'Monroe? Isn't that in Pennsylvania?'
'I've got no idea.'
'Hang on a sec.'
'Lionel, what are you—'
'I said hang on a sec!'
Josh waited. 'Well?'
'As I thought—you're in Pennsylvania.'
'Shit. How long will it take to get to Manhattan?'
'About three and a half hours by bus.'
'Well, I guess that's how long it'll take, then. I'll meet you outside the usual.'
'The usual?'
'Yeah, the usual. You know . . .?'
'Oh right, I got it. See you then.'
'Before you go,' Josh added, checking his watch. 'I need you to know that some weird stuff could start happening soon, so you need to go there now and stay there until I arrive.'
'Weird stuff? What weird stuff?'
'It's hard to explain. I just need you to wait for me, and not worry about anything. I'll be as quick as I can. I'll explain everything when I meet you.'
'Okay . . .' Lionel said, sounding uncertain. 'I'll see you when I see you.'
'Thanks. I appreciate it.'
'Any time.'
Josh hung up the phone. He didn't have a lot of time to think about his next move, however, because the flashing blue and red lights of a police car pulling up beside him took up all of his attention.
'Shit . . .' he muttered to himself. This was the last thing he needed. He looked through the glass into the mini mart to see the old man glaring at him from behind the counter. Crazy idiot, Josh thought. He had to get out of this, and quickly. Time was not on his side—at least, not until he got back to the portal.
Two officers stepped out of the car. The first—and the taller of the two—approached Josh with a slow, wary gait, while the other stayed back. They were both pointing their flashlights at him. Josh shielded his eyes, trying to stem the rising thump behind them.
'Good evening, sir,' the taller of the two men greeted him. 'Can I ask what you're doing up at this time of night?'
'I'm just out for a run,' Josh said.
'It's a little late for that, don't you think?'
'So I've been told,' Josh replied. 'Have I done something wrong, officer?'
The officer continued to approach, until he was within reaching distance of Josh. 'Well, that's what we're here to find out,' he said, shining the light from one of Josh's eyes to the other. 'Can I ask your name, sir?'
Josh hesitated. 'John. John . . . Edwards.'
'Well, Mr. Edwards,' the officer said, 'have you been taking any drugs this evening?'
'No, no, of course not—'
'Are you sure?' the officer asked, peering at Josh. Josh suspected his probably bloodshot eyes and pouring sweat gave him the appearance of someone whose veins ran thick with opiates, likely the reason the old man in the mini mart had reported him in the first place.
'I'm sure.'
'Okay,' the officer said. 'Well, I'm going to need to see some ID, please.'
Double shit. 'I don't have any on me.'
'Well then, I'm afraid we're going to have to take you down to the station,' the officer said, reaching behind him for his cuffs.
'Wait!' Josh said, holding up his hands to stop the officer. 'Wait. I have ID.'
'But you just told me you didn't.'
'I do. I lied. I'm sorry. I'm—I'm a celebrity, and I just wanted some privacy, that's all.' Josh reached into his pocket and retrieved his driver's license, handing it to the officer. The shorter officer approached and took the license from his colleague, taking it back to the car to run a check.
'A celebrity, huh? I've never heard of you,' the taller officer continued.
'It's a reality TV show on—'
'Sir, I'm going to ask you to keep quiet from now on. I think you've said enough.'
'Yes, of course.'
The officer folded his arms. 'You celebrities think you can just do what you want, don't you?'
'No, sir.'
'Shut up! I told you to keep quiet!'
The shorter officer emerged from the vehicle and called over to his colleague. 'Hey, Sergeant,' he said. 'You'd better check this out.'
'You wait right there,' the taller officer told Josh. 'Make one move and you're done.' He returned to the car to talk with the shorter officer, and then they both looked at him together, speechless. They talked again, and drew their weapons.
'Okay, sir,' the taller officer said, pointing his pistol square at Josh's chest, 'I want you to put your hands behind your head and turn around, okay?'
It was all going wrong. Josh couldn't believe it. With no other options left, he put his hands behind his head and turned around, just like he'd been asked. He could hear the officers approaching.
'I want you to kneel down, okay? Slowly, to the ground. Now. Do it.'
Josh detected a hint of fear in the taller man's voice. This quiet town was probably unlikely to house many criminals, and if Josh's suspicions were right, the flag against his name that had startled the pair probably listed him as one of America's most wanted. These officers were nervous, and likely inexperienced. They were doubtless just as scared as Josh was.
'I'm going to cuff you, okay?' the taller officer said from right behind him. 'Don't move.'
There was only one chance to get out of this. If Josh didn’t take it, he'd be done.
He took a breath, and made up his mind.
Chapter 27
As Josh felt the taller officer take hold of one of his wrists, he exploded backward, tumbling into him and sending them both to the ground. They each scrabbled to right themselves, but Josh was quicker, climbing on top of the officer and wrestling for his pistol.
'Don't move!' the shorter officer yelled. Josh had no time to look, but he knew the second pistol was firmly pointed at him. The whole while there was no clear shot, he'd be okay, but the minute there was . . . he didn't want to think.
The taller officer took a swing at Josh that landed in his ribs, winding him, and he collapsed onto the officer's writhing mass. The pistol was beneath him, he could feel it, and as he wheezed air back into his lungs, he clawed it from its holster. Knowing what he was trying to do, the officer was flailing to knee Josh in the chest and push him off by the shoulders, but it was too late—Josh had the gun. He rolled back, holding it with both hands as he stood up slowly.
'Easy . . .' the taller officer said, holding up his hands. He was still now, chest pumping, eyes wide and unblinking.
'Drop the weapon!' the shorter officer yelled, pistol still raised, panic written all over his face.
Josh's hands were shaking, the snub-nosed pistol, now slippery with sweat, bobbing up and down. The cold realization of what he'd just done and was still doing turned his stomach. For a moment he considered giving it all up and turning himself in, but no matter how much he wanted it to be, that was never going to be an option. He gripped the pistol tighter, and licked his lips. 'I'm going now,' he said, trying to firm the waver in his voice. 'Don't try to follow me. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm not a bad person.'
Neither officer had anything to say to that. The stalemate lingered, and Josh knew the only way out was by his command.
'Both of you, stay where you are. You, put your gun down.'
The shorter officer shifted from foot to foot. 'I'm afraid I can't do that.'
Josh checked back inside the mini mart quickly. The old man was gone. Probably calling back to the station to get whoever else was there down on the scene. He didn't have long. Sidestepping around the grounded officer and keeping the pistol trained squarely at him, Josh moved toward the police car, his actions slow and his eyes keen. The shorter officer followed him with his own pistol, still rooted to the spot. As Josh got closer to him, he switched his own aim to point at the shorter officer instead, making him twitch.
'Easy . . .' Josh muttered. 'Easy.' He checked the officer on the ground quickly; he hadn’t moved. A few more steps and he'd be close enough to touch the shorter officer.
'That's
close enough,' the officer said, taking a pace back and firming up his grip on his pistol.
'Give me the gun,' Josh said, trying not to sound like he was begging—although he was.
'Not going to happen. Stay where you are or I will open fire.'
'You don't want to do that,' Josh said, trying to sound commanding. 'If you shoot me, I'll shoot back. I might miss, but do you want to take that chance?' He took another step closer, and the officer stepped one back.
'Don't test me,' the officer said.
'Give me the gun.'
In a split second, the officer on the ground rolled over to his knees and was halfway up when Josh switched the gun back to him. 'Stay down!' Josh yelled, making the officer freeze. Sliding the gun from one to the other, he tried to catch his breath, his heart beating so hard it felt like he was going into cardiac arrest. 'I told you I don't want to hurt anyone, but if you try to stop me I swear to God I will shoot you both! Now get out of my way!'
The two officers shared a look. Josh knew as much as they did that no one here wanted to get shot, let alone die, and he watched the wordless conversation between the two officers as they decided what they were going to do next. Almost imperceptibly, the officer now squatting on the ground nodded.
'Good,' Josh said. 'Step aside.'
The shorter officer blocking his way hesitated, then lowered his gun and did as he was told. Making sure he kept facing them both, Josh continued to make his way around to the car, backing up toward it once he was between it and them.
'I'm sorry,' he said, slipping in through the open door, gun still raised. 'I hope you don't get into any trouble because of this.'
The engine was still running, and Josh pulled the door closed, slipping the car into drive. He pulled away slowly, one eye on the road, one eye on the officers, barrel unwavering. Once the officers and the mini mart were out of sight, he put the pistol down on the passenger seat and collapsed back into his own. 'Holy shit . . .' he muttered to himself. Running his shaking fingers through his hair, he briefly relived the moment. It had only happened minutes—if not seconds—ago, yet it didn't feel real, like he was experiencing someone else's memories. 'Holy shit . . .' he said again.
But there was no opportunity to linger on the past for long. His whereabouts would be all over the radio very soon, and the car he was in would be a prime target. He needed to ditch it quick. Steering the car out of Monroe, he trundled along the tree-lined road between it and the next town over—Towanda—pulling over a half-mile out. Rolling the car gently into the forest, he went in far enough for it to be obscured from the road. He killed the ignition and looked over at the passenger seat, where the gun was still sitting.
It gave him the chills to look at it. He'd very nearly been shot, could've died. And then he realized something: if he had died, he'd have started over, back in the room, just like he wanted. It was a horrible thought, but not as horrible as the one that came next: death was still an option.
Carefully, as though it might blow up in his hand, he picked up the weapon. While he'd been high on adrenaline, the gun had felt natural in his grasp, and he'd barely noticed even holding it, but now, in the coldness and quietness of night, it felt different. Immediate. Definite. Turning it over in his hand, he watched the moonlight glint off its scratched surface. It was a simple device: cock the hammer, release the safety, aim and pull. That was it. He cocked the hammer, released the safety. The gun was live.
A metallic taste preempted the arrival of the barrel, which he bit down on gently. A whiff of gun oil spilled up the back of his nose, making him cough. His heart dipped into spasms. He knew what he had to do, knew what the outcome was, yet time had somehow frozen. His hand, it wouldn't respond. Signals from his brain were sent, but all his hand could do was shake. Does not compute. File not found.
Taking the barrel out of his mouth, he wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and tried again. A reset. This time he could do it. Bite down on the barrel and squeeze. Bite down on the barrel and squeeze. Bite down on the barrel, and squeeze . . .
It was no use. He couldn't. He was too scared. He realized he was shaking, the barrel rattling against his teeth. Inside, he wanted to explode, let the shame out with a burst of anger to reassure himself that he was still strong, but all he could do was put the gun back down on the passenger seat and climb out of the car. After taking a moment to recompose himself, he abandoned the vehicle, traveling the remainder of the way to Towanda on foot.
Towanda was just as quiet as Monroe—albeit bigger—and he wandered around until he found a bus stop. The nearest large town was Wilkes-Barre; he'd be able to get a bus direct to Manhattan from there.
There wasn't another bus to Wilkes-Barre for twenty-seven minutes, so Josh took a seat on the nearest bench and waited. Sleep began to weigh his eyelids heavy, and by the time the bus arrived, it jerked him awake. Nauseated and lethargic, and with the taste of metal still in his mouth, he boarded the bus and paid the fare, then chose his seat from all but one.
Route 6 was quiet, winding through the forest past Wyalusing, Laceyville and Meshoppen. Everyone was asleep, and nothing stirred. The only other person he saw—besides the bus driver and the man sleeping at the back of the bus—was a motel worker emptying a black sack into the trash as they wound through Laceyville. Other than that, it was all quiet. Josh was glad for the peace.
'Wilkes-Barre!' the driver yelled out, making Josh jump. He'd been dozing again. The man at the back was already gone. 'Last stop!' the driver added. Josh stood, stretched and yawned, making his way to the front as the driver pulled up in the bus terminal. The brakes hissed as they came to a stop, and Josh disembarked, his lungs filling with diesel fumes. The terminal wasn't empty, but it wasn't busy either, and the concrete walls echoed with the sound of rumbling tires and engines.
Josh found a timetable and located the correct stop for the bus to Manhattan. Two and a half more hours along the I-80 and he'd be there, if he didn't die of exhaustion first. He had thirty minutes to wait before the bus arrived, and there was a fast food restaurant just across the way, so he headed in that direction to get some coffee and something more substantial to eat, the candy bar long since past its usefulness.
The restaurant was busier than he'd expected, but nice and quiet, and clean enough. He ordered and sat down, sipping hot coffee through a plastic lid between nibbling at an overcooked and lava-hot hash brown.
'Mind if I sit with you?'
Josh looked up to see an expectant-looking man, youngish, in a suit and rain coat, holding a tray of fast food. 'Sure.' The company might help keep him awake.
'Thanks,' the man said, setting his tray down and taking off his coat, hanging it on the back of his chair. Before he took a seat, he held out his hand. 'Michael,' he said. Josh shook it. Should he give a fake name? Was there any point?
'Josh. Pleased to meet you, Michael.'
'Likewise,' Michael said, seating himself and taking a bite of his breakfast burger. Grease ran down his chin, and he caught it with a napkin. 'What business are you in, Josh?'
Josh took another gulp of coffee. By now it was cool enough for him to realize how bad it tasted. 'Tunneling.'
'Tunneling? How interesting! What kind of tunnels do you . . . tunnel?'
Michael's enthusiasm was almost fascinating. At these small hours of the morning, here he was, fired up enough to talk to a stranger about holes. 'This and that. Mainly infrastructure.'
'Any projects I might know?'
Josh almost told him about the East Side Access, then thought better of it. 'Probably not. Mainly sewer upgrades in old towns. Nothing exciting.'
'Is that why you're out here?'
'Yeah.'
Michael snorted. 'The sewers around here could do with fixing. They flood every time someone spills a drink.'
Josh couldn't help but smile. That was pretty funny. 'So what's your game, then? Sales, I'm guessing?'
Michael rolled his eyes. 'Is it that obvious?'
'
The only men I know as cheerful as you are the ones trying to sell me something.'
'That's very cynical,' Michael said with a brazen grin. 'But yes, I'm in sales.'
'What're you selling?'
Holding up a hand, Michael said, 'Don't worry, I'm not going to try and sell you anything. Just wanted to liven up a long wait for a bus with a little chat. And I broker vacation deals, by the way.'
'Vacation deals, huh?'
'Yes—the client gets in touch with me, tells me where and when they want to go, and I call around to put a package together for them as cheap as I can.'
'And that works out cheaper than those package holidays you get online?'
'It sure does,' Michael said, grinning proudly.
Josh nodded. 'Fair enough.' His chest went light for a second as he thought about Georgie and Joseph. He wondered where they were, what they were doing. If they were thinking about him. 'How much is a vacation to Niagara Falls right about now?'
At first Michael wasn't sure if Josh was messing him around, but it didn't take him more than a second to whip out a tablet and start tapping away. 'When are you thinking of going?'
'Tomorrow.'
Michael paused, his grin slipping a little, then resumed tapping at his tablet. 'Well, the cheapest flight is just under two hundred dollars return, and I'm sure I could get another ten percent off that if I call around. Where would you like to stay?'
'Somewhere nice.'
'Okay,' Michael said. 'Star rating? Facilities? I can find you something that way.'
Josh looked at his watch; his bus would arrive in just a few minutes. He drained the last of his coffee—which was already kicking in, he was relieved to find—and stood up. 'My bus is going to be here soon. I've got to go. Sorry.'
'Yes, of course,' Michael said, standing. He reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a business card. 'Take this, and give me a call when you want to finalize the details.'
Josh pocketed the card. 'Thanks. You take it easy,' he said as he left the table, heading for the exit.
'You too,' Michael called out from behind.
New York Deep Page 20
