Moving Target

by R. A. McGee

He tossed the rolling suitcase into the back seat and slid the driver’s as far back as it could go, then dropped heavily into the vehicle. He listened to the whine of the four-cylinder as he slammed the gas and pointed the car out of the parking lot and away from the Teddy Bear Motel.

  Pima had her hands on her head. “Who are you?”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “I mean, where did you come from, how did you—”

  “I said wait a damn minute,” Porter said.

  Moments later, he pulled into the Cherokee Brave motel, leaving the Honda running with Pima in the car.

  He ducked underneath the willow tree and fired up the Yukon, pulling it out in front of the Honda. Porter got out and opened Pima’s door. “This is our ride. Get in.”

  Pima followed Porter’s orders, half-stumbling over to the passenger’s seat.

  Porter made sure she was in, then reached back into the Honda to grab the surprisingly heavy suitcase of money, and threw it into the Yukon.

  Taking advantage of the Yukon’s larger engine, Porter stomped the gas and the engine roared to life as he pulled back onto the main road. The Teddy Bear Motel went flying by on his right and Porter adjusted the rearview mirror and watched as it grew smaller and smaller, glad to see its broken sign disappear into the night.

  Fifty-Seven

  Teddy Bear firmly behind him, Porter took care to slow down on the winding roads. It seemed unlikely that anyone was following him. Now it mattered more that he had arrived alive with the precious cargo he’d managed to grab. The last thing he wanted to do was end up in a ravine because he drove like an idiot.

  There was silence in the car. Porter was trying to come down from the events of the last half-hour and Pima was looking out the side window into the darkness.

  He swallowed hard, and felt like his Adam’s apple wouldn’t go the entire trip up and down his throat. He swallowed again and forced it, then cleared his throat.

  Dusty had a hell of a grip.

  He looked over at the back of Pima’s head. “You want to listen to something?”

  There was no answer, just the small shake of her head.

  Porter looked at the road. “You feel okay? Do I need to get you some help?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “I mean, if they hurt you, we should get you checked out.”

  Pima turned and faced Porter. “I’m okay.”

  He looked at her small face, unable to see her eyes by the glow of the dashboard. “You sure? Because if one of those guys… you know… you should see a doctor.”

  Pima looked at Porter for a minute. “You mean… eww, no. I’m fine.”

  “Okay, good,” Porter said, glad to change the subject. “Food?”

  “No thanks,” Pima said, looking out the window again.

  There was a long silence. Porter turned onto the main highway, which he’d follow for a long while.

  He pulled out his phone. He thumbed it and the screen glowed to life.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling your parents. They should know you’re all right.”

  “No,” Pima said. “No, don’t.”

  Porter looked over at her for a few moments, then turned the phone off. “Something the matter with your folks?”

  The girl looked out the window for a few moments, then it was like a dam burst open. “They’re gonna be so mad at me, I shouldn’t have even been in the woods and I didn't listen, I should have been at home. Dusty tried to kill me and my neck still hurts and my dad’s gonna kill me. Seth got shot in the face and I never seen a dead body before and they shot that trooper, he was just trying to help me. I was so scared and they kept putting me in a trunk and, oh my God, Laura Bell is dead too.” Pima was silent again.

  Porter looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. “Uh… there's a lot to unpack there.”

  She went back to looking out the window.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Dusty tried to strangle me, too. So we're kind of like strangle twins.”

  Pima didn’t say anything.

  “Yeah, that was dumb. It’s been a long time since I was thirteen. Trust me, all this is not as bad as you think.”

  “People are dead,” Pima said. “It doesn’t get any worse.”

  Porter nodded. “Yeah, but except for the trooper, they were all shitty people. Don’t feel bad for them.”

  “Laura Bell wasn’t… that.”

  “Who’s she?” Porter asked.

  “We should have helped her. She’s probably dead by now.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “The girl you killed.”

  “I didn’t kill a girl.”

  Pima turned in her seat, facing Porter. “The girl you kicked in the hotel. She’s not dead?”

  “Look, I’m strong, but I’m not Pele.”

  “Who?” Pima said.

  “Never mind. She’s okay, trust me.”

  Pima looked at him for a few moments. Porter didn’t meet her gaze, but was aware that she was staring at him in the dark. “The rest of it… it’s bad. I feel bad.”

  “Your parents just want you home. They don’t care about the rest of it. Trust me, they’ll be cool.”

  “I just keep thinking about Seth’s head.” She mimed an explosion by her head.

  Porter turned the heat down and lowered the blower a level. “Want to know something? It’s never going to go away. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth.”

  Pima didn’t say anything.

  “When I was a kid, my family moved around a lot. We didn’t stay many places too long, and it was hard for me to fit in. So when I had a friend, they were like my best friend ever, you know what I mean?”

  Pima nodded in the darkness.

  “We’d just moved to Tampa, and I met this kid named Tommy who lived down the block from me. Tommy Thomas.”

  “His name was Thomas Thomas?” Pima said.

  “That’s the part you’re worried about?” Porter said. “Can I finish?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Me and Tommy hung out all summer long. It was great—his parents both worked and they were never home. So we’d go to his house and eat all the food and get into stuff we shouldn’t. His parents had the dirty channels on cable and we thought we were all grown up, but we had no clue what the hell we were even watching. We’d get tired of that and watch dumb action movies, the whole nine. We had a great time, me and Tommy.”

  “What’s so bad about that?” Pima said.

  “One day, Tommy manages to find the key to his dad’s gun safe. He gets this little pistol out and starts pretending to be the Terminator or something like that. I’m laughing along like an asshole, because Tommy’s funny, right? Then, he pulled the trigger.”

  Porter turned off the highway and slowed as he came off the ramp. “He blew his own head off and I watched the whole thing. I remember thinking, ‘How can blood be that red?’ It was surreal. I just stood there for a few minutes, frozen, not sure what to do. Then I ran home, and you know what I did?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Not a thing. I walked in the house like nothing happened. My dad asked me where I’d been and I lied and told him at the park, then I went into my room and read comic books for the rest of the day. But I couldn’t shake the picture of Tommy in my mind, no matter what I did.”

  “Did they ever find Tommy?” Pima said.

  “Of course they did; he was dead in the middle of his living room. When his parents came home they freaked out and called the cops. Eventually they came to my house, because everyone knew I was tight with Tommy. The cops asked me what happened and I was scared. So, I lied. I told them I wasn’t there.”

  Pima was silent.

  “My father believed me and told them to leave, to stop bothering me with their questions. I thought everything was done. But I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept seeing Tommy’s head blow off, over and over again. All night I laid in bed, petrified. So, I g
ot up right as the sun was coming up, I went into my parents’ room and woke them up. Then I told them everything that happened. All of it. I didn’t leave anything out.”

  “How did they take it?” Pima said.

  “Honestly? Better than I thought. They called Tommy’s parents and the cops, and they still stuck up for me about the whole thing. Because that’s what your parents do. Don’t be scared to tell them. Just do it.”

  “Do you still think about it?”

  “No, not really. This is the first time I’ve told the story in twenty years. I told you it would never go away, and it doesn’t. It’s always somewhere there, waiting for you to pick at the scab and think about it again. But eventually, you won’t pick at the scab as much. Then you’ll wake up and realize you haven’t thought about it for a while. Then the time between you thinking about it gets longer and longer. Trust me, you won't see it every time you close your eyes. Not forever, anyway.”

  “You think so?” Pima said.

  “Yeah, I do. And if there’s something else I know, your parents are cooler than mine were. You’ll be all right—just tell them everything. Get it off your chest and be done with it.”

  Porter pulled up to the gatehouse in front of the Newtons’ neighborhood. The omnipresent guard was in the gatehouse, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a square television on the table.

  “Does that guy live in there?” Porter muttered to himself.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  The guard opened the gate and waved the Yukon on. Porter slowly drove the streets to Pima’s house, careful not to speed in the neighborhood in the dark. He took the last few turns and pulled into the driveway, careful to avoid the bicycle half in the grass. He killed the lights.

  “You’re going to be okay.”

  “Think I’m going to have to see a shrink or something?”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Just tell your parents the truth, got it?”

  Pima rested her hand on the door handle.

  The lights outside the garage clicked on, then the lights on the porch. Mike Newton’s head came around the corner, followed by his wife’s. She had a thick robe on; he wore a jacket on top of pajama pants.

  It was dark in the driveway, and with Porter’s tint, they had no way to see into the truck.

  “You should get out. They probably think I found your body or something.”

  Pima nodded, then pulled the handle and slowly pushed her door open.

  The sidewalk exploded in motion. Terri pushed past her husband, screaming “Pima?” the entire time. She slammed into her daughter, squeezing her tightly, showering her with kisses. Mike was hot on her heels, wrapping them both up in an enormous bear hug.

  Porter rolled the window down and watched the reunion. Moments later, the youngest Newton, Bryce, came outside barefoot, wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top. The whole family stayed in one big bundle for several minutes.

  As if she were snapping out of a trance, Terri spoke up. “Bryce! Where are your shoes? It’s too cold out here. Come on, let’s go inside.” She led the two children back to the warmth of the home, and Mike Newton stepped over to the open passenger window.

  “How did you… I mean, where did she come from?”

  “Long story,” Porter said.

  “Well, get in here, I need to know.”

  “Later. I don’t want to interrupt family time. I’ll be in touch.”

  Mike nodded. “Okay. Okay, well, let’s talk tomorrow, got it?”

  “Sure, tomorrow. Go inside and see your girl.”

  Mike Newton turned away and was halfway up the sidewalk when Porter called out. “Mike?”

  He turned back toward the Yukon.

  “Take it easy on her.”

  Mike gave Porter a thumbs up and turned back toward his front door.

  Porter never saw any of the Newtons again.

  Fifty-Eight

  On the way back to his motel, Porter pulled his phone out and saw three texts and a missed call from Claudette. His finger hovered over the callback button, but he wavered, instead scrolling down to one of the recently called numbers. The phone picked up on the first ring.

  “What happened?”

  “I figured you’d be asleep, old man,” Porter said.

  “I don’t sleep much anymore. I think my body has gotten so used to running on caffeine and hate that sleep is irrelevant. I’m very efficient now.”

  “Sure you are. Why does it sound like you just got out of a grave?”

  “I may have nodded off,” Joe said.

  “I’ll bet. Hey, listen, that thing with Pima is handled.”

  “Pima Newton? You found Pima Newton?”

  “Who else would I be calling you about? You sure you aren’t asleep?” Porter said.

  “Are you shitting me? Is she okay?”

  “I think so. She’s seen some shit, but physically, she’s fine.”

  “What happened? I need details,” Joe said.

  “It’s a long, cold story,” Porter said.

  “I have time.”

  “I don’t,” Porter said. “Sorry man, I’ll fill you in later.”

  “Deniability?”

  “Something like that. But I do have a quick question. Does your office cover the county next to Mike Newton’s?” Porter said.

  “The western half of the state is ours, so yeah, we got it. Why?”

  “Something may come across your desk. A hotel incident,” Porter said.

  “Is this related to the trailer incident?”

  “It’s definitely a sibling. Don’t pay too much attention to it, you tracking? It doesn’t need an FBI investigation.”

  “More deniability?”

  “Yeah. It was the universe sorting itself out. Nothing to see here, folks; move along,” Porter said.

  “I’m following. You all right?”

  “Peachy. I’ll be even better when I get that reward money,” Porter said.

  “I’ll make sure Mike sends it on. He won’t drag his feet.”

  “Good,” Porter said.

  “Look, kid, I want to say thanks for helping. I want to tell you how much I appreciate you and that I owe you the world for this. But I’m not going to,” Joe said.

  “Good. I don’t want you turning into a pussy on me,” Porter said. “Especially with that new mustache you have. It’s unsettling to think about.”

  “Never. Still, I wasn’t kidding. If you ever did ask Amanda out, I could think of worse guys for her to spend time with. Not many, but some.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.” Joe hung up the phone.

  Porter drove the rest of the way to his motel in silence.

  He opened the room cautiously and found no one lying in wait for him.

  No cartel thugs, no crooked cops, and no giants with baseball-glove-sized hands.

  No pretty diner owner, either.

  He dragged the rolling suitcase full of drug money into his room, pushed the dresser across the door, and was asleep in his clothes in seconds.

  Fifty-Nine

  Laura Bell pulled Seth’s red hat low on her head. It wasn’t just to hide the terrific colors her face was turning from the beatings she’d taken.

  It wasn’t just to shield her eyes against the bright light from the big windows beaming right into her face.

  She pulled the hat down to hide who she was.

  The news playing on the small television above the vending machine had been running nonstop since she’d gotten there. It seemed that every few minutes, there was a segment on her family, still wanted for killing the trooper.

  Every time the old high school yearbook photo of her splashed across the screen, she sank a little lower in her chair.

  The news had flashed a picture of Pima a few times, breaking the news that the young girl had been found alive, with no mention of where she’d come from or been.

  “Good for her,” Laura Bell muttered.

/>   She coughed gently into her elbow. If her ribs had been broken from Seth kicking her, they’d been shattered when the big guy at the hotel did the same. She didn’t know who he was, but he kicked like a mule.

  When she came to, Pima was gone and everyone else was dead.

  At first, there had been a moment of panic. The need to run. Laura Bell had suppressed that quickly and realized she was alone. And while being alone was scary, it beat being dead, or following her family around trying to keep them out of trouble.

  “Excuse me,” said a young man with dirty jeans and ratty shoes.

  Laura Bell pulled in her legs to let him by, her face tilted down.

  Once she’d calmed down, Laura Bell had paced around the room her brother’s dead body was in. Gave herself time to think. There was no telling when anyone would stumble on the massacre at the Teddy Bear, if they ever did. Laura Bell told herself she was in charge now, and she could make the plan that made the best sense.

  So she did.

  Wiping off the revolver with which she’d shot both the trooper and Seth, she’d dropped it to the floor. Then, she painstakingly went through every dead man’s pants, looking for money.

  She wouldn’t get far without money.

  Her brother had the most, followed by one of the Mexicans who had tattoos all over his face.

  Dusty didn’t have a dime.

  All told, she’d scraped together almost nine thousand dollars. Nine thousand dollars wasn’t much compared to the amounts they used to keep around, when they’d sell off some of the product, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing.

  She’d picked up Seth’s hat from the floor, something to help hide her, and to keep anyone from recognizing her face. Laura Bell had pulled her hair back with her rainbow rubber band and stuffed it underneath the hat.

  The Lumina was the only car left in the lot, and she’d driven it as far as she thought was safe, ditching it before she got to one of the more traveled main roads. Then she’d walked and thumbed a ride to get to where she was.

  The bus station.

  Ever since she’d arrived, she’d been frozen, a new strain of fear gripping her. Her face was on all the news broadcasts. Everyone was looking for her. The ticket seller would want her ID. If she bought a ticket, they’d know who she was, call the cops, and arrest her.