The Thousand Dollar Escape

by J. T. Brannan

  I saw the signs then, big posters advertising Sesame Street Live.

  With half of the county police force behind us, armed and after blood, to then be confronted by life-size puppets from a kids’ TV show was crazily unexpected. But I supposed if there was going to be anything on at the BOK Center at eleven in the morning, that was it.

  ‘What the hell?’ Sam asked for both of us, but there was no backing out now, and we raced forward, jumping onto the elevated stage to the screams and shouts of the gathered families in the audience, and the shock and surprise of the live actors in front of us.

  As we clambered over the stage, I could see that some of the Muppet characters were people in suits, while others were traditional puppets and animatronic creations.

  The music stopped then, and all I could hear were the screams of the people in the audience, and the shouts of the cops as they entered the auditorium behind us.

  Warnings were given in loud voices, and then I heard gunshots; and as we raced down Sesame Street past Kermit and Miss Piggy, leaping over the Grouch’s garbage cans, the scenery started to spark, peppered with a mix of 9mm and .40 caliber pistol rounds.

  That’s when I saw Elmo get it, the red little Muppet blasted backward in an explosion of fur, wire and plastic, killed by a round meant for me.

  Thanks, Elmo.

  Luckily it was a puppet, the character too small to have an actor inside, but from the frantic screams in the audience I realized that this wouldn’t make it any easier for the children to take, and there’d be a lot of parents struggling to put their traumatized kids to sleep tonight.

  We pushed on toward the rear of the stage, eventually getting to the end of the platform. We made a running jump for it, landed on the arena floor, and kept running.

  The exits behind us were being filled by stampeding families, and we took advantage of the cops and deputies being pinned down to put as much distance as possible between us.

  I saw doors opening in the distance, high above us, and knew that the cops had worked their way upstairs, to come out on the top of the banked seating; with the high ground, they could try and pick us off with aimed fire.

  I saw the wooden floor near my feet erupt from shots coming from those elevated position, and cursed the fact that we were so exposed.

  Hell, maybe I should have taken Big Bird hostage?

  Hostage . . .

  I suddenly had an idea, and grabbed Sam, putting the pistol to the side of her head.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she yelled.

  ‘Putting on a show,’ I whispered back. ‘The story is that I’ve kidnapped you, right? They’re not gonna risk shooting while you’re so close.’

  I prayed I was right, and it certainly seemed to do the trick; even when the far doors at floor level burst open and half a dozen armed sheriff’s deputies spilled out into the auditorium, nobody fired a shot.

  We were halfway through the arena by then, and I was out of options; could I really get out by using Sam as a hostage?

  But then Kane started running, heading with purpose to the bank of seats to our left and – with no other real plan – I followed him, dragging Sam along with me, the gun still aimed at her head.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ I whispered as we jogged after Kane. ‘You know I’m not going to shoot you, right?’

  ‘You better not slip and pull the damn trigger, that’s all,’ she said back, and I was glad that she wasn’t panicking. Maybe she was getting used to this sort of thing?

  In the chaos of families escaping, the BOK Center’s alarm wailing, and cops and deputies shouting, it was a relief when we finally reached the bank of seats where Kane had gone, and slipped away underneath them.

  Kane was there waiting for us, and he trotted off to the far side of the bank, near one of the auditorium walls where it was covered from view by the seats above. There was a service door there, and I gave him a big smile. ‘Good boy,’ I said happily, wondering how the hell he could have known.

  We pushed through the door, raced down a few steps, and then saw what looked like a mile of stark white corridor ahead of us.

  I had no idea where it went, but it was almost certainly better than where we’d come from, and we took off at a sprint.

  Sam soon fell behind me, groaning, and I could see that the intense physical exertion was starting to take its toll on her.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, putting an arm around her waist, pulling her with me. ‘We need to get out of here before they figure out where we’ve gone.’

  We had a good lead over the people behind us, but I had to admit that I was worried that another group could easily head us off from the other side – and in the narrow corridor, killing us would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

  But we would only be killed if the wrong cops found us; presumably most of the Tulsa PD and Sheriff’s Office would be unaffected by Don Carson’s personal vendetta. But if cops from Sand Springs PD suddenly appeared in front of us, then I figured our odds would be fifty-fifty at best.

  But in the end, the corridor was clear, and we finally arrived at what looked like a loading bay, workers busy in a small industrial-style warehouse area.

  I briefly considered trying to hide in the cargo area of one of the trucks there, but there were too many people and it was inconceivable that we wouldn’t be seen.

  There were huge double doors open to the outside though, and – with no law enforcement currently in the area – I decided to just make a run for it; the strategy had served us well so far, I figured.

  Kane was already one step ahead of me, racing off past the workers and out of the warehouse doors, and we followed him out into the bright daylight.

  We came out into a small service lot, a gated entrance only thirty feet away.

  ‘Let’s go!’ I shouted, and we ran forward, Sam blessed with another surge of energy as she saw our chance to get out of there; with the cops waylaid inside, and probably covering the major exits, they wouldn’t be expecting us to slip out the service entrance.

  Ignoring the startled shouts from behind us, we made it to the six-foot high fence and repeated our performance from before – I boosted Sam over, then followed with Kane, dropping to the sidewalk on the other side.

  That was when I looked ahead and – just across the street and one block in front of us – I saw another section of train track crossing the road. A train was on it, a slow-moving cargo locomotive grinding past at just ten miles an hour.

  Could we?

  Hell, why not?

  ‘The train!’ I shouted at Sam. ‘Let’s go for it!’

  ‘You want me to jump on that thing?’ Sam asked as she ran across the road with me. ‘You must be joking!’

  ‘Come on,’ I encouraged her, and then we were across the road and only one block away. I wondered how long the train was, and if we would make it there in time.

  ‘Holy shit!’ I heard Sam cry out, and I didn’t even have to ask why, because I’d just seen it too.

  We were only a block away, but – on the right – that block consisted entirely of the Tulsa County Sheriff’s Office.

  What were the chances?

  I’d wondered how they’d got to the BOK Center so fast, and that would definitely explain it. Their headquarters were just across the damned road.

  The only good news was that most of the deputies would be across that road now, looking for us in the arena.

  We were halfway past the fenced-in parking lot – did I say that Tulsa seemed to be one big parking lot? – when we were spotted by a pair of deputies just getting out of their car.

  They stared at us for several moments until realization dawned, and as their jaws dropped open, I gave them a little wave; and then one of them got on the radio while the other drew his weapon and aimed it at us through the fence.

  ‘Stop right there!’ the guy with the gun called out, and I turned to them as I ran and let loose with the last two rounds from my pistol.

  The men ducked for cover,
and I heard shouts and calls from the center behind us as some of the cops and deputies figured out where we’d gone.

  But the train was right in front of us now, and we ducked under the car barrier, toes by the tracks, and I picked Sam up and swung her onto the ladder of the nearest passing train car.

  Kane somehow managed to jump onto the huge metal links between two of the massive cars, and I hooked onto the lead ladder of the next car along, feeling myself whipped off the ground even at the relatively slow speed the train was traveling at.

  Sparks hit me from the ricochets as shots bounced off the car all around me, and I felt my body shrink around the ladder as I tried to present as small a target as possible.

  Then I saw that the train was about to take us out of the line of fire altogether and I finally started to relax; and that was when I felt the searing, sickening pain shoot through my shoulder, instantly making me faint and dizzy with shock, and I realized I’d been shot, hit with a lucky last-ditch round from that damned deputy.

  I gritted my teeth and, in a daze, instinctively undid my belt, passed the end around one of the ladder rungs and refastened it; in case I lost consciousness, I didn’t want to fall off the train. Then I wrapped my good arm through the steps of the ladder, securing my hand inside my jacket and holding on tight to the shirt.

  I felt the blood running freely down my arm, and I thought, bleakly, that perhaps I shouldn’t have waved at the guy.

  And then I passed out.

  Chapter Nine

  I woke up in a bed, crisp cotton sheets covering me.

  Was I still at Ricci’s?

  Had I just dreamt the whole damn thing?

  And then I felt the pain, running white hot through my shoulder, and realized that it hadn’t been a dream at all.

  It was all too real.

  But what was I doing? And where the hell was here?

  My eyes fluttered open, and I saw the vague shadow-shapes of what looked like a hotel room.

  ‘Colt,’ I heard a familiar voice say. ‘You’re awake.’

  Sam.

  ‘How do you feel?’ she asked, with what appeared to be genuine concern.

  ‘Swell,’ I said, trying to smile but failing. ‘What happened? Where are we?’

  ‘The Crystal Motel,’ Sam said, ‘a few miles south of the city.’

  I twisted uncomfortably. ‘We’re just a few miles away?’ I asked. ‘Why did you –’

  ‘Hey,’ Sam stopped me, ‘this was your idea, not mine.’

  ‘Mine?’ I asked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘After you got shot, you passed out and I thought that was it, game over. But you came to, and luckily your belt trick worked and kept you attached to the train.

  ‘You made us jump off not too far out of downtown, I thought you were crazy but you said that the cops knew which train we were on and could cut us off. You stole a car, got me to drive while you patched yourself up with your own jacket.

  ‘We left the car and stole another, headed south on interstate forty-four until we found this motel. You were becoming groggy, delirious, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

  ‘We parked up, you and Kane stayed in the car while I booked the room, I wore a hat and glasses like you said, got a single room. You guys came across when I got the keys.

  ‘I put you to bed, then went out to get a list of things you said you needed. With the hat and glasses, nobody noticed me. You’re the fugitive anyway I guess, not me; if I escaped, I suppose people would think I’d just go home, not go back to help you.

  ‘Anyway, I got back here and you’d checked the wound, you told me the bullet had passed right through, “it’s just the meat”, you said, which is apparently much better than bone.’ I nodded, because that was true. ‘I cleaned the wound, then you stitched the first side yourself, showed me what to do, then I did the entry wound on the back of your shoulder.’ She shook her head. ‘Made me feel pretty sick, I gotta tell you, never done anything quite like that before. Then you took a shitload of painkillers and fell asleep.’

  ‘How long ago?’ I asked, glad that she’d not gone to pieces on me. She was proving herself to be one tough cookie, and I wasn’t surprised she’d finally discovered the strength to leave her husband. It might have taken her a while, but she’d done it in the end.

  ‘It’s six in the evening now,’ she said in answer to my question, and my stomach lurched uncomfortably. Six hours was a long time, they had to be hot on our trail by now.

  ‘What ID did you use to book in?’ I asked.

  ‘A few cars up from the one we stole, you broke into another one and stole the driver’s license, I used that.’

  ‘The photo anything like you?’ I asked, disturbed that I couldn’t remember any of what she’d told me.

  ‘Close enough,’ she said. ‘About ten years older, but I’ve had a hard life, I guess.’ She smiled down at me. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

  ‘Water,’ I said. The inside of my mouth was dry like I’d been eating hot sand, my tongue thick and swollen.

  She passed me the glass of water that was next to my bed, and I drank the contents gratefully.

  ‘Where’s Kane?’ I asked, knowing that we’d already outstayed our welcome here and would need to move on quickly.

  ‘Outside,’ she replied, ‘keeping watch over the place.’

  I grunted; at least we’d learned our lesson from last time. He might give us a minute or two if the cops found us, and that could make all the difference.

  I wanted to get up, but my body refused to cooperate. I turned my head and looked at my shoulder. It was covered with a bandage, and I slowly, painfully, reached across with my good arm to peel it off and have a look at my handiwork.

  It wasn’t half bad, to be fair, especially considering that I’d been semi-conscious when I’d sewn it.

  Satisfied, I replaced the bandage and drank down the new glass of water that Sam had just brought me.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as she sat next to me. ‘I really mean that.’ She put a hand on my good arm. ‘Nobody’s ever done anything for me before. Nobody’s ever . . . cared.’ A tear came to her eye, and she wiped it away. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, her voice just a whisper now. ‘I’m sorry you got hurt.’

  I tried shrugging my shoulders, but the pain made one of them stay right where it was. ‘Part of the job,’ I said, and it wasn’t just bravado; it was the truth.

  ‘A job you’re not getting paid for,’ she said apologetically.

  ‘I told you before,’ I said, ‘I don’t do it for the money.’

  ‘I remember,’ she said softly, before reaching down to kiss me on the cheek, lips barely grazing me.

  My eyes met hers, and she looked away nervously; but then she looked back, and her head came close again, and this time her lips met mine and we kissed, long and hard.

  The pain in my shoulder seemed to be slowly receding.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said suddenly, ‘we shouldn’t . . . Your shoulder . . . Don . . .’

  ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘fuck Don.’ I meant it too; normally I would give married women a wide berth out of general moral principle, but this situation was entirely different. ‘And I think my shoulder’s feeling a little bit better too.’

  She smiled and reached in again, and we kissed once more, her hands running through my hair; and I understood that she just wanted to feel needed, wanted to feel attractive to someone, wanted to know that she didn’t have to rely on Don, that there was a life beyond Don, a life that she could take control of.

  I moved the cotton sheets from my body, and she moved on top of me, careful of my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said as she kissed my neck, then my chest. ‘I’ll do all the work.’

  I knew we should be packing up and leaving right now, knew that every extra minute we stayed here was another minute that Don and his boys would have to track us down.

  And yet I couldn’t resist, found myself unwillingly drawn to this woman, and all thou
ghts of escape vanished along with the pain as our worlds united in pleasure.

  Thirty minutes later, I was sitting on the edge of the bed pulling my pants on and buttoning my shirt. What Sam and I had done was stupid, I knew that; but at the same time, it had seemed so right at the time.

  I looked over to her as she buttoned up her blouse, and she looked away sheepishly. ‘That was the first time I’ve ever been with anyone except for Don,’ she said, before looking back toward me. ‘No matter what he thought.’

  I remained silent as I slipped my shirt on, pulling one sleeve carefully over my injured shoulder. I didn’t really know what to say; one of the problems with spending vast amounts of time by yourself, with just a dog for company, I supposed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said eventually, without really knowing why.

  Sam’s hand rested on my forearm once more, and she smiled at me as she shook her head. ‘You don’t have to be sorry for anything,’ she said. ‘You saved me. In more ways than one.’

  I was silent again as we carried on dressing; we’d wasted precious time, and we had to be on the move. According to a map in the room, there was another motel nearby, as well as a garage or two; we’d take a car from there, see if we could put some distance between us and the vast parking lot that was Tulsa.

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’ Sam asked as she bent down to put her shoes on.

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  ‘How you fight, did you learn that in the Rangers?’

  I wondered why she was asking. ‘In a way,’ I said.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Is it something I could learn?’

  Ah, I thought, that explains why she wants to know. The simple desire to know how to defend herself.

  ‘If you had enough time, I guess so,’ I said cagily. ‘But I’ve been doing martial arts for years, even before I joined the Rangers. I was my unit’s unarmed combat instructor, mixed up the standard jujitsu with boxing, wrestling, you name it. The I met a guy called Manuel, he taught me a system from the Philippines called escrima – sticks, knives, striking, grappling, you name it. We combined it with some real simple and effective stuff that they used to teach to special forces during the Second World War, and put everything together, and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. There’s no real name for it, nobody that teaches it.’