room there was a TV on the wall. I couldn’t hear what channel it was on…but regardless, I still slid my helmet off.
His eyes grew wide as he saw my face. My heart sped up.
Fuck…
He reached down behind the desk and I quickly grabbed his wrist with my gloved hand. I held it firm, yet lightly, and he froze from the shock.
“Sir, you’re going to have to let go of me, I’m going to call the cops.”
“No, you’re not,” I replied calmly.
“Let go of me!” he said, raising his voice.
“Not until I know I can trust you.”
“Trust me? You’re wanted. They’re going to find you anyway.”
“But not tonight,” I said firmly, looking him in the eyes.
“They’re offering a reward to whoever turns you in. Fifty-thousand dollars.”
I laughed. Beneath his sullen eyes, I caught the look of someone who was struggling, and maybe in his free time he used drugs. Perhaps pain pills or something similar. The reward was alluring to him. It was an easy way to get richer than he had ever been.
I tightened my grip on his wrist.
“Look…” I glanced at his nametag. “Larry, those people offering that reward? They won’t give it to you. You would never see that money.”
I could practically hear him in my head saying, “Bullshit.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they framed me. I am innocent. I didn’t kill any of those people.”
He didn’t believe me.
“But, why though? Why frame you?”
“That’s what I am trying to figure out. The real question though is, Larry, when their lie is exposed, what side do you want to be able to tell people you stood on? Helping the feds, the ones who allowed the Confinement, or helping me?”
He blinked and appeared more relaxed, but he didn’t respond.
“Larry. I am going to let go of your hand, and you are not going to pick up the phone. You are not going to call the police. Do you understand?”
He nodded, and I let go of his hand. He stood there with straight posture, just waiting for what I was going to do next. I saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. Behind him, near the ceiling, I saw a security camera. My instincts almost caused me to sprint out of the lobby and run back to my bike.
“Larry, does that security camera work?”
He glanced backward at it.
“Oh, that? No, it’s broken. Our owners are too cheap to fix it.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes, it’s been broken for about a month now.”
I shook my head, still somewhat nervous to trust this stranger in front of me.
“So, what does a room run here a night?”
“Sixty-five dollars,” he answered and began clicking on his computer.
“All right, I’ll take it,” I said.
“A king bed?” he proposed.
“Sure, whatever you have.”
I saw in his facial expression he was nervous, and he was still hesitant to believe the truth I had told him—that I was framed.
“Can I see an ID, please?”
“I can’t have my name in your system, it’s too risky. I’m going to pay in cash, by the way.”
“Well, then what do you want me to do?”
He sounded frustrated. Like I was demanding too much.
“I don’t know. Get creative, for all I know I could be John Smith and live here in Raleigh.”
He blinked, and I realized he was able to do what I had asked. Before I took out the money, I had an idea overtake me.
“Larry, can I ask you something personal?”
He cocked his head to the side, surprised at my question.
“What?”
“How much do you make here?”
He paused, and I saw some disappointment in his eyes.
“Minimum,” he mumbled.
The new federal minimum wage was nine dollars an hour. It was upped to help boost economic activity and spending.
“So, what…in a year you make like, twenty-thousand dollars?” I ball-parked my estimate high for a reason.
“Less,” he said.
I put my backpack on the ground and unzipped it. I took two bundles out and slapped them on the counter. Looking around, there was still no one in the lobby.
Larry’s jaw dropped.
“Take my room rate from this, and keep the change.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, bewildered.
“This is yours. This is your reward for keeping quiet. I am trusting you to do just that.”
He scratched the back of his shaggy, sandy-blonde hair.
“I can’t just take that. You stole it. How much is that?” I heard curiosity in his voice.
“Well, apparently, it’s more than you make in a year. Twenty-thousand dollars.”
He began choking on air, or maybe saliva. He coughed until he regained composure.
“Larry, this is not blood money. No one died when I took this today. It is yours. Think of it as a thank you for helping me. Now, on the other hand, if you turn me in, and if they were to give you that money, which I highly doubt—that would be blood money.”
I sensed some form of understanding from what I had just said. It made sense to him.
“Take it,” I demanded and pushed the money closer to him.
He walked into the back and came back out with a laundry bag. He put the two bundles inside and quietly made my keys. He handed them to me and looked me straight in the eyes. This time, without fear.
“Breakfast starts at six and ends at ten. Our restaurant is limited. I could heat up a pizza for you later.”
He was so calm it was almost disturbing. I wondered if he would betray me.
“Larry, you promise that you’ll keep your word, only if it be for tonight? Tomorrow you can rat me out, I don’t care. Just let me sleep tonight, please.”
He blinked and pursed his lips. I saw a smile emerge, and he nodded.
“Checkout is at ten, Mr. Smith.”
I took the keys and returned his nod. I walked out of registration and looked down at my key packet. Room 107. First floor. I wandered around the perimeter of the property and followed the numbers until I found mine.
As I opened the door, I smelled the faint smell of cigarette smoke. The linens were outdated, and so was the room…but it was perfect. I plopped down on the king bed and put the money in the safe that was sitting in the closet. The black, blank screen of the TV faced me, and I could see my reflection in it. The irony was, that even if I were to turn it on—I would still be able to see myself…
I awoke, still bundled up in my riding jacket. The room was too warm, and I could feel sweat on my chest and back. I unzipped it and freed myself from the restricting clothes. I glanced down at my watch—7:46 p.m. I had passed out for a little over two hours. I needed the rest, though. Robbing the bank had drained all my energy.
My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten in twelve hours.
“Our restaurant is limited. I can heat up a pizza for you later.”
I recalled Larry’s earlier statement in the lobby.
Judging by the motel, the food would most likely be mediocre…but with my predicament, it would be safer not to go out in public.
I had no clothes besides what I was wearing. Only my riding gear, helmet, and 100K. I walked to the safe and knelt down. I took out twenty or so of the hundred dollar bills. After what happened during registration, I might need it for bribery again.
I left my room and shuddered at how cold it was outside. The sky was empty, and a breeze blew every few seconds. When I neared the lobby, I peered through the glass to see if anyone was inside—no one. The parking lot was barren. Everything seemed low-risk, which was what I was aiming for. It then struck me that Larry must have kept his promise. No feds. I sighed in relief.
I entered from the side door, and when I approached the counter, there was no one. I cleared my throat to signal my arrival. Larry walked out from the back office and came to the desk.
“How can I help you, Mr. Smith?” he asked, smiling.
I couldn’t help but to return his grin.
“At check-in, you mentioned something about a pizza.”
“Yes, are you hungry?”
“Very,” I answered.
“I can do pepperoni or cheese. They are ten dollars each.”
With all this cash, the price wasn’t a factor.
“Here is a hundred,” I put it on the counter and smirked. “Keep the change.”
Larry shook his head in disbelief. “You’re too kind.”
“No, honestly, it’s the least I can do to repay you.”
“With everything you already have given me, now I feel like I’m the o
ne who owes you.”
I dismissed his statement. “No, of course not. Don’t worry. It’s well appreciated.”
“So…about that pizza,” he laughed.
“I’ll take cheese.”
He grabbed the hundred. “It’ll be about fifteen minutes. I’ll bring it out to you. The restaurant area is right around the corner.” He pointed to my left.
I walked towards the restaurant, in the direction he indicated, and I saw the floral carpet begin. It was old, faded, and stained. The dining room was more like a hallway—shaped like a lowercase L. The chairs and tables were a stained faux-mahogany. A few of them had paint peeling off of the legs. I sat down in a two-top table, facing the doorway from which I had come.
A table across from me, an old Asian woman sat with her back against the wall at a four-top table. It was as if she was waiting for her family to join her for dinner…but by the looks of this motel, I doubted that was the case.
I sat in silence for minutes. I had the urge to pull out my phone, maybe go on Facebook or text someone. I had nothing but money. Which was useless, when all I felt was alone. The Asian woman had a plate in front of her, and there was nothing but pizza crust on it. She glanced over at me and smiled. I saw a few of her teeth were yellowish, and one was missing. I returned her smile. She was wearing nylon purple sweatpants and a vibrant green windbreaker. It looked like the eighties had regurgitated all of its worst fashion onto this woman. Then again, it might have been all she was able to afford. This was Post-Confinement America we were living in.
There was a TV in the corner of the restaurant. The channels were changing, and I noticed she was holding a small black remote in her left hand.
Suddenly, Larry came around the corner with a steaming pizza. He set it down in front of me and laid a roll of silverware beside the plate.
“Holler if you need me,” he said.
I nodded at him with a smile.
Disregarding the silverware, I ate the pizza with my hands. I spent the past year and a half eating at formal dinner parties, with so much silverware on each side of the plate I had to have Cole help me distinguish which were to be used. It was reminiscent of college—pizza. With the first bite I realized Larry wasn’t lying when he had offered to ‘heat up’ a pizza for me. This was not made fresh, but rather popped into an oven. Regardless, it was enough to satiate my rumbling stomach.
The Gambit Page 9
