Run, Girl, Run: A Thriller

by Alex C. Franklin

  A flashlight slipped out of the attacker’s hand and rolled into a corner. It spread a wide circle of light, which showed Quinn that he had his arms wrapped around an almost skeletal, bald, wrinkled old man, who wore only pajama bottoms.

  The trembling creature grunted as he wriggled and tried to raise a baseball bat aloft.

  Quinn eased the man backward and allowed him to drop his buttocks on the bed. With a tug, he took possession of the bat, and then curved an arm around the old man’s shoulder.

  “You okay there now, Pops?” Quinn whispered.

  Young held his bleeding nose and got to his feet. He marched toward the bed. “What the hell?”

  With a wave of his hand, Quinn stopped Young in his tracks. “Shut up and clean yourself up.”

  Quinn turned his attention back to the pensioner.

  “Sorry to give you a scare there, Pops,” he said. “We’re not burglars. We came to pay a surprise visit to a friend. Except we got a surprise, ’cause he ain’t here.”

  The old man looked Quinn and Young up and down, his mouth hanging open as he gasped for breath.

  “He told us he lives here,” Quinn said. “We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d say hi.”

  The old man took in shorter, more controlled breaths, but continued to stare wordlessly at the two men.

  “A Canadian fella,” Quinn said. “About eighteen, nineteen. Down here all by himself. I mean, he’s so far from home, we thought it’d do him some good for us to drop in when he least expected it. Give him some laughs. He’s that kind of guy, you know. He’d appreciate something like that.”

  “Sorry,” the old man said, finally. “Thought you fellas came to raid the place. The neighbor half a mile down had a couple break-ins, last month, and I’m here all alone. Gotta defend myself, you know.”

  Quinn nodded.

  “As for your friend, you’re too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Seemed like a nice kid, but he’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yeah, just upped and left three weeks ago.”

  Quinn and Young exchanged glances.

  “Did he say where he was going?” Quinn said.

  “That’s what had me madder than a bull seeing red. He just skipped. Sure he’d paid up for up to the end of last month, but he had to give me two months’ notice. ’Stead he just took off, only leaving a note saying he was outta here.”

  “Any idea where he went?”

  The man cackled, his whole bare torso jerking with the effort. “Sure do. I seen service in too many wars to let a young mongrel like that get the better of this old soldier.”

  Young stepped closer to the bed and growled, “Well, where is he, old man?”

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed into a penetrating stare. He motioned Young to back off.

  “You found out where our friend got to?” Quinn said.

  “You betcha. Saw when he brought home a tent, and a sleeping bag, and other stuff a few days before he took off. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was up to. Still, took me three days of driving ’round in my pickup to every campground within two hundred miles. And, boy, was he surprised as hell when I collared him. Got every red cent he owed me, though.” The old man snuffed and rubbed his stubble. “Must have burned up half that money in gas, but it was worth it. No, can’t let them young’uns feel they can take advantage of the old soldier.”

  From the darkness, Young grumbled, “Time’s a-wasting, old man.”

  Quinn ignored Young.

  Looking him in the eye, Quinn nodded and smiled at the frail figure next to him on the bed. “So where did you track him down to? Where can we find our friend?”

  “Heron’s Point, straight down the highway. Gotta miss maybe ten, fifteen exits, but the turn-off’s right there after you cross a big, ol’ rusty bridge. But yer hav’ to look good, otherwise you’ll miss it. Nice place too. One of them fancy, new private campgrounds. That was my mistake. I went after him first in the state and federal parks.”

  Quinn stood up. He rested a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

  “Hey, thanks, Pop,” he said. “You’ve been a real help. Sorry about the scare you got earlier.”

  The old man raised his hand and nodded. He seemed suddenly aware of his half nakedness and began to hug and stroke himself, passing thin, veined hands up and down sagging, wrinkled elbows.

  Quinn stepped away from the bed and walked toward the door.

  The old man didn’t see Young’s movements in the darkness, and so, he wasn’t aware that a Colt targeted his chest.

  The single shot exploded; the figure on the bed tumbled forward, crashing onto the floor.

  Young strode forward and bent over the body. No sign of breathing.

  “Now you won’t be telling any tales about whacking what you thought was a burglar with your baseball bat, will you now, old soldier?” he said.

  He straightened up, found the torch with his foot and kicked it into the corner. The room went dark, except for a tiny circle of light where the torch touched the wall.

  “Let’s get out of this dump,” Young said.

  Chapter 93

  We approached a rusting bridge that arched into the dark, early morning sky.

  “I think the turn-off is somewhere around here,” Parker said.

  We zoomed through the metal structure, which clanged and creaked under the weight of the rented car.

  “Stop, stop,” I yelled.

  “Why?”

  “I think you just passed it.”

  The tires screeched and we lurched forward onto our seat belts. In a smooth motion, Parker made a U-turn and headed back.

  The road to Heron’s Point was narrow and lined with trees. The air smelled of salt, mud, and a certain freshness that reminded me of newly-cracked crab’s backs. Through clearings in the vegetation, I caught glimpses of the sea, a sheet of silver in constant motion.

  “I think I’ll hang back and let you talk to the kid,” Parker said.

  “I don’t know him. Never met him before.”

  “Well, I have, and let’s just say he’s not in my fan club.”

  “I’m not sure how I’d even begin to approach him.”

  “He’s a male around nineteen, going on twenty. Doesn’t matter what you say. Just flash a smile, lean in close to him, and I bet you’ll get his attention.”

  Parker chuckled.The grin on his face promptly disappeared when he met my unsmiling stare.

  “So what’s the plan?” I said after a while.

  “First, we make sure we get that video with Eric’s confession. Then, we’ll try to persuade Jacques to come with us. He won’t be safe here, even if he no longer has the video.”

  “But where will we go, once we get it?”

  “If those guys from the airport picked up our trail again, we’d be waltzing right into their arms if we headed back North. We’ve got to keep barreling South. Key West airport is probably our best bet. Or we could charter a boat to the Bahamas. We’ll figure something out.”

  Parker pulled up close to the registration office. He trotted ahead, and held the door open for me.

  Behind the desk, a whale of a man with an unkempt, white beard leaned back in a chair. His mouth was open and his eyes were closed. His snores were as loud as a ship horn.

  A large book with handwritten names and dates lay open in front of him.

  As I was about to rouse the man, Parked put his finger to his own lips. He tiptoed to the side of the desk. He bent over the register and scanned it.
The page crackled faintly as he gently peeled it back. He seemed to become very interested in something he read when the man behind the desk suddenly grunted and shook his head.

  The office attendant opened his eyes, then widened them and stared at Parker.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Parker straightened up and stared back at the man.

  I stepped forward and cleared my throat.

  “We’d like a spot for the day, please.”

  With his eyes still fixed on Parker, who eased away to the front of the desk, the attendant pulled the register squarely before him. He looked down at the page and frowned, then looked up at Parker with squinted eyes. He noisily turned the page back to the last one.

  Parker spun on his heels to face a rack of pamphlets, which he studied intently.

  The attendant pulled a pen from behind his right ear and looked at me. “Trailer or tent lot?”

  When we finished registering and were about to leave, I flashed a smile at the attendant. “We’re hoping to catch up with my boyfriend’s brother who came here ahead of us. Can you tell us where we might find him?”

  The man shook his head. He rested a protective hand across the register and stared anew at Parker.

  “You won’t get that kind of information out of me,” he said. “Last year, at that state park up the road, a fella walked in, said he was supposed to join his wife and the girl in the office gave him the wife’s location. Turns out it was his soon-to-be ex-wife. Beat the poor thing to a pulp. The girl in the office got fired instantly. No, sir. That’s not gonna happen on my watch. You need to find somebody here, that’s your affair. Find them yourself.”

  The sun had now risen, illuminating everything, as if a light bulb had been switched on over the planet.

  We drove to our spot and walked the wooded trail up a hill to Section D of the campground. Parker had seen a “J. Taylor” registered in that section but didn’t get the lot number. He said Jacques had sent a letter to Dromel in which he said he used “Josh Taylor” as an alias.

  “Boyfriend’s brother, eh?” Parker grinned as he lifted up a low-hanging branch so I could duck under it.

  “It was just the first thing that popped into my head,” I deadpanned.

  In Section D, we came across a young couple on their knees as they broke down a tent.

  “Excuse me,” Parker said. “We’re supposed to meet up with my brother at this campground, but his phone went dead. Josh Taylor’s his name. You seen him around here?”

  “We were here only for the night,” the man said. “Why don’t you ask at the office?”

  “Tried that already,” I said. “The guy refused point-blank to tell us anything.”

  “Which one?” The girl looked up at me. “The young one with the long hair, or the slob?”

  “The slob,” Parker said.

  “Doesn’t surprise me.” The man stopped his work and stood up. “What a jerk! Gave us a hard time for no reason when we registered. But, sorry. We can’t help you. We didn’t meet anybody here.”

  “Except for the crazy yoga woman,” the girl said. “I think she’s been here, like, forever. Tries to get friendly with everybody. She’s probably your best bet.”

  “Where will we find her?” Parker said.

  The girl pointed to a trail that led to the beach. “She said the rising sun feeds her soul or something like that.”

  Reeds along the shore bobbed and bowed as gentle waves rolled in quietly. A light breeze played with the leaves of the bushes and trees that lined the narrow beach.

  On a flat rock, a woman sat in a loose, tie-dyed t-shirt and a long, white skirt. Her legs were folded, with her soles pointing skyward; a hand rested on each knee, with the tips of the fingers touching each other. Her frizzy, unkempt hair lifted and fell with the wind. Her eyes were closed, and if she was breathing, she showed no signs of it.

  Parker and I exchanged glances. He nodded in the woman’s direction.

  “Excuse me,” I said in a low voice.

  The woman didn’t stir.

  “Can we speak to you for a moment?” I said louder. “We need your help.”

  The woman remained still for a while again, then flicked open one eye and turned only her head to us.

  “Sorry to disturb you.” Parker stepped closer to her. “We’re looking for my brother, Josh Taylor. He came ahead of us but his phone went dead and the office won’t give us his lot number.”

  “Josh?” The woman shook her head as the rest of her body remained immobile. “I don’t think I know a Josh.”

  “About nineteen years old,” Parker said. “A little shorter than me. A Canadian.”

  The woman opened both eyes and cocked her head. “I’m not getting anything on that name.”

  Parker bowed and stepped backward. “Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

  We had turned to leave when the woman called out.

  “Wait!”

  She was now on her feet. “Come to think of it, I did meet a Josh, recently. Yes, it’s coming back to me. Skinny guy. Short black hair. Forgive me. The old brain doesn’t work that good anymore.”

  “Was his last name Taylor?” Parker said.

  “Think so. That one kept mostly to himself. Wasn’t too keen to talk to anyone, except for the McKinnon folks down by the creek. Haven’t seen him around for days, though.”

  After asking around, we found the McKinnon trailer on a knoll overlooking a gully. A man who stood not far from the open trailer door sipped from a tin cup and stared at the water that noisily rushed over the stones below.

  “Mr McKinnon?” Parker said.

  The man turned to face us. “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m trying to catch up with my brother, Josh Taylor. He’s a few days ahead of us. Someone told us you might be able to help us find him.”

  The man flung the contents of his cup into the creek and stuck out his chest. His jaws twitching, he eyed Parker coldly. “Well, someone told you wrong. I know nothing about your brother.”

  He walked to the trailer, marched up the steps, and slammed the door shut behind him.

  We went to every section of the campground and came up empty. We returned to the car, and as Parker put the key in the ignition, I scratched my head.

  “So, what now, Paul?”

  “You hungry?”

  “I can’t even begin to think about food right now.”

  “Well, I can’t think without something in my stomach. How about we get some coffee and donuts, and then try to figure things out?”

  I looked at him and shook my head. Did he have to so precisely fit the cop stereotype?

  “What?” Parker said, apparently unable to read my expression.

  He turned the key and the engine purred, and then I heard a child’s voice crying out, “Hey, mister!”

  A boy, about ten years old, came running down a trail behind the car, waving one hand. Parker wound down his window.

  The boy ran up to Parker’s door. “Hey, mister, wait a minute.”

  “What’s up, son?”

  “Wait.” The boy doubled over, panting. “My sister’s coming.”

  In the rear view mirror, I saw a girl trotting toward us, her heavy chest swinging rhythmically with every step, her long hair flowing in the wind.

  “You’re Josh’s brother?” the girl said when she reached the car.

  “Yes. We’re trying to catch up with him.”

  “My dad scared him off,” the girl said. “Called him a bum. Threatened to kill him
because he didn’t want him talking to me. Dad’s real strict. Doesn’t let me have a phone or even a Facebook account.”

  I saw Parker studying the girl’s face. With her braces and smooth skin, she looked to be fifteen, maybe, sixteen; but her body was mature beyond her age.

  The boy giggled.“Britney’s got two boyfriends. Josh, and Daren, up at the office. Except Dad found out about Josh and now he’s gone. But Dad still doesn’t know about Daren.”

  The girl shoved her brother aside. “Stop being a pest.”

  “Touch me again and I’ll tell Dad about Daren.”

  “You are so not going to do that.” The girl reached over and pinched her brother’s ear, then twisted it sharply.

  “Ouch!” The boy tugged away, then shoved the girl so hard, she teetered before righting herself. She raised her hand and the expression on her face signaled her intention to rain down blows, but she was too late.

  The boy darted off, laughing.

  “Listen, can you tell us where Josh went?” Parker said.

  “Bayview, or Fairview — something like that.” The girl stared at her retreating brother. She turned again to Parker. “It’s supposed to be another camp, further South. Josh said he’d found this funky trailer done up in camouflage for sale. We were going to run away together. But my dad was acting all cranky that day, and, well, in the end, I chickened out.”

  “Thanks for telling us,” Parker said. “You’ve been a huge help.”

  The girl bit her lower lip. “When you see Josh, will you tell him I haven’t forgotten him?”

  Chapter 94

  The black sedan rolled into the entrance of Heron Point and paused at a large board with a map of the grounds.

  Young studied it and spat out of the window. He was at the wheel; Quinn sat in the passenger seat, and Williams was drowsing in the back.

  “It’s gonna be a hell of a job finding him,” Young said.

  Quinn pointed his chin toward the small hut that served as the office. “Pull up over there.”