Tilly sat down on one of the bar stools, relieved to have escaped. It wasn’t exactly a clean getaway, but she felt reasonably sure that they were safe for now. If not for Buddy’s help, she doubted they would have made it this far. Enlisting him had put him in jeopardy, though. He now faced charges for aiding and abetting two runaways from FTALC. It could land him in prison.
Tilly patted the seat next to her, a gesture for Buddy to join her. “How much does your mom know about all of this? I’m just wondering if we’ve landed you in trouble.”
He glanced at her. “She knows about everything. We don’t keep secrets. For what it’s worth, she didn’t object to my helping out. Sure, she was worried. But she trusts my judgment and knows I’m old enough to make decisions for myself.”
“That’s a relief.” Tilly took his hand. “I don’t even know where we’re going yet. We didn’t think that far ahead. I just wish you were going with me.”
“There’s nothing keeping me here. I explained the situation to Mom. Besides, you’re going to need some funding. The least I can do is set you up.”
Fia looked at Tilly and said, “If you don’t kiss him, I will.”
Tilly did just that, giving him a long passionate kiss that left both them gasping for breath. She’d been meaning to lay a good smooch on him for some time. Right now seemed the perfect moment.
“Consider that a down payment,” said Tilly. “It has nothing to do with what you’re doing for us.”
Fia smiled. “Get a room, you two.”
That night they moved two beds to the main casino floor. Tilly didn’t need an air pillow to hug, or dreams of having Buddy next to her. Fia excused herself from the main room, obviously letting the two share an intimate moment—a long moment. Buddy moved slowly, deliberately, removing Tilly’s clothes, seemingly savoring every inch of her. His hands explored her, hitting the most sensitive spots with an attention that brought prickles to her skin. She obliged by stripping him bare and then bringing him to a state arousal with her hand. They unleashed a flood of passion upon each other that left them breathless and sweating. Then they went at it again. Tilly couldn’t have been happier and more content.
Chapter 20
After making a few trips, Buddy brought back some more clothes for Tilly and Fia—not exactly stylish and formfitting apparel, but generic and comfortable. He gave them two secondhand wigs he’d bought in a surplus store, along with two used Omnicomps that would serve as visual replacements. He’d bought the Ominicomps off two derelicts for a case of liquor. He had removed and destroyed the ID wafers and DNA cubes Tilly decided they would apply for duplicates as soon as they left the state and settled in a new location, which meant that they couldn’t break the law in the meantime. Their fake hard-copy identification cards, the bare minimum requirement, would get them on any mode of transportation within the United States. Tilly and Fia flushed their FTALC ID tags down the toilet.
They hauled three bags out to Buddy’s tri-sled and took off for the expressway that led to McCarran International airport. Buddy kept his speed down, mindful of the traffic laws. Tilly looked out the window, watching the small Henderson casinos, wedding chapels and hotels flutter past. She still hadn’t decided where they were going, and hoped that some great epiphany would clobber her over the head and make the decision for her. She had a half hour to make up her mind. But something nagged at her thoughts that she couldn’t shake it. She had a score to settle. She waited until they entered the Vegas metro area before she spoke up.
“Buddy, where would the homeless go for shelter and aid? I mean, like somebody who is down on their luck who has no money or transportation.”
“Male or female?”
“Adult male.”
Buddy made a smooth stop at a light. “Well, there’s the American Red Cross over on Hamilton. And the largest men’s shelter I know of is Heaven’s Door on Mountain View Road. Both are in the Vegas metro area.”
“What’s the difference between the two as far as admission?”
Buddy took off, glancing in his rearview mirror. “The Red Cross caters more to victims of natural disaster. The men’s shelter has clients who are on the street, broke and homeless. The shelter also has a work program and referral system.”
“I think I know where this is going,” said Fia.
Tilly glanced at her, giving a quick wink. “I wouldn’t mind stopping at the men’s shelter before we hit the airport. I need to check on something. It’s just hunch. I’ll be careful—it won’t take long.”
“I dunno,” said Buddy. “Not a real wise move. But I think I know what you’re up to. We can do it. But make it fast.” He turned on a side street and punched in his GPS road assistant.
They arrived at the Heaven’s Door, Men’s Shelter on Mountain View 15 minutes later. Buddy parked in front of the building, leaving the canopy open. Tilly exited the vehicle and walked through the front double doors. She stepped up to a reception counter occupied by six tablecomps. Two male clerks gave her quizzical looks. A large turnstile separated the counter from a backroom swing door that had “Intake” painted on it. She heard a rabble of male voices coming from behind the door.
Tilly presented her Arizona ID card to one of the clerks. “I’m the best friend of a daughter who is searching for her father,” Tilly explained, earnestly. “We believe he might be a resident of your shelter. We’ve been searching all over the Vegas-Henderson city limits looking for him. His family would like to take him home.”
The clerk scrutinized the ID document and then looked at her. “Is this all the identification you have, Ms. Reynolds?”
“I’m afraid it is. My Omnicomp is in the repair shop—a shorted chip. Please, we’ve been searching for three days. I can call her, but she’s on the other side of town checking all the hotels.”
The clerk cleared his throat, handed the card back. “Usually we only give out information to immediate family, but in your case…” He paused to look at the other clerk for confirmation. The other clerk sighed and nodded.
“Name of the missing adult?” asked the clerk.
“Reginald Breedlove. Last known address was 1555 Pier J Settlement, number 119, Long Island, New York.”
The clerk laid his hands on a touchpad and typed in the information. “Banning…Beaumont…Bonner,” mumbled the clerk. “…Breecher…and here it is, Breedlove, first name, Reginald. Okay, that address checks out.”
“Oh, my God!” said Tilly. “You’re sure he’s here?”
The clerk leaned closer to the screen. “He registered here three days ago and is participating in the counseling and job program. He just signed in 20 minutes ago, coming back from a job search. He’s on the property.”
Tilly wrung her hands. “This is fantastic news. His family is going explode with joy. You don’t know how much this means to them. We’ll never be able to repay you.” Tilly brushed a few non-existent tears from her face.
The clerk swallowed hard. “It’s great when we assist in reuniting families with lost members. His bio indicates he’s had a tough time of it. He has a self-admitted gambling problem. Just thought you should know.”
Tilly proffered her hand for a shake. “You’re wonderful, gracious people. I can’t wait to tell the family!” Tilly kissed the clerk’s hand before she released it.
The clerk smiled. “It’s all part of the program.”
“Now don’t let him leave,” said Tilly. “We want this to be a surprise.”
“We’ll chain him to a bed if we have to.”
Tilly hurried toward the exit, giving one last muffled sob before she passed through the door. After she jumped inside Buddy’s vehicle, she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. Her hands trembled. “That no good son-of-a-bitch,” she said. “He’s in there all right. Flat broke and homeless.” She turned to Buddy. “I should get an academy award for the performance.”
“Wicked-lovely,” said Buddy. “What now?”
“Do they have an IRS branch here?” aske
d Tilly.
Buddy grinned. “You’ve got to be joking. In this city? They have a major field office and sub-branch.”
Tilly nodded at the console. “Ring ‘em up on your mobile phone. Put it on speaker—you guys deserve to hear this.”
Buddy made the connection. A male voice came over the console speakers.
“Agent Hathaway, Internal Revenue Service; Vegas-Henderson Division; how can I help you?”
Tilly read from her ID card. “This is Alice Reynolds. I’m a resident of Arizona and I’m vacationing in your city. I happened to run across someone you might be interested in locating. I know for a fact that he has defaulted on his back taxes and failed to attend a court hearing. It seems he gambled his Family Trade and Loan advance away and ended up in one of the shelters out here.”
“Are you related to this person?”
“I’m best friends with his daughter, and I know her father personally.”
“Can you provide the name and last known address of this person?”
“Yes I can.” Tilly filled in the details, even describing her father’s physical attributes, age and work history.”
“That’ll be enough. Do not break the connection. Let me run this. I’ll be right back with you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Tilly squirmed in her seat, squeezing her fingers until she thought they would break. Her father had this coming. His betrayal and lies had come close to ruining her life. She wondered if she would ever recover from what he had put her through. See how you like it—being locked up and confined to a miserable existence, with your hopes and dreams of freedom dashed to bits. You brought this on yourself, dear old dad.
The voice came back over the console. “We do have that person listed in our default files, Ms Reynolds. You say you have a location on him?”
“Yes, sir, I do. He is registered at the Heaven’s Door Men’s Shelter. The address is—
“We know the location of that shelter, ma’am. Is he there at this moment?”
“He is, because I just asked at the desk. They verified his registration. His name, birth date, and background, all of it checks out. He’s your man.”
“We think so, too. We’ll dispatch a few agents. On behalf of the agency, you’re to be commended for your assistance. It’s not every day that our job is made easier. Will there be anything else?”
“No, it’s all better now. Thank you for listening to me; it was great to help out.”
“Good day, then.”
Tilly slumped back in her seat, feeling the weight of a mountain lifted off her shoulders. Whether right or wrong, she felt justified and somehow purged of an evil sickness inside. She knew her father was a cancer in society, and he could no more change his behavior than a pig could give up its love for mud. He would have been caught sooner or later. Yet her decision hadn’t been without some regret. And that’s where father and daughter differed. She had a conscience.
Buddy backed his vehicle up 20 feet and shut the engine off.
“What are you doing?” asked Tilly. “We can go. It’s over.”
“Not until he’s hauled out of here.”
“That might take hours,” said Fia. “That’s time we don’t have.”
Buddy laughed. “They’ll be here quicker than germs out of a cough. We’ve already risked it. I give it 15 minutes. Kick back and enjoy the show.”
Buddy miscalculated about the arrival time of the authorities. Two Vegas-Henderson police cruisers and an unmarked vehicle pulled up in front of the Heaven’s Door Men’s Shelter in nine minutes. Two plainclothes agents, accompanied by two uniformed officers, entered the establishment with swift strides. Five minutes later, the four had the suspect in custody, dragging him through the doors in a hogtied restraint. Reginald Breedlove fought to wedge himself between the door frames, but was yanked through. His face beet-red, he screamed at the officers, proclaiming his innocence. He threatened lawsuits, demanded his rights and cried police brutality.
Tilly watched the scene with macabre fascination. Part of her wanted to run to her father’s assistance. The other part of her wanted to see justice done to the man who had showed her no justice. The second part won out. After they tossed her father into the back seat of a cruiser, Tilly softly said, “We can go now.”
Buddy pulled away from the curb, readjusting his GPS. “Serves him right, Tilly. He’s a squid’s dick—had it coming.”
“Don’t feel guilty for what you had to do,” said Fia. “He’s damn lucky I wasn’t married to him. They’d be hauling me off for murdering the bastard.”
Feeling some solace, Tilly laid her head back on the rest and closed her eyes. She had a new life now, with a new boyfriend who she was certain she loved very much. Buddy the loyal, Buddy the protector now filled the love gap in her life. She had an old-new mom—the first mom who taught her how to dance when she was inside the womb. Maybe a mom who had made some mistakes in the past, but one who knew the difference from what she’d been, to one who realized everything she could be. Tilly couldn’t be more content. The authorities didn’t frighten her anymore. If they wanted her badly enough, well, they could just hunt her down and drag her off. Prison held no fear for her. She had already been there.
Tilly saw a beautiful paradise in her mind’s eye. She heard the cry of gulls and the crash of the surf. She smelled the sweet tang of salt air. She could almost feel the squish of the moist sand between her toes and feel the breeze whipping her hair. She ran like a gazelle down the sloping berm line—toward the palms that swayed like exotic dancers on the shoreline. She knew this place. It called out to her.
Chapter 21
The maglift cab pulled up parallel with the tourist walk. Beyond a volcanic slate walkway lay a grassy knoll filled with benches and barbecue pits. The tops of palm trees, swaying in a lazy breeze, peeked over the horizon. Tilly’s ears still popped from the flight. But it was a good pain—a traveler’s badge for all those who dared to come so far.
The threesome disembarked from the cab and gathered their luggage. They stood on the walkway, admiring the view for a moment. Glass skyscrapers loomed in the distance, their windows reflecting gold and silver facets. Maglift cabs buzzed the streets, jockeying for tourists who carried large handbags and wore rainbow-colored tops and shorts. The panorama might have belonged to an exotic foreign country, such was the diversity of the culture and environment.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” said Fia, holding her face up to the sun. “I can smell that salt air you talked about, Tilly. I smell flowers, too—Poinsettias?”
Buddy pointed to the horizon over the top of the knoll. “The ocean is over that way. I’d like to see it face-to-face. I’ve seen enough of it from the sky.”
Tilly started off with a slow walk over the slate walkway, headed toward the shoreline. Looking up, she saw seagulls scribing lines in the sky; children chased each other over the grassy hills. Sizzling pork wafted from a portable barbeque. She came up to a section of walkway that skirted the first beach sand, and knelt down to run the tiny white grains through her fingers. She dug out a small hollow, reached inside her blouse and pulled out a tag and metal chain. She placed the tag in the hole and swept some sand over it. “You made it, Dorothy,” she said to the sand. “You’re home now.” She swallowed dryly and stood up.
Fia put her hand on Tilly’s shoulder, but said nothing. Buddy held back and watched.
The breeze carried a wavering tune to Tilly’s ears, and she wondered if it was a guitar or a ukulele that produced the notes and chords. It had a wonderfully hypnotic effect on her senses. She followed the pathway, listening to the music on the wind. As she got closer to the sounds, her steps became quicker. After cresting a hill, she looked down upon a small outdoor stage in the distance. The stage had a rustic backdrop of driftwood and wooden panels, decked out with colorful flowers and ribbon streamers. An audience sat on thin bench seats, watching several dancers with rapt attention. The most beautiful honey-tanned girls Tilly ha
d ever seen swayed and swished their grass skirts in time to the music. But that was only part of the draw. As Tilly got closer she saw a huge banner stretched across the breadth of the stage.
FREE HULA LESSONS
Tilly broke into a trot, leaving her friends behind. She could have sworn she heard Buddy’s voice rise above the sound of her slapping shoes and the music.
“Oh, no. Not that! We’ve got things to do!”
THE END
Chris Stevenson Bio
Chris Stevenson, originally born and raised on the beaches of southern California, moved to Sylvania, Alabama in 2009 and settled in with his twin sister. His occupations have included newspaper reporter, front-line mechanic and federal police officer. He has been writing off and on for 36 years, having officially published books beginning in 1988.
Today he writes science fiction, fantasy, paranormal romance, young adult, adult thrillers and horror. He has a total of nine titles appearing on Amazon. He was a finalist in the L. Ron. Hubbard Writers of the Future contest, and just recently took first place grand prize in a YA novel writing contest.
Chris writes the popular blog, Guerrilla Warfare for Writers (special weapons and tactics), hoping to inform and educate writers all over the world about the high points and pitfalls of publishing.
The Girl They Sold to the Moon Page 20