by Darrell Case
Samuels was in the back yard grilling hamburgers when the disposable phone rang. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he looked around. He glanced at the house and saw his wife's silhouette pass by the kitchen window. His son, nowhere to be seen, was possibly riding his bike or playing XBox. Down the street, a lawn mower droned.
He held the phone on the far side of his head to hide it. . “Yeah?”
“Got a job for you,” the low, gravely voice said.
“I'm not sure. Last time my boss raked me over the coals.”
There was no sound from the other end. Sweat broke out on the back of Samuels's neck. He was a witness and had just made himself a liability.
After a few seconds he said. “What I gotta do?”
“Just drive the car and forget.”
“Forget what?”
“Forget to tighten the handcuffs.”
“That’s it?”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Let the prisoner escape. We'll take it from there.”
“Who’s the derogate?”
“Alison Stevens”
Samuels grinned. “She's the one’s been harassing me. Heard you set her up.”
Again there was silence on the other end. The hamburgers were burning but Samuels was too busy kicking himself to care. His eyes darted in all directions. He'd said too much. If the assassin was anywhere around, he was well hidden.
Samuels tried to laugh. It came out as a croak.
“Look, I know to keep my mouth shut.”
He worked to keep the quiver out of his voice.
“You better. I'd hate for your wife wind to up a widow and your little boy without his daddy. You’ss get your instructions later. Enjoy your barbeque.” The phone clicked to silence.
Samuels looked wildly around him. Nothing, not even a vehicle on the street. Sweat stung his eyes. The day was warm yet his hands were cold and clammy. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and tried to concentrate on the hamburgers. They were burned beyond redemption. He heard soft footsteps in the grass. He whirled around.
Startled, his wife stopped so short she almost dropped the bowl of potato salad. Astonished and terrified, she found herself looking down the barrel of hubby’s Glock.
The gaping black hole seemed to obliterate the sunlight. His hand shaking, Samuels lowered the pistol and holstered it He looked at her ashamedly.
“Sorry,.” he said, meaning it. He opened the grill, and waved the smoke away. ”I think these are gone. Could you bring me some more?”
“Of course dear,” she said, trying to recover and not daring to question. She wondered if she even knew her husband anymore.
Samuels arrived at the jail at eight in the morning, anxious to get the assignment over with. He had promised to take his son on a camping trip on the White River. He was due for a few days off and intended to make full use of the time with him. Their last camp trip ended in disaster when a windstorm tore the tent for its moorings. Samuel wanted to redeem himself in his son’s eyes.
Allison had just finished breakfast, if you could call it that. Half-cooked oatmeal with no sugar or butter and lukewarm coffee. She choked it down. The time was now or never and and an empty stomach would be to her detriment. This afternoon when they took her for a shower she would overpower the officer, make her way to the laundry area and hide in the commercial size dryer. If someone accidentally turned it on she would kick her way out. The flimsy lock wasn’t made to hold a desperate human. With any luck she could hide in a laundry cart until the search move on. Then she would on civilian clothes.
This jail unwisely stored street clothes in an unsecure location. If Allison made it that far she was almost guaranteed freedom. Alison put the emphasis on “almost.” She was taking nothing for granted.
Chapter 22