Hashtag Rogue

by Chautona Havig

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Been watching The Outsiders lately? Are you ready to rumble?

  Tyler backed away, toward an alley. As expected, they followed, taunting. Laughing. Oh, so stupidly cocky. It’s almost not fair.

  They’d just gotten out of sight, when Tyler lashed out and kicked the closest one in the groin. That left the other two. While the smaller one lunged, Kyle went for the bag—presumably for a gun. Tyler braced for impact and then stepped aside at the last second. The kid crashed into the wall, stunning him just enough to make him stumble a few feet away.

  Tyler drew his gun and leveled it on Kyle. “Back. Away from. That. Bag.”

  The stupid kid kept fumbling. A sound to his right sent Tyler spinning. With a sweep of his leg, and a crack of the gun on the kid’s head, number two punk dropped. Groin boy hobbled away despite Kyle’s orders to charge.

  That’s when Tyler racked the slide and held it out, ready to fire. “Shove the bag over. Now.”

  When Kyle laughed, Tyler shot the ground next to his foot.

  “Now.”

  The duffel slid his direction.

  “Get out of here.” At Kyle’s hesitation, Tyler shifted aim from the ground to the boy’s head. “I said, go.”

  It was probably the first time since kindergarten that the boy had moved any swifter than a swagger. As Tyler slung the bag over one shoulder, he watched. You run like a girl.

  Her new faith warred with self-preservation. Was it wrong to manipulate the situation in order to create the opportunity to contact Keith? Manipulation had to be some kind of sin, and if it wasn’t, it should be. Still… what about self-preservation? Wasn’t that okay?

  Erika glared at the duo playing their stupid video game and flirting with subtext. She might not understand the meaning, but no one could miss the point. If I brought Tyler into it, she’d capitulate.

  And that’s all it took. “Get me out of here, Flynne.”

  “We’re in the middle of a game.”

  “And you’re going to be in the middle of full-blown psychosis if you do not get me out of here.”

  That got her a paused game. Flynne turned and really looked at her. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Ever heard of cabin fever?” Flynne’s expression turned skeptical, so Erika turned up the drama a few decibels. “The Shining? I’m about to go all, ‘Heeerrre’s Johnny!’ on your butt. Keith at least cared about the mental health of his—” She’d almost blown it and used the word client. “Prisoners.”

  Change came slowly, but the skepticism eventually morphed into understanding and then into concern. “What can I do? This is, like, a neighborhood, not a cabin in the woods! We can’t do the cats and mousers thing just to keep you all, like, mentally sharp and stuff.”

  Thank you, Jesus, that she didn’t say “stufsies.” However, it wouldn’t do to show that relief to Flynne, so she just glared.

  “What? Just tell me.”

  “Get me out of here.” The memory of a trip to the Mall of America parking lot gave her all the truth she needed and a boatload of deception she might have to repent of. Desperation drove her to leap. “Keith took me to the Mall of America. The least you could do is get me to a Target or something.”

  This caught Morgan’s attention. “Gives new meaning to a ‘target on your back,’ don’t you think?”

  Come on… come on… bait! Take the bait!

  “I don’t know…”

  If she’d had something in her hand, Erika would have thrown it. Then it happened. Morgan stepped in again. “We could take her to the Galleria. You were wanting St. Louis Bread Company, anyway. What could someone do in a giant mall full of people? Worst case scenario, you run up to a security guard and say you’re being stalked.”

  Flynne didn’t even seem to hear that last bit. The moment Morgan mentioned that bread company, the girl was sold. So, the way to your heart is through your breadbasket. Got it.

  They left the house at four o’clock. All three of them. By the time they reached the mall it was after five—oh, the joys of rush hour traffic. Then, of course, Flynne spent forty minutes moving them from space to space, trying to decide which was the best and changing her mind with every decision.

  Desperation, rather than mercy, drove Erika to tell her what Keith had said. “Trying to do the opposite thing is just as obvious as doing the obvious thing. Small changes. If you usually park near the entrance, go for the middle, not the outskirts. If you usually park far away for your daily exercise, then park in the middle. If you usually—”

  “Got it. Parking up front because I only do that when there’s a spot. And I can’t park in the middle.”

  After another fifteen minutes of circling the area around Dillard’s, they found a spot up close to Nordstrom—by the sheer grace of God, Erika decided. Flynne made them stay in the car and scanned the area twice before demanding they race from the car to inside.

  Erika refused. “There’s no way I’m drawing attention to myself that way. Not. Happening.”

  God’s mercy continued as Morgan agreed. “Let’s just stroll in. Casual.”

  There wasn’t anything casual about the way they moved. Flynne bounced around them like an over-eager shepherd, determined to keep them all corralled where she could, what? Glare someone to death? She hadn’t brought a tranq or the air soft gun. She didn’t have a knife. She didn’t even have martial arts skills. She’s got nothing. Zippo, nada, nuttin’.

  After months at HearthLand, with its minimalistic, eco-conscious lifestyle, the sheer volume of future archaeological landfill treasures nearly smothered her. Store after store, packed to the gills with… stuff. A pause by the mall map brought a smile. “Too bad there’s not a Burberry store.”

  Flynne huffed. “Yeah… Mall of America has one. So not fair.” She perked up a moment later. “Let’s get bread first. Then we can, like, walk it off.”

  “It’s probably on the other end of the mall.” Erika put every bit of annoyance she could into those words. “We’ll walk it off before we even get there.”

  “Nope!” Flynne dragged her to the right. “It’s right next to Nordstrom. Ha!”

  A muttered, “Don’t get in the way of Flynne and her bread,” from behind her told Erika she’d seriously underestimated the magnetic pull of St. Louis’ bread.

  She hadn’t expected to find a menu board full of amazing-looking sandwiches and soups waiting for her. It only took one look to see the Mediterranean veggie and Erika was sold. “I’ll get drinks. What do you guys want?”

  They hadn’t had a chance to tell her when Erika froze. “Um, guys…”

  Flynne, still salivating over the forthcoming Pepperblue steak sandwich, hardly glanced at Erika. “What?”

  The answer came in a hiss. “Slide those eyes to the left, would you? Gray shirt. Sunglasses. Drink cup in his hand.”

  The words flustered her just as she reached for money. The bills fluttered to the floor before Flynne could grab them again. The man stood fifteen feet away, his profile to her. Nothing about him looked familiar or threatening. “Yeah? So?”

  “Knupp.”

  She dropped the bills again. “Ugh!” In her peripheral vision, Flynne saw the man look their way. “I’m—I’m so hungry I can’t hold onto my money! It’s totes annoys sauce!” Something in the way Erika relaxed hinted that maybe she’d done the right thing. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

  “Should we get these to go?” Erika pointed to a clock. “What time does the movie start again?”

  “Mo—”

  Morgan broke in before Flynne could continue. “Good idea. Let’s get it all to go.”

  Every instinct said to run away, to tackle Erika and body-shield her—anything. But Morgan took over again, for which she’d kiss him the first chance she got. “Erika, can you get me a Dr. Pepper? Flynne probably wants lemonade, right? I’ll get napkins and straws and stuff.”

  He’s going with her. I so puffy heart that guy. The memory of Tyler�
��s face tried to invade her thoughts, but she shoved him aside. Later.

  Knupp left the restaurant first, heading toward Dillard’s. Flynne ached to try to slip into the elevators there, but it wouldn’t work. What if he waited for them when the doors opened? Trapped. Better stick to the escalators… right?

  “Do we follow him?” Morgan kept stepping a few inches in front of them as if he could dive if Knupp whipped out an AK-47 hidden somewhere under the gray polo. “Or do we try to book it out of here?”

  She couldn’t help herself. Flynne glanced at Erika to get a feel for what would work and what wouldn’t. The look on Erika’s face belied the nerve-wracking situation. “What’s wrong?”

  “That jerk followed us here, let us think we made it, and then just shows himself? What do you think? I’m ticked!” A few seconds later, she added, “Great cover with dropping the money, by the way. You were smooth.”

  They’d made it to the escalators before Flynne managed to answer. “Um… I, um…”

  “It wasn’t an accident. Flynne got flustered.” Morgan took her hand. “But it worked, and we’ve got this.”

  Once on the escalators, Flynne could scan the area. Women in business attire strode past stores, clearly on a mission. Moms—you could tell them by their practical clothes with just a nod to fashion, well and the stream of ducklings masquerading as children streaming in front and behind them. Teens clumped like hydrangea bushes in front of cool stores, and Flynne tried not to envy several girls with varying shades of hair pointing upstairs. She knew where they’d go. Hot Topic. Can I come, too? I’ll, like be your new bestie and buy everyone something. Just let me out of this nightmare!

  Just as they neared bottom, she saw Knupp. He stood right by the movie poster for the new superhero blockbuster and sipped that same cup. Bet it’s empty.

  “Three o’clock.”

  Flynne looked around for a clock and didn’t see it. “It’s got to be closer to six-thirty. We left after… oooh… Yeah. Saw him.”

  “I think we should get tickets, go into three different movies, slip out when he doesn’t show up—or after he does, for that lucky dog, and then meet up at the car at eight.” Morgan leaned closer and whispered, “We play that evasion game all the time. I’m good. I’ll try to get him to follow me while you guys escape. If I’m not at the car by eight, don’t worry. I’ll Uber it outta here.”

  She started to protest. Letting Erika out of her sight wasn’t in the plan. Not at all. Just as she opened her mouth to say as much, Erika agreed. “That’s a great idea. I’ll try to find someone to let me use their phone. That way it’s not traceable to any of us. I’ll leave a note with Ralph at HearthLand to get to Keith.”

  “You can’t—!”

  Erika slowed as they neared the ticket counter. “I don’t care what you say, Flynne. Keith knowing where we are is safer than Knupp! I don’t know what he’s doing here, but this is no coincidence. You were right. Okay? I get it. But now I know what to do. And I call Keith. You divert Knupp with Morgan. He won’t hurt you because he knows you’ll be meeting with me. So, go divert and let me do the only thing I know we need to do.”

  She had a point. As much as Flynne hated to admit it, Erika had a really good point. The problem was if she could do it. Morgan took off to buy his ticket, leaving them standing there in the wide open. If he wanted to go all mall shooter on us, we’d be dead, and everyone would think it was just a random shooting.

  That’s all it took. Being out in the open could be as dangerous as trapped in a theater. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

  Erika squeezed her arm and turned to go to the ticket booth. “You owe me a movie, Flynne. Pay up.”

  I’ll pay up, all right. She forked over a twenty. And then I’ll follow him following you. I’m not letting you out of my sight. A rephrase presented itself, and Flynne almost spoke it aloud. Basically, I’m keepin’ my peepers on my peeps.

  Eighteen

  They stood in one corner of the ER waiting area. Claire fidgeted until Mark laced his fingers through hers and squeezed. That’s all it took for her to curl into him. He felt the tears rather than heard them. “He’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “I know, but he’s all mangled. He’s hurting, and Erika isn’t even here.”

  Translation, you need comfort, so you assume he does, too. That was all the invitation he needed. Mark wrapped his arms around her and held her fast. “Dr. Brecham will be here to tell us how bad things are soon. Just give it a few more minutes.”

  “I’m scared.”

  Public displays of affection had never been easy, but what about relationships were easy? Claire needed him to step up. After a kiss to her head, he pressed his cheek over it and held fast. “You know he’ll be fine. He’s a kicker—a fighter. And he has God on his side.”

  She stiffened for a moment. Large eyes gazed up at him a moment later. “I thought you didn’t know what you thought about God.”

  “Been reading like you asked.” The memory of throwing the Bible prompted him to add, “Not that I always like what I read…”

  Before Claire could process that, Brecham entered and scanned the area. “Hey, he’s here.”

  “Keith?” At the sight of the doctor, she sagged. “Oh.”

  Brecham pulled them outside before he spoke. “Okay, this is what I’ve done. He definitely has a pneumothorax—the left lung is greatly affected. They could deal with it with needles and tubes, but I pressed for immediate surgery. I need medical records to back up a history of those procedures not working.”

  Mark passed Claire his phone and continued to listen while she called Tyler. “What about his jaw?”

  “Definitely broken. They’ll have to wire it. I told them only four wires, though—easy to snip quickly if necessary.”

  The way Brecham stood, his demeanor, all of it hinted at there being more. “And…?”

  “Concussion. It’s complicated by the drugs in his system. Until those are gone, we can’t be certain of the impact it’s having. Right now, there is some cognitive impairment—nothing too severe, if it’s the tranquilizers in his system. If it’s the head injury, it could be more serious.”

  What Brecham said next, Mark didn’t hear. Claire’s eyes had gone wide. She looked his way, questioning… beseeching. “Sorry. Another emergency.”

  “Keep him here through tomorrow afternoon at the least, okay?”

  Mark nodded and moved to Claire’s side. “What is it?”

  “Erika called.”

  Without a word, Mark held out his hand for his phone and gave her as much of a reassuring smile as he could before he turned his attention to the call. “What is it, Tyler?”

  “She’s in St. Louis,” Tyler began. “The guy Flynne was worried about?”

  Knupp. The churning foreboding of bad news stirred in Mark’s gut. “Yeah?”

  “He found them. Erika knows who he is.”

  All the evidence—valid. Tyler’s figured out Knupp, which means he’ll know that Flynne was right. And I didn’t listen.

  “—there’s more. The guy?”

  “I don’t have time for this. What’s wrong?”

  Tyler apologized, wasting more precious seconds, and blurted it all out. “He’s got the same last name as Corey. His name is Brent Knupp. Oh, and there’s another hash tag out there. #hashtagrogue #sendKeith.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Okay, check out the others. I want to know how Langat and Schmatloch are. asap. Oh, and find someone to go to St. Louis. Get a call into Rickwood, and have him put a team on a plane just in case.”

  Tyler promised and disconnected. As he pondered, Mark’s thumb slid along the edge of the phone, tracing the curves, the lines. Something unsettled him, but what? Langat? The cleanup crew? St. Louis? Knupp? The hashtag?

  The obvious answer was everything. Everything bothered him. But it wasn’t just that. It was more. Much, much more.

  But what?

  All angst dissipated at the touch of Claire’s fingers. �
��Can I call Aunt Kathi—tell her the truth? Keith was mugged and his boss called me? He’ll have those wires for six weeks. She’ll know.”

  “If she comes, can you go with me?”

  The hesitation almost killed him. Her words, however, soothed. “You want me?”

  You’ve no idea. All Mark trusted himself to do was nod.

  A smile bright enough to power a toy oven told him he’d said the right thing. Claire kissed his cheek and plucked his phone from his fingers. “Be right back.”

  As he watched her walk away, one side of him protested. She’s too young for you. It wasn’t an exaggeration, and yet he was. His entire appearance exaggerated everything. She may be too young for me, but I’m too young for me. Does age even matter when you look twenty years older than you really are?

  Twenty years… they represented his false identity and the span of a life lived almost before Claire was even born. If he had any consideration for her, he’d get her a job with Rickwood’s organization and walk away from her life. He could do it without her knowing… at first.

  Claire rounded the corner, and at the sight of her, everything changed. Yeah, it might be the right thing to do, but it would hurt her, too. I can’t do it… to either of us.

  He’d once heard Mark say that Flynne had revolutionized the office. It hadn’t been a joke. Though Tyler had created quite a few of the systems that still seemed in use, he did see that she’d refined them, improved them, and scrapped every single thing that could be made simpler—more efficient.

  And it stung.

  After every minute he spent on her computers, a new notification popped up. Due to the offline aspects of most of The Agency’s protocols, Flynne had written her own calendar/reminder/scheduling program that kept everything running smoothly. Well, everything except the ones that told him to schedule the next thing. He didn’t know what that next thing was supposed to be.

  His phone played an Imagine Dragons album on a repeating loop as he struggled to keep up with work that sometimes he didn’t even understand anymore. Why are we monitoring Bennington, Vermont?