THE PRICE SHE'LL PAY: For the secret she never knew she had...

by Cara Charles

  Eric’s father’s restored ’67 G-500 Green Shelby Mustang crept out from the alley. Lights off. He opened his passenger window.

  ‘There. Was that…?’ It was the squeak of a cart.

  Eric quietly pulled onto an empty 17th Street, turning left toward the sound, now gone. The idle speed pulled him along the Mall side hedge. The frigid night air hit Eric hard as he crept along, listening.

  The President felt Eric before he saw the car. There it was, lights off, creeping out of the alley, coming his way. He’d shoved the cart into the hedge a few seconds too late and ran full out to the curved Ellipse path.

  ‘Alva hadn’t returned to her usual spot. She’s hiding from me somewhere on the Mall. Smart, I’ll give her that,’ Eric thought.

  Eric pulled over, editing out the engine’s distinct voice was tough. He took off the dome light cover and unscrewed the bulb. He should have driven a different car, not one Alva could identify.

  ‘Hell. She taught me how to drive in this car.’

  Regret sapped his anger. He was limp with shame as humanity tried to reclaim his soul while the newsreel of happy memories of a different Eric and Alva played in his head. He shook it off.

  ‘Fuck that. Don’t be a sap. You’re not a sap, are you?’

  Eric choked out the last shred of humanity, grabbed his large flashlight, and turned off the car. He opened the door, grabbed his nightstick from under the driver’s seat, and eased the door closed, not making a sound.

  The President saw Eric twirling his nightstick. Eric was dressed in black overalls to blend into the night. A chill went up his spine but he ran on, faster now. He was hunting Alva. Eric was destined to come through the hedge. The President ran quietly, desperately looking for a hiding place. The best he could do was sprint to the other side of the old sycamores, glancing back, and running on until Eric cleared the hedge.

  Eric pushed his way through the hedge.

  The President stopped behind the biggest tree he could find, just as Eric froze to tune in.

  Eric listened hard to the ambient night sounds. Eric didn’t hear anything. He turned on his flashlight and quickly found the empty cart. An empty cart should have meant something to him. Eric swung the flashlight into the shadows south of him. The President was on the move, staying on the grass.

  The President ran straight up the Mall staying near the trees.

  Eric concentrated on searching in the other direction.

  The President kept running on his toes, increasing the distance.

  Eric swung his flashlight into the old sycamores in the left of center of the Mall. Eric went back to the concentrating on the ground. Like a bloodhound with a fresh scent, Eric kept his eye on the footprints and jogged toward the President’s direction pointing his flashlight at the ground.

  ‘Fresh footprints’. He followed them into the grass. They disappeared. Eric swung the flashlight ahead, trying to track the runner.

  Eric cried out, “Stop! Police.”

  Eric was determined to bluff the runner into exposing himself and surrender. This technique worked quite well.

  The President was running for his life. He was not about to stop.

  Eric trotted on, discovering wet footprints as they appeared and disappeared.

  The President had to stop to text Sean.

  ‘Being chased by Eric up center Mall. Help.’

  Sean read his text from Chicago Pizza. Sean turned around and sped back toward the Mall.

  “My God! Eric is chasing the President!”

  “Oh my God! Hurry boy! Get my cane from the trunk. You’ll need it.”

  “Always be prepared!” Sean showed her it was under the front seat!

  “Brilliant, boy! You’re a good Eagle Scout!”

  “Being prepared is my new motto. Got pepper spray on my key chain, too.”

  The President searched for another hiding place but the decision required instant results, and Eric was coming. The President thought he’d stay put and let Eric run past and double back. Then, the President decided to jog normally and not act suspicious, staying near the trees. He had to keep an eye out for Eric and Sean.

  Eric caught a glimpse of the jogger. ‘That’s not Alva. Probably the dealer.’

  Eric didn’t want to chase anyone, but he felt Alva. He knew she was close by. Doubt crept in now because there was nothing extraordinary about one empty cart, but two?

  The President kept running.

  Eric jogged to a large tree. Nothing there. One hundred yards ahead he thought he saw something. There. A man was jogging. Eric stopped and watched. He was jogging, not evading. ‘He’s just a jogger.’ Eric cancelled his own pursuit.

  The President disappeared around a tree. He peeked around the tree.

  Eric was walking back toward his car, now searching the bushes.

  The President continued on. He was listening for Sean. The screeching tires were coming from a long way off. The President stopped behind a tree to text Sean to back off.

  ‘Safe now. Eric not following. Take Alva to hospital.’

  ‘Alva insists on taking you home. I agree.’

  ‘OK. I’ll meet you past the D.A.R. Park on 17th. I’ll find you. Eric’s on the Mall.’

  The President jogged on.

  Sean made his way to 17th Street. Within a minute, Sean had pulled up and waited. Lights off.

  “Thank God, here he is. Looks like Eric’s car down there.” Alva said.

  Five seconds later, the President got into Sean’s Saab breathing heavily.

  “Thanks for coming back. He gave up or else we would have had a problem.”

  “Eric never gives up. Move! Right now, Sean!” Alva said.

  Sean pulled away and drove toward the White House.

  “Get me close to the Renwick Gallery,” the President said.

  They’d driven half a block when headlights and a siren came on from the shadows two hundred yards in front of them. The police cruiser came on fast right toward them.

  “What should we do?” Sean asked the President.

  “Drive normally. They’ll drive right by,” the President said.

  “No! Turn left boy! Now!” Alva pounded Sean on the shoulder to obey her.

  Sean looked at the President.

  He nodded.

  Sean drove into the alley.

  “Step on it. Avoid them. This is Eric’s doing. Get the President home, child.”

  “Better let me out. I can’t blow my cover. Understand, Alva?”

  “Alright then, Mr. President. Jump out at the next alley. HERE! Stop Sean. You’ve got a million places to hide up in there. This will take you home, Mr. President. Good luck but give Sean a call, once you’re safe. You don’t want to worry old Alva.” Alva patted the President’s shoulder.

  “Thanks. Stay safe you two,” the President patted her hand, then ran up the alley.

  “They’ll be after the car, not you. This way. Hurry child.” Alva pointed. “Left here. Now right. Right again. There. Stop. We can hide in there.”

  She’d led them to an old garage.

  Sean got out and pulled hard on the stubborn doors, then drove into a long unused repair garage, shut down the engine, and ran to close the doors.

  The cruiser with its blaring siren sped by a few alleys over.

  The President was sprinting toward the Renwick, now four blocks away as the siren continued chasing phantoms.

  A minute later, the President exited the alley a block from the Renwick.

  “Where ya going in such a hurry?” Eric stepped in front of the President holding the nightstick across his palm.

  The President sidestepped Eric like he was on the basketball court, his heart leaped up in his throat, but he kept his cool, and ran around Eric and kept going. It wasn’t the first time he’d out maneuvered muggers.

  “Don’t want any trouble. Just out for a jog,” the President said trying a Southside accent to cover his voice as he sprinted away.

  “I’m undercover
. Now stop!” Eric trotted after him.

  “No ID and no probable cause, officer. I wouldn’t press your luck.”

  That pissed Eric off.

  “A smart ass too,” Eric said and sprinted after him.

  The President jogged faster rather than run like a suspect. The distance between them leapt, the President sought out any heavy shadows where he could disappear. He needed a contingent exit strategy. He could run to the Vice President’s residence, but he couldn’t blow his cover and he couldn’t disappear around his tunnel. He listened for Sean.

  Behind him Eric was calling his back up.

  The President pushed the speed dial button and called Sean.

  “He’s running me down again by the Renwick.”

  “That fucker! Eric’s running down the President near the Renwick!”

  A new siren blared coming their way.

  “Hurry boy!” Alva pushed Sean’s shoulder.

  Eric threw his nightstick and hit the President in the head.

  The President went down like a felled tree landing in the ivy lined sidewalk.

  Eric quickly closed the gap,“You’re not such a wise ass now are you, asshole?”

  Eric kneeled on the President’s back, his hoodie still covering his head. Eric zip-tied his hands. Eric’s perp wasn’t offering any resistance. None. At all. Fear crept in. Had he killed the guy?

  ‘My God, he’s limp.’ Eric rolled him over.

  The perp’s face was covered in mud on that side. Eric took his carotid. There was a pulse. He was breathing, but unconscious.

  “Shit.” Eric panicked.

  He’d hit a guy too hard once and the guy died of a slow, leaking cerebral hemorrhage. Eric was suspended for six months that time. Backup was coming and he’d have to explain why the guy was unconscious. He cut the zip tie off, flipped the perp on his back and dragged the perp into the bushes, turned him on his side in case he vomited, grabbed his nightstick, then ran back the way he came.

  A car was coming.

  “What’d I tell ya honey? Turn your lights out. Eric’s backup is coming. There he is! Run him down. Throw the cane at his feet! Get him before back-up gets here!”

  Sean skidded around the corner. Alva laid low.

  Eric was up ahead running away from them, but not the President. The President was nowhere in sight. Sean sped around Eric blocking him in. Eric jumped across the hood of the car and ran.

  Sean jumped out and sprinted after Eric, cane in hand. Sean was still a sprinter, not too long from his college days and still ran daily, so he caught Eric quickly.

  “What the fuck kid? You’re interfering with an officer. Fuck off!”

  “Hey man? Where ya going? Where’s your badge? I think you are going to rob an innocent jogger is what I think and I’m going to stop you.”

  “Fuck off kid! Are you just dying to get arrested? I’m undercover.”

  Sean threw the cane between his legs. Eric fell hard. Sean picked up the cane, ran in front of Eric as he jumped to his feet and they squared off.

  “Don’t fuck with me kid. Shit!! He’s long gone now, anyway. Noble of you, though. You can explain it all to my backup and the judge.”

  ‘They’d be here any second, too.’ “I say you’re a liar. I say you’re the thief. Prove who you are and I’ll leave you to it.”

  Eric showed him his wallet I.D.

  “OK. Good enough. Sorry officer. ”

  Sean ran back to his car as the backup sped by on another pursuit, sure he was going to get arrested.

  Alva had moved the car closer to them. She was out of the car, nowhere in sight, the keys gone.

  Eric heard something in the hedge. He went to look, disappearing from Sean’s eye line.

  Sean looked back and Eric was gone.

  Eric came through the hedge to investigate the noise.

  Alva emptied the pepper spray canister on his eyes and hands.

  Eric screamed out in rage and agony.

  Alva hobbled out of the bushes, canister in her hand.

  Sean ran to help her back in the car.

  The siren was coming their way, now.

  “Jesus you gave me a heart attack.” Sean whispered.

  “Just taking care of some overdue business. Now let’s boogey, Bruce Willis!”

  Sean and Alva sped away, turning the corner just as the backup arrived.

  “I’m sure that gave the President time to get away, but we’ve got to be sure.”

  Thirty seconds later, after evading the cops again with Alva’s knowledge of the neighborhood, Sean dialed the President. He didn’t answer.

  “Pull over, and wait. We’ve got to know. God have mercy, I’m a nervous wreck.”

  Sean’s phone rang sixty seconds later. Chicago Pizza was calling.

  “You two OK? I’m safe and sound thanks to your quick thinking. Thank you so much! That was too darn close for comfort!!”

  “It was Alva, sir. She knew to hang back. She got him off me and pepper sprayed him.”

  “Wow good for her! Broken leg and all?”

  “Yep! She’s a mother tiger, that’s for sure!”

  “Is he safe…” Alva grabbed the phone. “You tucked in Mr. President?”

  “Yes ma’am. Your wisdom, dear Alva and a very brave Sean, you two saved my life.”

  “Nighty night, then. Sean and Alva’s mission is accomplished. Merry Christmas, sir.”

  “Merry Christmas and I know a very Happy New Year is just around the corner for you, my dear friends. Goodnight and God Bless,” the President said from the maintenance closet, applying a cold rag to the growing goose egg on his head.

  Barack Obama sighed as he let out the stress and headed back into his tunnel and home, the mud washed from his face, his smile growing as he remembered awakening to Sean challenging that shit Eric. A minute later Eric was screaming in pain and rage just as he entered the Renwick’s unlocked side door.

  The mop sink provided cold water for washing and wetting the cleaning rag he’d placed on the knot on the back of his head. Eric had indeed knocked him out. Now he had to remember all the numbers required to get back through the tunnel and safely back to his room. He began reciting them.

  Minutes later the President was in his shower, washing stress down the drain.

  Eric explained to his backup, the perp out ran him, as they gave him a ride back to his car, both smiling smugly, both wondering what the hell Eric had been doing to get pepper sprayed.

  Sean and Alva high-fived each other, then Sean drove to the nearest 24-hour café. Sean helped her to a table, propped her leg on a pillow, and they celebrated eating everything on the breakfast menu. Alva was so happy she was able to forget about her broken leg.

  Sean and Alva had a fun chat on the ride to Doctor’s Community Hospital in Lanham near College Park, Maryland. Sean assumed all financial responsibility for her bill.

  Sean texted Chicago Pizza with a status report and their locale.

  When Alva returned to her room after a double sponge bath and a good shampooing from the nurses, x-ray and casting, Sean was fast asleep in a chair in Alva’s hospital room.

  “Bruce Willis is tuckered out,” Alva smiled and the nurses nodded. They’d heard everything.

  A wrapped gift and flowers were waiting for her. Sean had bought her a pair of purple slipper socks. The flowers were from Chicago Pizza.

  “Christmas had come early,” Alva told her nurses.

  With both her “boys” Barack and Sean safe, Alva fell into a relieved sleep.

  At change of shift in the precinct locker room the next day, Eric Lindley was examining his still swollen eyes and his nightstick, wondering if hitting Alva or the perp had cracked it, when the Captain, the Lieutenant, and two Sergeants walked in.

  The Lieutenant was twirling steel cuffs on his finger.

  They spread out and then approached Eric, slowly.

  The Lieutenant pulled Eric’s right wrist behind his back and cuffed it. Eric thinking this was a some k
ind of joke, fully cooperated, offering his left wrist.

  “Ain’t my birthday for another week, but I’ll play. Take me to a hot strip club, and I’ll go quietly.” Eric grins.

  “Funny guy. How’d you know we’re taking you to a new club? You’re going to love the entertainment. Eric Lindley? We’re placing you under arrest,” the Lieutenant tightened the last cuff, took out his Miranda card, and read Eric his rights. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they’ve been explained to you?”

  “Very funny, Lieutenant. What’s going on?” Eric’s neck was getting red.

  “We’re arresting you for assault and battery on senior citizen, Alva M. Cross.”

  Two burly deputies Eric knew from the County jail now entered the locker room. The smile slid off his face.

  “What the fuck? Bullshit! Don’t tell me you believe that delusional old woman?”

  “So says the enhanced video we just received from security cameras outside the National History museum. Time code -- 2246. Last evening. Also, here’s a very interesting express DNA report. Just faxed to our office. There’s a 99.4% certainty, Alva Marie Cross is… your Mama.”

  Eric struggles to get to his laughing superiors, “You’re fucking liars!”

  “We took a little hair from the brush in your locker, just to make sure.”

  Captain reads from an official looking fax, “You’re to contact the Darwin Genetics Lab in Silver Springs with questions. 99.4% accuracy? I’d say that… is pure certainty. How many years did she work for your family? Thirty-five and you’re how old? Cheating his own mother out of her money, beating her and making her homeless to boot. Always suspected you were a racist, narcissistic, psychopath, Eric!”

  The Sarge’s cellphone vibrates. He reads a new text message. “Ha! Ain’t this rich! Mama Eva Lindley is screaming for her lawyer down at D Street and disowning you, saying the forgery was all your idea,” the Sarge from the jail and his two burly companions belly-laughed at the rich irony.