Reed

by Mariska Hutchence

  “Yeah, three years from now.”

  The driver laughs and Emma joins in. “Follow the dream.” I say, smiling back at her. It seems to soften the blow of her friends’ ribbing.

  Just two weeks ago I would have thought this was the start of a scene in an adult movie. Three cute college girls pick up a drifter. Googly-eyes and hijinks ensue. A whole hell of a lot has happened in those two weeks, though. Almost a complete one-eighty from the man I was before. As for today, I’m just hoping to get the hell out of Milwaukee, hoping the black SUVs I keep seeing are all just soccer moms and real estate agents.

  Darla drives fast, but it’s not like I can ask her to slow her down. Explaining that I’m on the run isn’t really going to help my case. Anyway, she seems interested in me, if I can go by the furtive glances she keeps casting my direction as she drives and talks. Keep playing the role, Reed, I tell myself.

  “So what are you ladies studying?” I ask. I try to pay attention to their answers as the last thing Des said to me keeps playing back in my head.

  Chapter Three

  Monday Morning - Des

  Cisneros had called me a little after six in the morning to let me know what I couldn’t admit I already knew. Reed Calhoun had somehow walked out of the interrogation room and was nowhere to be found. I think I put in a rather good performance, cursing him out about how a person in Federal custody could just stroll out of the building; but I tried to deflect that anger away from him and more towards the budget from DC. There’s a lot of truth in that, honestly. We’ve been cut thin, both in manpower and in budget, especially for repairs; like the system running the security cameras and DVR. Honestly, the old Windows 2000 machine the antiquated system ran on was overdue for a blowup and that had happened a couple of weeks back.

  “I can come in right away.” I had said.

  Cisneros gave me the answer I expected. “You’re not on the case, Des. You know that. I can send over some guys if you want.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I had said. “You need what bodies we have out finding him. Have you already talked to the locals?”

  “They have a BOLO out for him, but I’m not getting my hopes up. I want you to stick close to home today. Maybe we can get some MPD guys to watch the house.”

  “He won’t come here.” I said. “That doesn’t fit him. He’s not the revenge type; he’s only in it for himself.”

  I’m sipping on my coffee as I replay the conversation in my head. It’s mostly the truth, though the line about being in it for himself is stretching things a bit. The conversation I had with Reed last night proved that to me. The coffee’s not the only thing warming me inside and I realize it.

  “Shit, Des. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” I say aloud.

  Ted doesn’t know what I’m saying, but the little Jack thinks I’m talking to him. I reach down, scratching the top of his head, wondering how I let myself end up in this situation. Clark had gotten it out of me, partially because of his insistence, partially because I knew it would come out eventually anyway. There had been a little bit of a dust-up when I insisted that I was fine and he should go in to work. Ever since what he refers to as simply ‘the incident’, the needy leash he has me on seems to have gotten tighter. I know it’s not his fault, but I still resent it inside.

  My mind goes back to the previous night. It had taken a while to come to the decision that I made, but I hope I put enough thought into it once I had made up my mind. This morning’s conversation with Cisneros hadn’t given me any reason to think otherwise. While the camera system was offline, the key-card system restricting entry to the building wasn’t, so I had ended up just holing up in my office until I was ready. The thought was that it would be assumed that I had left at close of business and that there would be no swipe record to prove otherwise.

  Just the one agent manning the front desk, way out of the way from where I needed to be to get things done. The lateness of it all had been Cisneros’ doing. Because of my background, little as it is, with computers, I had administrative access to our case log system, and Cisneros had been the last one to log out, just after midnight. I had given it another couple of hours just to be on the safe side. The hours had given me a lot of time to decide if what I was doing was right, and I guess I made my decision.

  The phone is ringing again. Cisneros.

  “Yes, Sir.” I answer, trying to play the perfect praise-hungry newbie.

  “Still nothing to go on, Des.” He says. “I’m sorry. Without the camera’s we’re pretty much screwed.”

  “You got guys going up to Duluth?” I ask. We had had leads that the smuggling route went through there.

  “Dawkins and Ellis are already up there. I’ll let you know. But Des…” Cisneros says, trailing off in the annoying habit he has; fishing for acknowledgement. I don’t give it to him.

  “I’m putting you on leave for a while.”

  I bristle. “You don’t need to do that, sir. I’m fine.” I say; but I’m already wondering if I said it just because it’s what I’m expected to say.

  “You’ve been through a lot lately, Des.” He says, and I can hear the condescension hovering over me. “More than any new agent should. It’s paid, so there’s that.”

  “Alex, I…” I use his first name, even though I know I shouldn’t. He doesn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s a done-deal, Des. Paperwork’s already filed.”

  “Shit.” I say, choosing what I hope is the appropriate level of profanity. “Can you at least keep MPD from showing up around here? I’m trying not to make a scene in the neighborhood.”

  There’s a pause at the end of the line and I can almost hear him thinking. “You’re that sure he won’t come after you?” He asks.

  “I spent two weeks with him. He’s not coming here, even if he knew where I lived.” I say. The most honest thing I’ve said yet this morning, I realize.

  “Okay. I’ll call the goon squad off. Have they even shown up yet?” He asks.

  I cross to the kitchen blinds looking out over the street. “Not a peep.” I say, looking at the quiet suburban road; nothing but minivans and bicycles discarded while their owners are in school.

  “Assholes.” He says. “Call if you need anything, Des. I’m serious.”

  The feeling of relief is unexpected, but welcome. “Will do, sir.” I say. I see the call end before I can get to the red disconnect icon.

  My first thought is of Reed and what I told him. Would he remember? For the last week or so, I’ve been the butt of a joke running around the office. Word is, I’m in love with the now-escaped smuggler. Could be that I haven’t said much negative about him, but it probably has way more to do with the first town I stumbled into after my ‘escape’ from his basement. Who even knew there was a Stockholm, Wisconsin?

  I get it, it’s funny, but it bothers me more than it should. It bothers me mostly because they’re right, and I proved that by helping him escape. I say ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ into my phone, and the Google results page starts to load. Ted thinks I’m talking to him, and I reward him for his diligence by leaning over and scratching his scruffy back. This is real, though, isn’t it? The way I feel about him? Distracted, I spend at least an hour going through articles, though I know there’s things I need to do.

  Frustrated, I toss the phone onto the bed as I come into the bedroom I share with Clark, my eyes on the closet, trying to make up my mind. The slacks I had been wearing that day were hanging from the little knob on the door, still encased in the billowy plastic with the rest of the items Clark had picked up from the drycleaner’s yesterday.

  Instead of the slacks, I pull out a light dress. Clark’s always told me I look good in it, but that’s not the reason. I’m feeling more feminine than I usually do, and the reason for that is out there somewhere. The thought of Reed brings more emotion than I would have ever guessed that first day in his basement. Things change. I glance at the phone again as I’m dressing, wondering if all this is nothing but
a symptom of what I’ve just read.

  “Does it matter, Des?” I ask myself, looking down for Ted, but I’m alone in the bedroom.

  Does it? That’s a question that only I can have an answer for, and so far, it’s eluding me like all get-out.

  The plan was to go down to the store and pick up a few things for dinner, since I normally don’t have the time to actually cook anything. The reality finds me heading out to the garage. When I see it, it suddenly dawns on me why I’m out here.

  I pull the big rucksack down from the shelf, dust and debris falling into my hair. I cough and clear my eyes, running my fingers over the rough canvas, the buckles and the straps. It had served me well in the year between high school and college I had spent in Europe, but I suddenly don’t feel the urge to reminisce. If any of the neighbors had been out, it would have been quite the sight. The tall, willowy red head in a cute dress, carrying a big rucksack slung over her shoulder.

  Ted greets me at the door, as if I had been gone for hours rather than minutes. “Don’t worry, Turd.” I say, using one of my mock names for him. “Clark will take care of you while I’m gone.” He tilts his head to the side, as if questioning my motives. “I know.” I say. “You’ll be fine. This will be as hard on me as it will be on you, buddy.”

  I lean down, giving him a quick snuggle and I want to think he understands. I glance at the clock on the dresser and start packing.

  Chapter Four

  Monday Afternoon - Reed

  Honestly, I think the three college girls were more interested in the situation than I was. Granted, I’ve never been against that sort of thing in the past, but either there was too much going on in my head or my emotions are all muddled up by the events of the past couple of weeks.

  Darla made a good play of it as we rolled into Madison, and as we gassed up, she invited me back to her dorm, ostensibly just to wash up before being on my way. I’m not modest enough to deny the fact that she was looking for just a little bit more than that. It’s nice to know that I still have game, but I’m thinking of Des right now, and there’s definitely mixed emotions.

  I’m still at the gas station that I had the trio drop me off at, and the thought of them is all mixed into the thoughts I’m having about her. Hopefully Gray will be here to pick me up shortly. I’ve never really put much thought into the guy’s name, even though it’s odd. As I sit here, though, it makes me wonder. Hell, I’m just bored and my mind’s trying to come up with shit to distract me.

  I can feel the sun making its way down into the clouds on the horizon when the Hummer finally pulls in, Gray at the wheel. I hear the passenger door click unlocked and climb inside. He gives me the silent nod and we’re on our way.

  “Not a lot of people I’d drop everything to haul up to a godforsaken place like Duluth, Reed.” He says as he merges quickly onto the freeway. I can feel the acceleration of the big engine, silently hoping he keeps things down. By now half the law enforcement in Wisconsin and likely Minnesota are looking for me.

  “I appreciate it, brother.” I say, looking at the dark-skinned driver. “I need to get as far away as possible, so I’m hoping to catch a ride from there.”

  Gray looks over at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “Shit, man, I had thought you were done for. When you called, I was half suspecting it would be someone else, if you know what I mean.”

  “I thought I was too.” I sigh, looking out the windshield at the white stripes approaching and being sucked up by the speed of the vehicle. “I’m blessed, I guess.”

  He looks over at me, the expression in his eyes a little more dubious this time. “About that, Reed.” He says, and I know what’s coming. I had realized in my time hanging out at the gas station waiting that I was probably just stepping into the fire, despite Des’ assistance in helping me escape custody. How is anyone in the organization going to believe me when I tell them that the captive FBI agent I had in my basement just let me stroll out of her field office?

  That’s why I called Gray first, though. Despite any doubts that he might have, he owes me a solid, and that’s one of the things that we don’t take very lightly. I decide to clear the air a little bit.

  “I know what everyone’s thinking.” I say. He nods, knowingly.

  “They don’t know shit right now.” He says, sliding into the left lane and accelerating. “Nothing on the news about you walking out, and if you haven’t called anyone else, you’re good. It won’t take too long, though.”

  “That’s why I’m trying to get the hell out of here.” I say. “I know full well I’m completely burned. No one’s going to believe what I have to say and I don’t fucking blame them.”

  Gray smooths out the acceleration, flying quietly in the left lane, passing the exiting traffic as we finally break out of Madison. “It sucks, Reed. You’re only getting this from me because of…” He pauses for a second. “No offense, brother.”

  I understand completely. He’s taking a pretty big chance to repay his debt to me. “All good, man.” It doesn’t seem like much, but an understanding passes between our eyes quickly. Once we’re in Duluth, I’m on my own.

  Most of the rest of the drive is as silent as a mausoleum. There’s little need for conversation and Gray’s never been much of a talker anyway, unless there’s women around, and that’s a whole different story. The man is smooth as hell; I’ll definitely give him that.

  The long drive gives me more time to think, and yet I still can’t remember what Des was talking about. I try to think about all the places we talked about during the time we spent together, but nothing is coming. I can’t get her out of my mind, which is a far cry from when we first met and I wanted her the hell out of my house. Something about that one had gotten to me.

  Fortunately, Gray drops me off relatively close to the port, which is where I’m heading. The sun has gone down and it’s unseasonably chilly, but I have other things to worry about. Namely the FBI and whether I’m going to be able to talk my way onto one of the container ships that I’m used to being around for pickups. As long as Gray’s right and word hasn’t spread, I can use some of the connections I’ve made if I’m lucky enough for one of the ships I know to be in port. I know they usually sit for a day or two, so I’m hoping to catch one on the way out. I’m not looking forward to bunking in an empty container or a hold for too long.

  I watch the Hummer drive off. Not even a goodbye. He didn’t ask me how I escaped and I didn’t volunteer it; what would be the point? Heading towards the port, I try to resist the urge to keep looking over my shoulder, looking for whatever might be coming next. It’s a lonely feeling, but I’ve definitely known worse.

  Thinking about Gray, I realize that it’s almost the same deal with Des. He owed me, he paid me back, and that’s the end. Does Des think the same thing? If it weren’t for those last words she spoke to me, I would be more likely to believe it, but she was definitely wanting me to meet her somewhere, I couldn’t have misinterpreted that. But where? I remember talking to her about Oxnard, where I grew up, as well as some of the stops along the way that brought me here to the Midwest and the business I ended up in. Smuggling guns was not originally the plan. Most people can get that, right? Choices we make along the way guide us, and sometimes we take the wrong path. Don’t get me wrong, the money’s been good and the job is interesting; even exciting at some points, but it is a job just like anything else. Unfortunately, with this one, getting fired means you’re pretty much blackballed forever; not to mention ending up a fugitive.

  That fact is starting to sink in as I look out into the water of Lake Superior. The breeze is kicking up and I’m only able to see the names on some of the ships where they have lights illuminating the hull. Nothing promising, yet.

  People are passing me by, even though I’m not really supposed to be here. It’s always amazed me where you can go and what you can do if you just act like you belong somewhere. This is no different. As I’m starting to wonder whether I’ll need to find a place to hole up f
or the night, I see it.

  BELTRAN

  The big lettering is brightly lit, and it makes me smile, despite my exhaustion. Donny Crispus is the Captain, at least the last time I saw it, and he’s a decent guy. I think he only does the occasional smuggling run because he’s planning an early retirement. There’s a guard at the gangplank, one I don’t recognize.

  “Captain Crispus on board?” I ask, still playing the role of the guy that has every right to be where he is. “Tell him it’s Reed.”

  The guard looks me up and down, then calls the Captain on the two-way clipped to his belt.

  “Shit, send him up.” Comes the remarkably clear voice from the little radio. The guard steps aside, still playing the tough guy, though I can tell he’s disappointed that he has to let me pass.

  Donny’s on his cell as I get up to the bridge, but he unlocks the door, giving me a nod as he continues his conversation.

  “No, it’s a done deal. If you can let me know when, I’ll get back to you as quick as I can.”

  He pulls the phone away from his ear and presses the disconnect icon.

  “Reed, you rat bastard!” He says, extending his hand and smiling warmly. “What the hell can I do for you? Crew already picked the shit up this morning.”

  I took his hand, feeling the firm grip. “I need a favor, Donny.” I say, knowing how rough my face probably looks.

  The return look is one of understanding. “Not going to ask, but we’ll be pulling out in a few hours. If there’s one more body on board, how the hell am I going to notice, right? Maersk only gives us a skeleton crew.

  “I’ll only trouble you to Sault Saint Marie. I’ll try to find a way off at the lock there.” I say.

  “Won’t be easy. You a good swimmer?” He says, nodding.

  “Good enough. Not something I’m looking forward to, but Ontario’s definitely looking good right now.”