by W.H. Harrod
“What a waste of time,” Terrance growled, as he raced back along the same interstate highway that carried him north earlier. “That’s what you get for deciding to become a thief. Remember this in the future.” Lady luck shined on him this time. Without Arête’s call, a lonely life of lying and deceit had awaited him.
“The professor must be worried out of his mind,” he reasoned. Wouldn’t you be worried if the person you trusted failed to show up with your three hundred thousand dollars? How are you going to explain this to the man? He’s been your very good friend and you do this to him. Well, you better think of something in the next few hours it will take to get back to Lawrence.
Terrance thought about it, and decided not to makeup anymore stories. Yet, he couldn’t tell the professor about the cartel mess. That might put him in danger. He needed to figure this out.
A glance at his watch showed 4:33 a.m. He estimated another three hours travel time to get back to Lawrence, the place he started from over fifteen hours earlier. That put his arrival at about eight a.m. Also, he needed to find another place to stay for the next couple of weeks as soon as he arrived—certainly not with Jess for any of several reasons. But whom else did he trust? Who lived somewhere out of the way where his presence wouldn’t be noticed as he came and went? He had to know somebody. “Of course,” he said, “Anthony.” His friend lived in an old warehouse north of the river in a sparsely populated area, which suited Terrance’s purpose fine for the next couple weeks. Plus, his soon to be host owned a beat up old van that he rarely used, the perfect vehicle for his use until he left town. Resolving this potential problem so quickly lightened his spirits.
His newfound excitement faded quickly though as he recalled the less pleasant aspects of his old friend Anthony’s lifestyle. He devoted his entire life to becoming an artist, a very sloppy artist. If a fire marshal or health inspector ever got inside the place, they would condemn it. Plus, having to sleep on an old army cot and use the same bathroom facilities as Anthony caused him to cringe. Not something to look forward to considering his friend’s inattention to hygiene. “Beggars, in this particular case for sure, can not be choosers,” Terrance reminded himself. “Well okay then, Mr. Herbert A. Clark, aka Anthony the Artist, here comes your new roommate. Break out the disinfectant!”
Hours later, after having arrived back in Lawrence and settled in at Anthony’s, Terrance decided his first foray outside the warehouse must be to get things straight with the professor. That matter still weighed heavily upon his conscience. Then he could slip into his apartment—hopefully unseen—from the front entrance to gather up items to take with him to Atlanta while storing the rest of his belongings in a corner of Anthony’s warehouse until he settled into a new place. The Cherokee provided enough room for only the bare essentials: clothing, television, DVD, computer gear, etc.
After going over in his mind every little detail relating to the anticipated meeting with the professor, along with working out where to hide, how to travel around while back in the city, and what to take with him when he moved, he remembered the main reason for coming back into the midst of the storm one more time. He intended to make contact with Arête, his former distant admirer and soon-to-be outright benefactor. How did he plan to handle that and when?
He, for sure, didn’t want to seem too eager to accept her offer. He needed to maintain the same distant, if not aloof attitude he’d displayed before. Already at his young age, he knew the danger involved in appearing too willing to attractive women. That also meant not telling her about his current predicament. If he stayed cool, he’d be okay. He thought about when to call her, maybe sometime before noon, but not too early. Right after meeting with the professor, or approximately mid-morning, is when he would call her.
As this plan settled in, another small detail came to his attention. Arête mentioned keeping her schedule open for Saturday night—tonight. The full implications of his plan finally sank in, meaning, he wouldn’t be seeing Jess anymore. From now until sometime in the distant future, his time belonged to another woman, Arête. As waves of guilt feelings commenced to wash over him, he fought to remind himself of his current life and death situation. From this point on, Jess belonged to his past. This unpleasant realization lurched around inside his brain attempting to find friendly shelter without success.
Sometime later, a more resigned Terrance pondered how and when Jess might best find out they were finished as a couple. Did he simply disappear without any goodbye? If he did confront her with this unexpected decision, what reason did he give her? Maybe a job opportunity in Atlanta, simply too good to pass up that required him to spend all his free time for the next few years in the exclusive company of a beautiful female attorney who made this exciting job offer available to him? Just how did a coward go about explaining to the most devoted person in his life that his best interest required he move along to greener and safer pastures?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE