by LS Hawker
Ashley’s slurry drunken voice half cried and half whined, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Every word Dekker said, though, was as clear as if he were sitting next to me.
“That’s bullshit. I don’t believe you. You’re full of shit.”
I sat straight up, straining to hear more, but I suddenly knew I had to get out of there. Right then.
“Oh, shit,” Dekker said. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”
It was as if I had X-ray vision, because I saw Dekker heading toward the bedroom door. It opened and he said, “Petty, come out here.” It wasn’t a request.
“What’s going on?” I followed him out to the living room.
Ashley was lolling on the couch, her hair covering her face, but Dekker stood, staring at the TV, his bottom lip pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He saw me looking at him and pointed at the TV. I turned toward it and saw a picture of me side by side with a picture of Dekker. For a moment I thought Ashley and Dekker were playing a trick on me.
“How—”
“Ssshhh,” Dekker hissed. “Listen.”
“ . . . Moshen is five-eight, one hundred thirty pounds, brown hair, hazel eyes,” the anchorwoman said. “Moshen and Sachs are considered armed and dangerous and were last seen in Saw Pole, eighty-five miles northwest of Salina. If you have any knowledge of their whereabouts, call Crimestoppers at 825-TIPS or text SATIPS to CRIMES (274637). You may receive a cash reward of up to one thousand dollars. Remember, you don’t need to give your name to receive the reward.”
Dekker turned toward me. “You fucking did rob Dooley. You took more than your dad’s stuff. You robbed him, and now they think I robbed him too.”
“I took what was rightfully mine,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. You took something from his office. And now they’re looking for us, you lunatic.” He collapsed onto a chair, his head in his hands.
“I’ll go,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter if you go, Petty,” Dekker shouted. “My picture was on the TV too.”
I looked away from the TV and my eyes landed on the glowing screen of Ashley’s cell phone, held casually open in her hand, displaying the numbers 911.
“Dekker,” I whispered, pointing.
Ashley hid the phone, but not before he’d seen.
“You . . . what’s wrong with you? You want the cops to come here and find the meth you bought with the money I gave you?”
“I had to, Dekker!” She sobbed and wailed. “I can’t even buy food!”
“Maybe you could if you didn’t spend all your money on drugs.” He stood. “We’re out of here.”
“Don’t go!” she cried, trying to stand. “I’m sorry! I had to! I need that reward money!” She snatched at Dekker, who shoved her away, and she lost her balance and tumbled to the floor. “Owww! Ow! Ow! You have to wait here, Dekker! You have to wait here!”
Dekker pulled me out of the apartment and through the house’s front door. I didn’t ask any questions, just followed him.
“We need to get to the truck as fast as we can,” he said. “We’ve got to stay out of the light. You see a car coming, you get in the bushes.”
I nodded.
“We’re not going to run, though.”
We walked down the sidewalk, on full alert.
“I should have thrown you out of my truck when I had the chance,” Dekker said.
A car was coming our way driving slowly and Dekker stopped and watched for a moment before he said, “Bushes.”
We got behind a hedge that bordered a house’s yard as the car drove slowly past. Once it was out of sight, we began to rise.
“Don’t move.” An old man stood in the doorway of the house, aiming a shotgun at Dekker’s head.
We both raised our hands.
“I’ve already called the police. They’re on their way. You need to stay right where you are.” The old man’s voice was shaky and frightened.
“Sir,” Dekker said, “we stepped behind your hedge to—”
“I know what you were going to do, you were going to break into my house. I’m sick to death of you kids breaking into my house. You stay right where you are until the cops—lookee there! Here they come now.” The old man’s face fell as they drove right on past, red and blue lights flashing. He came down the stairs, watching them go.
Dekker stood frozen with his hands up and eyes wide, and I could see that he would be no help whatsoever. We didn’t have much time. My terror of cops, pounded into my skull by Dad, pumped up my adrenaline.
I took advantage of the old man’s divided attention and, when he got close enough, bumped the shotgun barrels upward with the heels of my hands then yanked the gun away from him and tossed it into the bushes. While he was still frozen in shock, I pressed my advantage and twisted his hand behind his back, incapacitating him.
“We’re going to be on our way now,” I whispered to him.
He grunted. I released him and he fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder.
“Run,” I said to Dekker. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness but he turned and did as I told him. I took off too, jogging next to him. We were about a half block away from the truck when another police car turned the corner and Dekker pulled me behind a large oak tree in front of a dark house. The police car was driving in the direction of Ashley’s apartment, and from where we squatted we could see it double parking on the street.
We went on running. Just as we reached the truck and Dekker opened his door, another cop car drove by, lighting us up. We both froze as it slowed near us. But then the car moved on. Dekker got in, reached over and unlocked my door. I got in and buckled my seat belt. Dekker tried to get the key in the ignition but his hands were shaking so hard he couldn’t do it. I took the key from him, stuck it in and cranked it.
“Take it easy,” I said.
I looked at my own hand and saw that it was steady. This surprised me, but it shouldn’t have. My training had kicked in. Not only that, but I was outside of my house, out in the world, living. I was exhilarated in a way I’d never felt before.
He nodded at me in the dark and pulled out onto the street. I looked right and left, behind and in front of us, over and over. We came to an intersection, and Dekker got in the left-turn lane.
A car pulled up beside us. I started to turn my head when Dekker said, “Don’t. They’re looking at you.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
“I can’t tell if they’re just checking you out or . . . oh, shit. Guy’s got a cell phone. He’s trying to take a picture—”
I turned then and, sure enough, the guy snapped a photo.
Even though we had a red light, Dekker gunned it into the intersection, narrowly missing a white SUV. Outside a convenience store across the street, a cop jumped into his driver’s seat and flipped on his cherry lights and siren.
“Dekker! What are you doing? There was a—”
“Shut up,” he said. “I’m not talking to you. Just keep your mouth shut.”
He steered through the sparse traffic. I faced backward, watching for the police car to make it through the intersection.
“Turn now,” I said, “before he gets out to where he can see us.”
“There’s nowhere to—”
“Turn!”
He hooked a hard right into an alley, his tires kicking dust from the rough, hard-packed dirt.
The siren grew louder.
“Don’t stop,” I shouted as we neared the cross street.
His head hunched into his shoulders and he hit the street without slowing, bouncing up over the dip and into the next alley. Suddenly, a car backed out perpendicular to us, and Dekker jammed on the brakes.
I looked back over my shoulder and saw the blur of red and blue cherry lights whiz by.
“Back o
ut,” I said.
“Quit telling me what to—”
“Do it!”
With a furious look, he complied before throwing the truck into first gear and stomping on the accelerator.
“We have to get rid of this truck,” I said.
“I’m not getting rid of my truck,” he said, wiping sweat off his forehead and weaving around the few slow-moving vehicles in front of us. The traffic signal ahead turned yellow and he slowed.
“Run it! Go!”
He did.
Chapter 14
THE STEERING WHEEL was slick with sweat for the second time that day, and I could no longer tell which direction the sirens were going or how close they were. I couldn’t believe I’d run red lights and evaded police. I’d known guys in high school who were into that sort of thing, but I wasn’t one of them. And it was all because of this girl. I should have taken her money, headed straight back to Saw Pole and never given her a second thought. I cursed my softheartedness and, yes, my growing attraction to her.
Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t help but think that teaming up with a fuck-up like me would spell certain doom for her. I was a shit magnet, and she would be better off without me, in every possible way. But she was stuck with me—for now anyway.
We had to get out of town. If we could get to US 40, which I hoped was just a ways up ahead, we might be able to get away. I hoped the cops would concentrate their search on the interstate instead of the little two-lane highway.
As soon as I thought I could trust my voice, I said, “Fucking Ashley. She was over at the bar, and this guy comes up to her and says, ‘Hey, isn’t that the girl and guy you came in with?’ Pointing at the TV. Ashley sees a news bulletin.” I shook my head. “Dooley must have filed a police report that says you robbed his office, and I’m your accomplice.”
Petty didn’t say anything.
“You like that? I’m your accomplice. Your accomplice. Who you threatened with a gun.”
Petty continued looking out the window silently.
“The report said your fiancé, Randy King, is desperate to get you back. So now there’s a statewide bulletin out for us.”
“Just drop me off on the side of the road,” she said. “Then you can—”
“Then I can what? Take the rap for what you did? That is not going to happen.”
“No, you can go back to Saw Pole and explain that—”
“Oh, yeah. They’re totally going to listen to me,” I said, my voice rising. The pounding in my head threatened to break it open, and I lost all control of myself, no longer caring if I hurt her feelings. “When Dooley and Randy stopped me on the road this afternoon, you know what they said? That you’re retarded. That’s right. That’s what they said. Or autistic, or something. And that you’re disturbed and deranged.”
She turned her face to me, her lips parted.
I was sorry I’d said that, even as pissed off at her as I was. I didn’t believe she was retarded—not mentally, anyway.
She turned back to the window. “Just take me to a bus station.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? We can’t go to an exit point like that. They’ll be waiting for us.”
“But I have to get to . . .” She trailed off.
We drove in silence for a long while after that. There were few cars out on the two-lane. It was a moonless, dark night, with no sight beyond the headlights’ beams. I kept wondering why in the world Randy King and Keith Dooley were so hell-bent on finding Petty.
Finally, I couldn’t contain myself anymore.
“Petty?” I said. “What is going on? Why is all this shit happening? Will you please tell me?”
She stared out her window at the dark. “Yes. I’ll tell you.”
“THAT CAN'T BE legal,” Dekker said after I’d finished explaining about Dad’s will, Randy King, the trust, the photo of my mom.
“You’d think not,” I said. “But apparently if you put your money in a trust, you can attach any conditions to it you want. I have thirty days to marry him, but obviously he doesn’t want to wait. That million dollars is burning a hole in his pocket.”
“Creepy,” Dekker said, shuddering.
“Where are we going?”
“We can’t go back to Saw Pole.”
“I didn’t mean to get you in any trouble.”
“You did, Petty.”
“Nobody forced you to come back to the bus station,” I said. “You did that all on your own.”
“Because I’m a fucking idiot!” He smacked the steering wheel. “I should take you to the cops and go home, but—”
“You forget I have a gun,” I said.
“What I was going to say,” he said, irritated, “is that I can’t do it because this deal with Randy King is sketchy as hell. He hit you, didn’t he?”
“And he pepper-sprayed my dogs,” I said. I didn’t mention how he’d grabbed my privates. It was too humiliating.
“I think we need to find you a real lawyer. The only thing to do is call my uncle in Wamego.”
“Is he a lawyer?”
Dekker snorted. “No,” he said. “He is definitely not a lawyer.”
“Then why—”
“Let’s say he’s a guy who knows how to get out of trouble.”
“I’m not sure I’d like to get to know any more of your friends,” I said.
“He’s my uncle, and as an added bonus, he’s not a meth addict. But out of all the people I’ve ever known, he is the most trustworthy. He’s my mom’s younger brother. Her favorite sibling. I was named for him.”
“You said his name was Curt,” I said.
“Right. Curt Dekker. Mom’s maiden name was Dekker. When she died—”
“Your mom’s dead too?” I said, before I thought it through.
“When I was in junior high. Cancer.”
“Cancer?” I said. “Your mom died of cancer and you smoke?”
He stiffened. “It wasn’t lung cancer. It was pancreatic.”
“Still,” I said.
“Anyway,” Dekker said. “My dad left us when I was in grade school, and then when Mom died, Uncle Curt took me in. It was probably the best summer of my life. We hunted arrowheads on his land and went to Echo Cliffs and Science City—he’s the one who got me interested in geology.”
“Geology?” I said.
“Yeah. That’s what I was going to college for, thanks to him. After that summer I went to live in town with my dad’s mom, my Oma, who you met at the dump, because I wanted to go to high school with my friends.”
A car accelerated around us.
He looked down at the dashboard. “Ah, shit,” he said. “I need gas.”
“We can’t stop,” I said, my uneasiness making me alert. “We’ll be recognized.”
“If we don’t, we’ll run out of gas.”
“Keep going,” I said. “Don’t you dare stop.”
His enraged face appeared demonic in the light from the dashboard. “What are you going to do? You going to shoot the truck if it doesn’t keep going?”
“Why would I—”
“I was being sarcastic!” he yelled at the ceiling. “You are such a Neanderthal. Listen to me. Without gas, we will be stuck in the middle of Kansas. Do you understand?” He talked loud and slow, enunciating everything.
“Yes,” I said quietly, feeling stupid.
“We’re going to Council Grove. It’s a tiny town and nobody who’s out this late is going to recognize us. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, but I didn’t believe that.
He drove east on US 56, which led us into Council Grove, a little town that was dark except for a Phillips 66 gas station. Dekker pulled up to a pump, grabbed a hat out of the backseat and put it on, yanking it down over his eyes.
“It�
��s only midnight?” he said. “Feels later. Do you think it’s safe to use my cell to call my grandma?”
“Better not,” I said. “They might be able to track us. You might want to turn it off altogether.”
He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and powered it down. “I’ll pump the gas. Do you need to use the restroom? Either way, put your hood up and keep your head down.”
I yanked up the hood on my sweatshirt and got out of the truck. I was stiff from sitting. There was no one else at the gas station, and the door to the restroom was outside, so I wouldn’t have to go inside the cashier station. When I came back out of the bathroom, Dekker was standing at the pay phone, smoking and talking. I didn’t get too close because I wanted to give him privacy.
When he hung up, he said, “I’ll be right out. Get in the truck.”
I got in, closed the door, and leaned my head against the window. I was so tired, but now at least we had a place to go. A stray dog trotted by the truck, and I wondered if Sarx and Tesla were all right. I’d slit open a giant bag of dog food and left it for them, and there was a pond out back of our property, so I thought they’d be okay.
But nothing else was going according to plan. Mr. Dooley had come back from lunch too early. I should have been out of the office before he’d even finished his coffee over at the restaurant. Dekker would have driven me to Salina without me having to threaten him, without being blockaded on the highway by Mr. Dooley and Randy, and they wouldn’t have even known I’d left Saw Pole. I would be waiting at the bus depot without looking over my shoulder. I’d have never met that awful Ashley, and the cops wouldn’t be after us. I’d have gotten on that Greyhound bus in the morning and never seen Dekker again.
There was one aspect of how things actually happened that I did like. I enjoyed being with a person who talked to me, even though he was angry. I didn’t blame Dekker. His anger and the way he expressed it stood in stark contrast to how my dad had gotten mad. While Dekker yelled and lashed out, Dad had grown dangerously silent and sometimes wouldn’t talk to me or even look at me for days. I preferred Dekker’s way, as it turned out.
Still, I regretted leaving the bathroom in the bus depot and coming with Dekker, because now I didn’t have any idea how I was going to get to Detroit.