by J C Lane
“So?”
“Hitching is against the law.”
Big Guy spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Could just wait till they leave.”
“Can’t wait. I’m late.”
“For what?”
“An appointment.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of appointment?”
“I’m supposed to meet a guy.”
Crowbar came trotting back, huffing. “Cops’re gone.”
The big man smiled. “I guess we’ll have to take care of this ourselves.”
“Come on, man.” Tyrese held up his hands. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want to buy a car. If any of them run.”
“You can tell by looking at ’em that they don’t?”
“I’m just saying they look old.”
“They run.”
“Fine. Which one can I have?”
“How about none? Don’t figure we should sell to your kind of people.”
Tyrese went hot. “My kind?”
“Gangsters. You think you can come here, take what you want—”
“I told you, I got money!”
“Let’s see it.”
Tyrese lowered his hands, and the middle guy yanked out his gun, pointing it at Tyrese’s chest.
“Whoa!” Tyrese shot his hands back up. “I’m doing what he said.”
“Do it slower. With one hand.”
Tyrese lowered his right hand and reached into his pocket, where he’d stashed half the money. He held out the bills, rolled into a neat cylinder. The big man jerked his chin, and Crowbar grabbed the cash, handing it directly to his boss.
“Two-fifty? You think you can get one of these cars for that?”
“Can’t get any more at the scrap yard, not for rides as small as those. And I don’t care if it has a title.”
“See?” Crowbar said. “Told you he was a criminal.”
Big Guy was thinking. Tyrese could see it in his shifting eyes. “This all the money you got?”
“Yes.” If he admitted having more, the guy would take it all. Then Tyrese wouldn’t have anything left for gas or tolls, so there wouldn’t be any point in getting the car in the first place.
The guy scanned the lot. “Which one you thinking of?”
“Whichever one will get me to Chicago. You got any that won’t crap out on me halfway there?”
“Sure. Come on, let’s look.”
The big guy gestured for Tyrese to go first, but Tyrese’s grandma didn’t raise an idiot. “After you.”
Tyrese waited for all three to go ahead of him, but Gun Guy refused, waving Tyrese into the fenced-in area with the pistol.
“Put that away, will you?” Tyrese said. “There are three of you, and I’m here to buy a car, not beat you up.”
“Just shut up and go.”
Tyrese called to the big guy, staring down the idiot with the gun. “Tell your man here to give it a rest with the threats.”
The big guy turned around. “Put it away.”
“But—”
“You’ve got it if you need it.”
Gun Guy huffed, muttered some nasty things only Tyrese could hear, and stomped ahead, joining the other two. The big guy pulled open the unlocked gate and went in, swishing his feet through the high grass like he was afraid something might be hiding in it.
Tyrese followed, propping the gate open in case he needed to make a run for it. He wasn’t happy about being trapped inside a fence with these morons. He wasn’t too worried about Crowbar Guy, or even Gun Guy, except for their stupidity. It was the big guy who had the most going on upstairs.
“Little hard to tell,” Big Guy said. “But I think this Grand Am’s your best bet.” He strolled over to it, on the far side of the lot, directly behind the garage.
Tyrese looked it over from a distance. “Let’s hear it start.”
“Come take a look first. Don’t want to go dig around for the keys if you’re gonna hate the car once you see it up close.”
“I told you, I don’t care what it looks like. It just needs to run.”
“Fine.” He nodded at Gun Guy. “Go get the keys.”
“How will I—?”
His eyes flashed. “Just go get them.” He jerked his thumb toward the open gate.
Gun Guy stomped around Tyrese, and Tyrese waited for Crowbar to make a move. They locked eyes until Crowbar looked away, not up to Tyrese’s steely stare.
“So, kid, why don’t you come take a look while he’s getting the keys?” The big guy opened the door and gestured to the interior. “See what your two-fifty’s gonna buy ya.”
Tyrese watched for Gun Guy to return, but he wasn’t back yet. At least it was fully light now, which felt good for his safety, but was even worse for the car. The light showed off just how terrible it really was, with its rusty fenders, broken taillights, and cracked windshield. Nasty. But Tyrese really didn’t care, as long as it got him downtown.
“Where is he?” Tyrese said.
“Right here.” Gun Guy stalked through the fence and tossed Big Guy some keys.
Big Guy held them out to Tyrese. “Car’s yours.”
“If it starts.”
Big Guy bowed to the open door, holding out his hand. Tyrese reached to take the keys, but Big Guy jumped forward, grabbing the back of Tyrese’s neck and shoving his face against the car roof.
“Where’s my money?”
Tyrese spoke with his cheek smashed against the metal. “I gave it to you, man.”
“I have the two-fifty you showed me. Now I want the rest of it.”
“I told you, I don’t have any more.”
“Don’t believe you.”
What was this? Maybe these guys really were It? Well, he wasn’t going this easy. Tyrese pushed up, swiveling his hips, and punched Big Guy in the face.
Big Guy recovered quickly and hit back, slugging Tyrese in the stomach, but the guy’s balance was off and Tyrese’s abs were rock hard, so he didn’t do a lot of damage. Tyrese shoved Big Guy backward and dove toward the Grand Am’s open door, but Big Guy lunged forward and kicked Tyrese’s ankle. Tyrese fell, but shoved the guy off, banging him against one of the other dead cars. Tyrese got up to run, but Big Guy was back again with his fists. Tyrese grabbed one and spun the guy around, twisting his elbow behind him. Running forward, Tyrese smashed the guy’s head against the old Nova, and the guy went down like a bag of rocks.
Crowbar yelled and came up swinging so wildly he smashed a window in the Nova. Tyrese kicked Crowbar away and reached for the door of the Grand Am, but Crowbar came back quicker than Tyrese thought he could and brought the crowbar down on Tyrese’s wrist. Pain shot through Tyrese and he reared back, tripping over Big Guy and landing hard on his tailbone.
Crowbar came after him again and lifted his weapon. Tyrese raised his injured arm to protect his head. The crowbar crashed down, and this time Tyrese heard the bone snap. He drooped against the car, cradling his arm. Crowbar swung again, but Tyrese ducked and swept his leg, kicking the man’s feet out from under him. The guy banged his head against the Nova’s trunk, and lay on the ground, groaning.
“Stop right there! Don’t move!” Gun Guy held his pistol with both hands, shaking so hard Tyrese was sure he was going to shoot him by accident.
Tyrese lay back, closing his eyes against the pain and against the sight of the crazy man with a gun.
“What the…put that down!” Another man raced into the fenced-in area, wearing a blue coverall that said “Mike” above the breast pocket. “What are you doing back here? I told you to stay out!”
Tyrese blinked. Wait. That was Mike? Who were these guys?
“He was gonna steal the cars,” Gun Guy said.
Mike glanced at Tyrese. “He’s welcome to them. They’re all crap.”
&nbs
p; “But—”
“Put the gun down!”
Slowly, Gun Guy lowered his arm.
“Now, give it here.”
“You can’t take my gun. I have rights!”
“The right to be an idiot? Unfortunately, that’s true. Give it, before I call the cops and remind them you carry without a license.”
“I got a license.”
“For fishing.”
Gun Guy glared at him, but finally slapped the gun into Mike’s hand.
“Thank you. Now take your friends and get out of here.”
“But he beat them up!”
“Looks like you got him, too.” Mike nudged Crowbar with his toe. “Up. Unless you want the cops asking what happened here.”
Crowbar struggled to all fours, and Gun Guy yanked him to his feet. Between the two of them they dragged Big Guy toward the open gate. Looking back, Gun Guy glared at Tyrese. “We’ll get you! You just wait!”
Finally, they were gone, and Mike knelt beside Tyrese. “Well, son, looks like you could use a hospital.”
“I can’t—”
“You will. Let’s go.”
9:15 a.m.
Robert
The nine o’clock coordinates led Robert to a dumpy little exit off the highway. A gas station and garage, but not much else, which made sense. The previous locations had been on the road, so Broadstreet must have stopped there, either with his own vehicle—meaning one he’d borrowed or stolen, since he didn’t actually own one—or one he’d scammed a ride in. Although who would pick up somebody looking like Tyrese in the early morning hours, he wasn’t sure.
Robert pulled his Challenger up to the Gas-n-Go. No sign of Tyrese, but the location had been transmitted almost fifteen minutes earlier, so he was probably long gone. Robert went into the gas station and approached the counter, where a middle-aged woman with gray hair and not many teeth chewed a wad of gum. “You see this guy here in the last twenty minutes?” He showed her a picture of Tyrese on his smartwatch.
“Nah, but you can ask them guys.” She indicated three men occupying a booth on the other side of the room. Two of them held ice packs to their heads while one got up, paced, and sat down, only to repeat the process.
Robert walked over, stopping a few feet away. “Looks like you guys had a little trouble.”
The pacing guy jumped up from his temporary seat and got in Robert’s face, or more like his chest, since Robert was a foot taller. “You should mind your own business.”
“It is my business if this is the person who did all that.” He showed Tyrese’s picture and the man’s face went red hot.
“You know him?” the guy said.
“Too well. And I want him. Where is he now?”
“You a cop?”
Robert considered it. He knew he looked older than his actual age because of his size. And it wasn’t like these guys were going to bust him for pretending to be law enforcement. They were obviously idiots.
“Yeah, I’m a cop, and I’m trying to track him down.”
“I knew it!” The littler guy with an ice pack pounded the table.
The big guy narrowed his eyes. “Told you he was a gangster!”
Robert tried not to laugh, both at the idea of Tyrese being a gangster, and at the way the other two glared at the little guy banging the table. “Any idea where he went?”
“Who is he? What did he do?”
“I can’t reveal his name—” because the last thing he wanted was these morons getting in the way of his Game “—but I can tell you he’s a thief.”
“I knew it!” The little guy pounded the table again, and the big man smacked him.
“Cut it out!”
“What’d he steal?” the pacing guy asked.
My glory. My recognition. My life.
“Car,” Robert said, because it was possible, since Tyrese had been driving the past two hours, and he had friends who knew how to do such things. Robert was sure Tyrese had done it himself in the past, even if he swore he now lived on the “straight and narrow.”
“I knew—”
The big man grabbed the little guy’s arm before he could pound the table. “How can we help?”
“Tell me what happened.”
The big guy told the story—with passionate interruptions from the other two—ending with some guy named Mike, the “traitor,” ordering them to take off.
“So where’s my thief now?” Robert asked.
“Getting babied over in the garage, probably.”
So close? Robert turned to run.
“Hey!”
He stopped.
“Don’t we need your number, in case we remember something important, or if he comes back?”
He wouldn’t. “I’m just checking the garage.”
“I’ll come.” The pacing guy yanked his shirt over his big belly and thrust out his chin.
“No,” Robert said.
The man deflated. “You don’t need me?”
“What if he comes in here? Stay with your friends. Protect them. They’re in bad shape.”
“Oh. Right. We’ll wait to hear from you.”
Robert held himself back from running out the door, then jogged to the garage, Mike’s Repairs. He checked his watch.
Runner is out of range.
A bell dinged as he let himself in the garage. No one manned the counter, so Robert eased behind it to check out the office. No one there, either. Just a crapload of paperwork and an outdated computer. Back in the front, a man in blue coveralls entered, rubbing his hands with a rag. “Help you?”
“You Mike?”
“Nah.” He pointed to his name tag. Stan.
Robert held up Tyrese’s photo. “You see this guy around here?”
“Sure. Boss found him out back, getting beat up by those three idiot rednecks.”
“Looks like he did some of the beating, too.”
Stan smiled. “They deserved it. At least, they usually do.”
“So where is he now?”
The guy eyed him. “Why do you care?”
“Just trying to catch up to him, is all.”
“Friend of yours, or something?”
“Yeah. We were supposed to meet up, carpool to Chicago.”
“Why don’t you just call him?”
“Not answering his phone. Maybe the guys broke it when they were beating on him.”
“Would make sense. They busted his arm.”
Tyrese was injured that badly? They must have gotten a jump on him. And now Robert had an advantage, both in the Game and on the court. But not an advantage he could take credit for. Whatever. He’d use it. Tyrese wouldn’t be having a career to consider, anyway, seeing how he was going to die that weekend.
But maybe Robert had been right about the phone. What if it had been broken? Would it still work for the Game?
“They broke his arm? Is he okay?” Robert tinged his voice with concern, which wasn’t hard since he actually was worried about the phone.
“Don’t know. Boss took him to the hospital.”
“Great. Which one?”
Stan told him, and Robert headed out. Before the door closed he turned back. “You know if he left a car here?”
“Don’t think so. He was out back ’cause he wanted to buy one of ours. Not that they would have done him any good, seeing how none of them run.”
Robert climbed into his Challenger, avoiding contact with the three losers in the Gas-n-Go. They didn’t have a clue who they’d been fighting. Not that Tyrese was a household name. In a year he would’ve been.
Now he’d be forgotten.
9:30 a.m.
Amanda
Amanda met the cab at a tiny suburban stop. She asked the driver to take her on a roundabout route to downtown. Partway there,
her nine-thirty location was transmitted, informing DarwinSon1 that she was still in a Chicago suburb. Immediately, she told the cabbie to drive as quickly as he could to Union Station. There, she got out and grabbed a bus to a northern spot on the lakefront.
Laura
Laura dove behind Adam. She’d known Millennium Park would get It close, but she hadn’t counted on only two minutes.
Adam glanced down at her. “What’s up?”
Sydney studied the people in the foyer. “It’s her, isn’t it? One of those people down there?”
“Who?” Adam said.
“Mean girl. She’s so jealous of…hey, I still don’t know your name.”
“Jealous of what?” Adam said.
“She doesn’t want her talking to anybody else. Including us.”
Adam spread his arms, bracing himself on the railing, making himself even wider. “You’re hiding from her why, exactly?”
Laura eyed the entrance to the Impressionist rooms, but realized she’d be trapped in the museum if she went out that way. Unless she went out the Modern Art exit.
“I’ve gotta go,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She darted away, back through the Impressionist rooms, down the stairs, past the Greek and Roman exhibits, and through the Modern Art wing. The side exit hall was practically empty, so it didn’t mask her footsteps…or the ones running behind her.
Laura broke into a sprint, not stopping even when the docent called her out, and banged through the glass doors. The doors slapped open behind her, and Laura turned to look, missed the top outside step, and tumbled onto the sidewalk. A sharp pain shot through her ankle, and she cried out.
A voice called from the top of the steps. “Hey!”
Laura scrambled to her feet, almost falling when she put weight on the sore ankle. Hands grabbed her, and she fought them, pulling away, banging her knees on the pavement.
“Hey, stop!”
Laura jerked up, slumping with relief when she saw Adam’s face.
“Holy crap! What are you doing?” Sydney ran up, out of breath, cheeks pink.
“She’s hurt,” Adam said.
“I’m fine.” Laura pulled away. She couldn’t let Brandy see her with Adam and Sydney. But one step took her to her knees again, and Adam caught her.
