Rogues of Overwatch

by Dustin Martin

  Chapter 11- The Name Everyone Wants to Know

  It took Mark, Oliver, and Lionel a little more than a week to reach Las Vegas. The heat was unbearable and incredibly dry. All of the water in Mark’s body seemed to shrivel up and disappear when he stepped outside. He loathed it. “Florida’s worse,” Oliver told him. “There it’s hot and humid. Like being smacked in the face with a damp towel.”

  Once in Las Vegas, Lionel insisted on a small, out-of-the-way hotel. Oliver grumbled, preferring to stay in the Luxor, but he compromised on the basis that he get to play in the casinos. Lionel agreed, with some encouragement from Mark. “We’ve been cooped up the whole trip. It’d be nice to go out,” Mark said.

  Throughout their travels, Mark had yet to find an opportunity to call the police. Someone was always with him at the hotel rooms or in public places. He almost succeeded one time when Oliver and Lionel left a hotel room to argue about something, but Lionel returned before he could be connected to the emergency operator. Therefore, his last option was at a casino. He prayed that whichever one they visited was very busy during the day.

  Unfortunately, Lionel chose a casino on the outskirts of Las Vegas. “Hold ’Em Harry’s Casino and Restaurant?” Oliver asked after Mark told him the name when they arrived. He climbed out of their latest dingy, stolen van and slammed the door. “Are you kidding me? Why not play at the Luxor? Excalibur? I’ll even take Circus Circus! With this old thing,” he kicked the van’s wheels, “and the hotel, it’s like you’re trying to make this some cheap, terrible knockoff of a real Vegas trip.”

  “Because we need to lie low,” Lionel said. “And that means staying away from large crowds who could finger us.”

  “You suck the fun out of everything,” Oliver said. He held onto Mark. “How can you be so cruel? Denying me fun in Vegas. Have you no heart, or did that go up in smoke, too?”

  “Shut up and go gamble, Bright Eyes,” Lionel said.

  “Oh, you pun-ish me with your pun¬-ny witticisms that are not at all stale.” Mark led the group into the casino.

  The casino was housed in a community center-sized room, and rows of slot machines and card tables were squashed inside. The swirl-patterned carpet was bright orange and gaudy, outdone by the tacky purple-pink walls. In the center was a large mural of a villa under a sunset’s rays, which formed the casino’s name. The dull gamblers shuffled around, dragging their feet from tables to slot machines and back. Every few minutes a slot machine lit up, rang, and spat out a handful of tokens.

  “Glad I can’t see it. This place even sounds disappointing,” Oliver said, dropping his gaze. “Where’s the atmosphere? The Vegas spirit?”

  “Sucked into the slot machines with everyone’s money,” Lionel said.

  Oliver snorted. “Hmph. Last time I let you book my vacation.”

  Lionel rolled his eyes and turned to Mark. “We’ll be back soon. Stay in here.”

  On a raised area against a wall was a small, seaside-decorated restaurant and bar with a few arcade machines. Mark pointed it out to the two, and Oliver handed him a few twenties. “Bet you’ll have more fun than we will.”

  “Pick a table already,” Lionel said.

  “Man, you need to relax. You’re always wound tighter than new strings on a guitar.” They chose a nearby poker table, where Oliver introduced Lionel as his eyes. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to the other players. “He looks like a stiff, but it’s only him putting on airs.”

  Mark ordered a soda from the restaurant and found a line of payphones near the arcade machines. He looked over at Lionel and Oliver. It suddenly occurred to him that if the police showed up at the casino, Lionel would suspect Mark.

  He sipped his drink and looked around the restaurant, his eyes landing on a television above the bar. “Breaking developments in Richmond, Virginia, as the terrorist group Children of the New Age have released a wounded hostage. The hostage was injured in their attack this morning on city hall.”

  Mark blocked out the news. Hearing more would remind him of Whyte, and he was already losing his nerve. There had to be some way to bring the cops without alerting Lionel. If not, he just had to call and hope for the best. But his legs trembled when he thought of his plan failing. Heather had told him Whyte was connected, even to the police. He had forgotten that. The man might be able to find the record of the call and then would come after Mark.

  He headed to the payphone and inserted a few quarters. After dialing, he waited through several rings, begging that he didn’t reach an answering machine. “Hello?” a woman said.

  Mark took a few moments and croaked out, “Mom?”

  “Mark? Mark, is that you?” She sounded frantic. Hearing her voice, he wanted to run home then and there and forget Whyte, Overwatch, and the BEP Division. “Mark? Please tell me it’s you.”

  “It’s me.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she said. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  “What happened? They said you were involved with that terrorist group that attacked Golden Springs.”

  “It’s a long story,” he said. The news switched to an update report about the continued manhunt for them. Mark’s picture was on prominent display to the whole restaurant.

  “Where are you? Tell me and I’ll come get you.” Her voice was racked with sobs, and Mark blinked rapidly, choking back his own tears.

  “No, I can’t tell you. I can’t get you involved.” Maybe he already had by calling? He smacked his forehead with the receiver.

  “I don’t care. I’m your mother and I want to protect you.”

  As the news exchanged his picture for Oliver’s and Lionel’s sketches, Mark had an idea. “Look, this may be the last time I get to talk to you. I want you to know that whatever they said about me, know that I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t know what else to do and I’m scared.”

  “Honey, you don’t have to be scared. You don’t have to do what you’re doing anymore. Whatever it is, let me help you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I have to do this myself. I love you. Bye.” She tried to protest, but he hung up. Then he took his drink and sat at a table underneath the television and in front of several other patrons.

  “If you have any information, please call the number below,” the news anchor said above. “A reward of up to $75,000 is now being offered for information leading to any of their captures.”

  Mark waited, looking straight on into the crowd. He tried to act casual, aloof, uninterested in anyone else. No, wait. A fugitive would be nervous and trying to hide. He changed tactics, raising his glass to block part of his face and kept his head slightly down. Or should I be nervous and trying to act calm?

  He glanced up and locked eyes with a man and his two friends, all drinking beer. They peered at Mark, whispered and pointed at him, before one stood up and went for the phone. The other two kept a watch on Mark. Yes.

  Soon, the men called over the bartender and pointed in Mark’s direction. Real subtle, guys. He pretended to look elsewhere, but his insides jumped for joy. The bartender whispered to a security guard for a few moments. This was working. He would be arrested, taken away from all this, and Whyte wouldn’t be the wiser.

  Mark switched to a seat at the bar and asked for a refill. The bartender smiled warmly and obliged him. “Here you go. Enjoying your time here?” The two men from the table took a seat on either side of Mark. The security guard stood at the restaurant’s entrance.

  “I am now,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at Lionel and Oliver. They were still playing, unaware of what was happening.

  “Here with anyone?” the bartender asked, following his gaze. He caught sight of Oliver and Lionel and nodded to the security guard. The guard grabbed a walkie-talkie and started walking toward the poker table.

  “Just a couple of friends,” Mark said. Two more security guards entered the casino and slowly circled Oliver and Lionel. “If you’ll excuse me, I shou
ld be going.” As he rose and left, the two men followed him.

  Mark approached the poker table, and the security guards were almost on all three of them. He looked over Oliver’s shoulder. He was holding three of a kind. “I’ll raise,” Oliver said, throwing in several chips. The other players folded, and he scooped up the winnings. “C’mon. Don’t you people have any sense of adventure? Live a little. We’ll lose it all sooner or later.”

  “Sir,” one of the security guards said. “Would you come with us, please?”

  Lionel was already crouched, prepared to attack. “Who’s that?” Oliver asked, turning around.

  “Security. We need you to come with us.”

  Oliver climbed off his seat, wobbling and holding onto the table. He reached out for Mark and took his hand. The guards exchanged unsure glances but kept a hand on their batons. “Well, it looks like things are finally beginning to heat up,” Oliver said, earning a sigh from Lionel. “Hey, I’m going to have some fun while we’re here.” He tipped his glasses down, setting fire to the carpet, and flipped over the card table.

  Lionel jumped into one of the guards, gagging him. Mark dove out of the way of the fire. The men from the bar scrambled back to the restaurant. The remaining guards pulled out their batons and swatted at Mark. Oliver grabbed one and threw him into a slot machine, breaking it and causing the machine to vomit all of its coins. “Jackpot!”

  The other guard abandoned Mark and turned to Oliver, but Lionel entered the man’s eyes and nose. The guard clawed at his own face, his eyes fading to pitch black until he fell down. Oliver picked up Mark. “You okay?” More security guards rushed in, shouting at them. “Time to torch this house of cards!” Oliver shot an arc of fire at the roof, burning through part of it. Chunks of the roof crumbled and fell, scattering the guards.

  “Let’s go!” Lionel said. Oliver whisked Mark out of the casino, blazing a trail behind them. In the parking lot, they found a few police cars waiting for them. The officers drew their pistols and took shelter behind their cars.

  “Get down on the ground and put your hands in the air!” one ordered.

  “Now this is what I call a high-stakes game,” Oliver said, raising his hands.

  “Enough already!” Lionel said. “Find a car. I’ll deal with them.” He jumped forward, taking down an officer. Oliver blasted a police car and ran with Mark in between the parking rows.

  “Hmm, let’s see,” Oliver said, rubbing his head. “We want something nice and roomy. Preferably a little showy.” The gunshots struck a truck behind them. “But nothing too expensive.” One bullet lodged itself in the side of Mark’s nose, pushing hard on it. He brushed the bullet away and crinkled his nose.

  Oliver opened his eyes and selected an older, cherry-red Cadillac. “Oh, yeah,” he said, hopping into the passenger seat. “This is perfect.” He talked Mark through hotwiring the car, and Lionel joined them, bringing gunfire with him. A few bullets struck the side, popping through the metal. Mark tore out of the parking lot and onto the open road.

  When they were far enough away, Oliver smiled, “Now that was a good Vegas trip.”

  “We’ll have to dump the car and find another one,” Lionel said, looking behind them.

  “Aw, c’mon! Let’s keep it for a little while.”

  “We can’t drive a shot-up car. And really? Could you’ve picked a car that stands out more? Why not hang a sign off our backs that we’re wanted. We need to lie low, remember?”

  “So much for that happening,” Oliver said, rolling down his window. “It’s moot now that they know we’re here.”

  “I wonder how that happened.” Mark caught Lionel’s evil eye in the rearview mirror.

  “Probably someone calling in for the reward,” Oliver said. “It is a hefty sum. And you’re welcome,” he said, punching Mark’s arm.

  “Huh? Oh, thanks.”

  “You can’t stand there all dopey-like. When the fighting starts, you need to move.”

  Mark gripped the wheel tighter and nodded. “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Next time, we might just leave you behind,” Lionel said.

  I wish. A couple of ambulances sped by them in the opposite direction.

  “Nah, he’s teasing. We wouldn’t do that to you.” Oliver ruffled Mark’s hair, and then turned on the radio. Mark sighed. There went his one shot at freedom.

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