Indigo Man

by M. J. Carlson

  “Holy crap, dude, you think you ought to sit down or something?”

  The fresh air helped. They were coming for him. “Where’s your car?”

  “Dude, dontcha—?”

  Zach grabbed the boy’s arm. “The other guy in the SUV car-jacked and kidnapped me. If I don’t get out of here right now, I’m a dead man.”

  The teenager looked behind the SUV. A couple of bystanders stood by as one knelt over Murphy’s crumpled body where it lay on the grass. Two or three more trotted in Zach’s direction. “I don’t think he’ll be doing anything, dude. He looks pretty wasted.” In the distance, sirens sounded.

  “Please,” Zach pleaded. “Get me out of here, or his colleagues are going to kill me.”

  The kid thought for a moment. “Okay, dude, let’s break chocks.”

  “What?”

  The kid looked around. “You know, break chocks, bone out, shake this spot.”

  Zach nodded. “Lead on.”

  He led Zach to his car, parked on the crossroad’s shoulder. Zach dropped into the passenger’s seat as the boy climbed in, took the wheel, and drove away from the scene. Zach was sweating, his leg was bleeding, and his breaths were short and shallow. His hands shook from the adrenaline rush. The scent of cheap cologne and old socks permeating the car helped him stay conscious.

  “You okay?” the young man asked. “Your leg’s bleeding.”

  “Guy shot me,” Zach said. His leg was throbbing, and it felt like someone had shoved a red-hot poker through it.

  “No shit. That’s gotta hurt.”

  Zach rolled the window down and leaned his head out the opening in time to wretch. Wave after wave of nausea racked him.

  “I should probably stop.”

  “No,” Zach shouted. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let the air blow onto his face. “Does this car have Auto-drive or Theft-lockout?”

  The young man smiled sheepishly. “The Auto-drive needs a part, so it’s just in manual mode. This year was before the lockout option. Why?”

  Zack nodded. “Good. How about Auto-nav?”

  “Auto-nav still works, but only as GPS. Dude, I’m gonna get in a shit-load of trouble for this, ain’t I?”

  Zach leaned back in the passenger seat and shook his head, trying to slow his swirling thoughts. Safety glass fell from his spiked black hair. “No. When I let you out, and the police pick you up, tell them I had a gun, and I made you drive me away. You’ll be fine.” He checked the blood-soaked hole in his trousers. Blood was leaking onto his leg. It wasn’t arterial. “Do you have a shirt or something I can wrap my leg with?”

  “Yeah, here.” The teenager reached into the back seat and retrieved a black tee shirt. He handed it to Zach. “You gonna steal my car?”

  “What’s your name?” Zach asked, as he wrapped the tee shirt around his leg at the wound, tied it in a knot, and tightened it, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding. His vision went dark around the edges. “Ow. Crap, that hurts.” He leaned his head against the seat for a moment until the pain eased.

  “Tyler. My name’s Tyler. You okay, dude? You don’t look so good.”

  Zach nodded, almost giggling at what he was about to say. “I’m fine, Tyler. Yes, I’m going to steal your car now. It’ll be better for you if I do.” This definitely qualified as criminal versatility and manipulation. He brushed more glass from his hair and shirt. “I promise I won’t hurt it, and you can get it back from the police impound in a few days. I’ll put the keys under the driver’s seat and lock it up. Now, please pull over.”

  When Tyler stopped the car, Zach turned to face him. “Okay, buddy, out. Remember, tell them I had a gun. Big, black, and blocky. And let me have your link, please.”

  “Dude. The car, okay, but I need my iLink to post this. I’m gonna be famous.”

  Zach rolled his eyes. “Okay, but no vids of me.”

  “Deal.” Tyler grinned. “A gun. You mean like a Glock?”

  “Yeah, just like a Glock, but don’t say it was a Glock, or they won’t believe you. Just say it was a big-assed black gun and you almost peed yourself.”

  The kid stepped out of the car and flashed Zach a grin. “Got it, dude. Can I pop the trunk? My stuff’s in there.”

  Zach nodded and Tyler reached down close to the floor to pull the release. When Tyler got out, Zach tried to crawl across into the driver’s seat. His left leg refused to obey, and he had to use both hands to lift his foot over the console.Zach settled into the seat as Tyler grabbed a small duffle out of the trunk and closed the lid. A beat-up Dodgers baseball cap was stuffed between the seats. Zach tugged it on, pulling it low over his eyes and tucking the tops of his ears under the band to avoid the multitude of traffic cameras and their facial recognition software he knew he would pass.

  Stepping away from the car, Tyler lifted his hand and extended his index and middle fingers in a “V” shape. “Peace out, dude.”

  Zach returned the gesture. “Peace out, dude.” He slid the gear lever into drive and punched the accelerator, peeling away. He tapped the GPS screen on the dash, and it flashed to life.

  “Can I be of assistance?” the unit asked in a calm, female voice.

  “Nearest Stuff’s-A-Buck store.”

  “Surface streets or interstate?”

  “Surface streets only,” Zach said, glancing out the windows for police drones. The sky around him was still clear, a good sign. The passing landscape jittered and smeared around him. He forced himself to take long, slow breaths and his head cleared a bit more.

  “Calculating route. Route calculated. At the next street, turn right.”

  He followed the unit’s directions south to St. Pete, just past Thirty-eighth Street north. He swung the car left and pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. With Tyler’s car safely in a parking space, he climbed out and steadied himself against the roof and open door while he scanned the lot. “No police. Good.” Still shaky from the pain and adrenaline overload, he slipped the keys under the driver’s seat, locked the door, and limped away.

  Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, he fished out the last of his money. He counted twenty-seven dollars and sixty-three cents as he brushed more safety glass from his hair and clothes. Absent-mindedly, he fingered the ring where it still hung around his neck. “First things first,” he said out loud, squeezing his eyes shut against the memory of Sara lying on the ground.

  He straightened his clothes, walked into the store, and made an immediate left toward the bathroom/medical supplies. Less than three minutes later, he had peroxide, gauze pads, surgical tape, a washcloth, and two bottles of water in a basket and was on his way to the cashier. He grabbed a new pair of blue-mirrored wrap-around shades as he passed the display. At the cashier’s aisle, he picked up an old-style pre-paid phone that came with ten free minutes.

  A young, full-figured, brunette girl behind the counter, wearing more necklaces, bracelets, and piercings than he could count, watched Zach. She raised an eyebrow as she scanned his items. “Are you all right?”

  Zach tossed her an easy smile. “What? Oh, yeah. I was working on my car and the wrench slipped.” He handed her the money, pretty sure his recent interactions would count as pathological lying.

  “Okay.” She smiled back at Zach as she counted out and handed him his change. She bagged his things and placed the bag on the counter.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Zach took the bag. “Where are your picture frames?”

  “To the right, in the rear.” The girl gestured to that part of the store.

  “Be right back.” Zach picked up his bag and headed toward the rear of the store. The smile dropped from his face as he walked. At the rear wall, he found the doorway to the storage room. Seeing no one watching, he slipped through, easing the door closed behind him. Moving past stacks of boxes, he found the rear door of the store, pushed it open, and poked his head out. The only car in the narrow employee parking lot was a small, red, Oatsu Urban Electric. He searched
the surrounding buildings and found no cameras. “Excellent.” Zach stepped out and half-walked, half-limped across the parking area to a break in the head-high concrete block wall surrounding the property and onto the sidewalk beyond.

  He hobbled to the next strip mall, worked his way through a shoulder-high wall of matted, overgrown hedge, and hid between a recycling container and the rear of the building. “First,” Zach whispered, “the blood.” He loosened the tee shirt around his leg, twisted the cap off the peroxide, and trickled it onto where blood stained his pants. The liquid bubbled and fizzed, and as it calmed down, he dripped more onto the stain. Then, he opened one of the two bottles of water and rinsed out the peroxide. He blotted the wet spot with the washcloth, thankful his trousers were dark navy blue. With the cap replaced, he undid his belt and dropped his pants to his knees.

  Two round, ragged holes perforated the front of his left leg about half way between his hip and knee. A deep bruise was already forming on the skin between. The inside one would be the entrance wound, and the other one where the bullet exited. Blood oozed from both but at a much slower rate than before. “That’s good, at least,” he mumbled. “Nothing to dig out.” Pain fountained through him, sending his surroundings spinning, as he spilled more peroxide into the wound. He dropped to the rough asphalt surface and hissed through his teeth until he was sure he wouldn’t pass out.

  Working quickly, he pulled a couple of pieces of gauze from the box. After patting the skin dry, he placed the rest over the holes, and taped them tightly to his leg. When he was satisfied the dressing would stay in place, he pulled his pants up. He laid Tyler’s tee shirt on the recycler and poured the remainder of the peroxide onto it, thankful the shirt was black. While he let it work on the blood, Zach stripped out of the bright yellow shirt Sara’s father had given him and tossed it into the recycler. His head throbbed in time with his leg.

  “Should’ve spent another dollar for aspirin or something.” The thought reminded him of Miranda pouring the tablets into his hand yesterday morning. Swallowing back the grief before it overwhelmed him, he rinsed Tyler’s shirt with half the remaining water. He twisted the shirt to wring as much of the water and peroxide out as possible and pulled it over his head. It felt okay in the warm sun, but when he stood up, Zach wished he’d moved slower.

  Working to keep his teeth from chattering from the adrenaline burn off, he slid back down behind the recycler, upended the bottle and swallowed the rest of the water. He tossed the empty bottle into the recycler and peeked around the corner. Seeing no one, he hobbled into the open and hurried across the narrow asphalt. He checked both directions before he shoved out between the bushes and onto the sidewalk.

  A few cars sat parked along the street. Small houses shaded by occasional trees lined the side opposite where Zach walked. Two blocks further on, a city utilities truck stood parked on his side of the street. As he walked, he thought about how the past three days had ruined his life.

  He leaned against a telephone pole and rubbed his thumb and index finger over his eyes, pressing on the bridge of his nose. Clearing his throat, he pulled the pre-paid mobile link out of his pocket, activated it, and requested a connection.

  “Hello, Carol’s Deli, can I help you?” The woman’s voice sounded rushed. The contrasting quiet of the background told Zach the lunch business had been brisk, but had mostly cleared out.

  He mentally crossed his fingers. “Is Big Tommy there, please?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation. Uncertainty reached back at him through the connection. “Yeah, he is. Can you hang for a second?”

  “Yeah,” he said into the link. “I’m cool.”

  A long moment passed before Tommy’s deep booming voice leapt out of the link. “This is Big Tommy. Can I help you?”

  Zach mentally crossed his fingers. “I’ll need a hundred and twenty grams of salad and a little gravy for the mashed potatoes to go with my gray suit, and put it on my bill.” He closed his eyes and held his breath.

  The longest seconds of Zach’s life passed, and then Tommy’s voice came back, a little lower. “Happy Thanksgiving, Ebenezer.”

  “And Merry Christmas, Tommy Cratchit. I’m sorry to have to ask, but—”

  “Shh.” Big Tommy cut Zach off. “What can Tommy do for ya, buddy?”

  “Kate gave me my ring back.” Zach crossed his fingers, hoping Tommy remembered their conversation from a few months ago when Kathy had left him.

  On the other end of the line, Big Tommy blew out a long breath. “Gave your ring back. That sucks.”

  “Yeah, and it’s not like I can wear it around my neck on a chain or something.”

  “Low blow,” Tommy said. “Guess you wanna be rid of it, huh?”

  “Yeah. It’s time. Ideas?”

  Big Tommy went silent for a moment. “Well, Sam’s Pawn’ll give the best money, All Star is good, but my cousin Marti manages Green for Gold.”

  “Okay,” Zach said. “I know where All Star is, but where’s Sam’s and Green for Gold?”

  Big Tommy gave Zach the addresses. He was already headed in the right direction, and Green for Gold was only about a mile south. There was a pause. “You need anything else?”

  Zach blinked. “I’m cool.”

  “You been watching the news feeds?”

  “No, man, too much happenin’. Wassup?”

  “Shootin’s and stabbin’s and all manner of crazy stuff. People drivin’ off overpasses. It’s turning into a busy news day. You should check it out.”

  “When I get a minute, I will. Hey, gotta go. Thanks, again.”

  “Right. Remember what I told you, you need anything, you call Big Tommy.”

  “Thanks, dude. Peace out.” The words caught in Zach’s throat as he disconnected the link and tossed it into the bed of the parked city truck. He touched the ring where it still hung on its chain around his neck. “Focus.” Zach shifted his gait to accommodate the stiffness starting in his leg and continued south on Fourth Street.

  ***

  Zach stood outside Green for Gold, his soiled tee shirt and pants finally dry. He checked his leg. No new blood stained the material. He fingered the diamond ring on the chain around his neck and rang the buzzer for admittance. Setting his jaw, he walked through the steel-grated glass door and opened the inner door when the lock clicked.

  Inside the pawnshop, the smell of disinfectant cleaner and old tools caught him off-guard. Screens of various sizes surrounded Zach. Half of them were running feeds of his SUV rollover crash. Both the northbound I-275 overpass and Roosevelt Boulevard underneath were closed. Several screens showed iLink footage of a black-haired man in a yellow, Hawaiian print shirt Zach knew was him but still didn’t recognize, limping away from the wreckage. Another young man in a dark tee shirt walked beside him. The two got into a blue car and drove away. Three screens were running real-time, aerial footage of the resulting chaos. Several other muted screens showed a well-dressed woman standing in front of a hospital emergency department, holding a hand microphone. Zach couldn’t make out what the story was about without the sound.

  As he watched, he realized he felt nothing for the destruction he’d caused. “Lack of remorse and lack of empathy,” he said to himself, ticking off two more from the list.

  He shook his head and turned toward the woman behind the counter. She was dark-skinned and stocky. A long, purple cloth wrapped around her hair and cascaded over her left shoulder. Her blouse was white and crisp and Zach smoothed the wrinkles in his borrowed tee shirt, suddenly self-conscious about the smell of blood and peroxide surrounding him. They were the only two people in the shop. “Hi,” he said, offering a tenuous smile.

  A broad, white-toothed grin spread across the young woman’s face. “Good afternoon,” she replied with a thick island accent. “What can I do for you?” She crossed her forearms and leaned on the glass countertop.

  He returned her smile with the best he could muster. “I’m sorry, but are you Tommy’s cousin, Marti?” />
  The woman’s grin amped up to dazzling. “You a friend of Tommy’s? He’s my Auntie Trish’s little boy. He helped me to get in from Grand Cayman two years ago.” Her eyes narrowed at Zach. “You the one Tommy called about?”

  Zach nodded and fished the ring from inside his shirt. “What would be a good price for this?” He slipped the chain from around his neck and handed it to the woman. A faint, sweet scent of lilac floated around her.

  She stared at it for a long moment, then back at Zach. “This real?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes widened. “A real diamond? Why?”

  “I just want to get rid of it. I have a project to finish that needs a little more cash than I have right now.”

  “This is worth…” The woman shook her head, a frown working its way across her face, her brow knit in concentration. “You should take this to a jeweler. There’s one jus’ down the street.”

  He shrugged. “I need a good laptop with a decent battery, a sleeve of crystal flash drives, twenty mailing envelopes, and two hundred dollars.”

  “For this?” she held the ring up.

  “And no questions.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed as the smile fell off her face. “We need ID.” She pointed to a large sign on the wall behind her. She put the ring on the countertop and pushed it toward Zach. “We have to keep records—the police…”

  He laid his hand on hers. “Do you have two minutes?”

  “I…”

  “Just two minutes.” He held up two fingers to emphasize the point and reached into his trouser pocket. “Aren’t you just a little curious?” He pulled the crystal flash drive from his pocket and held it out. “This’ll explain everything, I promise.”

  She considered the drive he held for a long moment. “Tommy sent you?”

  “Yes. Tommy’s a good friend, and I hated to ask this of him. I wouldn’t have if there were any other way.”