The Gambit

by Allen Longstreet

  Twenty minutes ago, Rachel made us stop in Melbourne Beach. She intended on staying the night at her moms, but as we neared the street she lived on, we saw a suspicious looking SUV outside of her house. It looked like a cop. We drove past at a steady speed, acting nonchalant. Luckily, whoever it was, didn’t follow.

  Rachel’s aunt, or tía, as she called her, lived in an oceanfront house in Cocoa Beach. She was certain that the FBI would not be able to trace her mother to her aunt because she wasn’t related by blood. Her aunt married into the family, and she had divorced Rachel’s blood-uncle years ago.

  “Right here,” Rachel said, pointing to a coral-colored house on the ocean. It had the same, clay-tiled roof I had seen all over Florida. We pulled into the driveway and Briana shut off the car. No one opened the doors. Rachel glanced around at everyone.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “You,” Grey answered dryly.

  “Come on, my tía is cool.”

  We stepped out, and everybody began the awkward stretching. We didn’t take any pit-stops along the way, and my muscles were cramped. The night was cool and temperate. The breeze tickled the cuts along my hairline, soothing the heat of the healing wounds. Grey and Briana were still wearing the garb of Rose and Gregory, and Rachel and I were wearing our disguises. Sadly, I had begun to get used to the bleach-blond. I was tired of trying to be someone other than myself. I spotted an aloe plant growing beside the path of large stone tiles that led to the front door. Palm trees dotted the yard. Rachel rang the doorbell. We hung around behind her. I heard some movement from inside, and the door swung opened. A pudgy woman with shoulder-length black hair answered. Her eyes bulged as she stared at Rachel. Then, she glanced at me.

  “Rachel, ay Dios mio, come in!” she waved her hands and ushered us in, mumbling things in Spanish. “Marta, vengase!” the moment Rachel heard the name Marta, her eyes began to water.

  “Ma!” she shouted. Her voice echoed. I tilted my head back to take in the vaulted ceilings. Rachel’s family was well-off. Maybe Emilio wasn’t the only successful one in the family. A woman came barreling around the corner, skidding on the tile in a pair of fuzzy slippers. She ran into Rachel with open arms. They both began to bawl.

  “Ay, mi hija, mi amor, gracias á Dios!” She smoothed the back of Rachel’s hair with her hand, holding her daughter tight. “I was so worried about you, mija! Te amo, te amo para siempre.” Her hiccupping cries almost made me tear up. I wished I could have held my mother again. If only…

  “I love you too, Mom. I love you so much.” Rachel pulled her mother tighter. From my angle, Rachel’s mom was facing me. Her hair was long and the same, walnut-brown color as Rachel’s, except hers was partially gray. She was attractive, too. She let go of Rachel but still held her hands. She rubbed them lovingly with her thumbs and looked her up and down. There were subtle wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, but regardless, I now knew where Rachel got her looks. Her eyes darted and met mine. Her nostrils flared, and she scowled.

  “Is he the reason you’re in so much trouble? Why would you go along with him, mija? What in the hell got into you?”

  I felt my face turn red. Even though I was a few years older than Rachel, I was still just as embarrassed to meet her mom, especially under these circumstances. It was not every day a girl brought home the most wanted criminal in the United States. What a great impression.

  “Mom, I can explain everything. Just sit down somewhere. We will explain everything.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to look somewhat groomed. It wasn’t like I’d have any luck after the kind of day I had. I stretched my hand out in an effort to introduce myself.

  “Owen Marina,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Flores.”

  She hesitantly held out her hand, but drew it back at the last second. She grimaced from my presence. “Mom, Owen is innocent. I will explain everything, I promise.” Her mom cocked her head to the side, staring at Rachel as if she was insane. She then turned back to me and revealed a forced smile. She gently placed her hand in mine, and I shook it.

  “I’m not Mrs. Flores anymore, but you can still call me that. I will always be a Flores because of my daughter.”

  “She’s the only reason I made it this far. I owe your daughter my life.”

  She nodded, not knowing how to respond. She hadn’t the slightest clue of our struggle.

  She looked me up and down, turned to Rachel, and held a cupped hand beside her mouth. “Que guapo, no?” Rachel giggled and nodded.

  Guapo—wasn’t that handsome? Did Mrs. Flores just call me handsome?

  Marta turned back to face the group. “Hola, Briana. Cômo estás?” She embraced Briana in a hug. “I’ve been better…” She answered. The reserved reply from Briana seemed to alarm her mom. Her facial expression changed.

  “So, who is this well-dressed hombre in the back?” she asked. Grey stepped forward.

  “Grey Maxwell, pleasure to meet you.”

  Her mother nodded. “Nice to meet you too. All right, come to the kitchen. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine because I have a feeling I will need it. Rachel has some explaining to do.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle, and we followed her into the kitchen.

  Rachel told her everything—all the way from the beginning. She left out some extraneous information, like the night on the train. Mrs. Flores was right, she did need a glass of wine…or three. The media had scared her all on their own, but hearing it from her daughter’s mouth, that was different. Once she heard the whole story, her demeanor had changed. It was visible. The reality of the situation burdened her, just as it did us. Rachel was curious as to why she wasn’t at her house when her car was still there. Her mom explained that she knew she was being watched, and she waited until the sun set one night to leave. She left the TV on and slipped out the back door. She walked the fifteen miles up the coast to Cocoa Beach. She knew it would be safer there because her sister-in-law had divorced her brother years ago.

  Briana was in the shower, and Rachel and her mom went to the bedroom to talk. I saw the look in Mrs. Flores’ eyes before she asked her to talk in private. It was the look of pure fear. She was afraid for her daughter, and with good reason. Rachel’s aunt sat in the living room watching TV. I sat in a bar chair with my arms propped up on the eat-in kitchen. I repeatedly rubbed the smooth granite countertop out of boredom. Grey was in the dining room just through the arched opening. The tile floor in the kitchen was a beige-coral. I glanced around, taking in the design. The cabinets were wooden, stained with a deep cherry-wood finish. Grey’s plate sat across the table. He finished his meal over an hour ago. Rachel’s aunt had ordered two pizzas, and we were all but stuffed. On the wall, there was the same Puerto Rican flag that was in Briana’s kitchen back in Orlando, except this one was painted and framed. I could tell the air conditioning was on because the coolness was dry, not like the moist air outside. It was refreshing. There was a soft yellow glow from the living room. Rachel’s aunt had the lights dimmed. There were so many decorations; the burgundy curtains that draped the windows, the granite marbled counters, and the tiled floors made me feel like I was in a mansion. I imagined the typical Florida home a beach theme, with ocean blues and teals, but none of that was here. This was what I pictured an Italian home that overlooked the Mediterranean would look like. It felt cozy. It made me feel safe.

  I bashed myself for being so naïve. They were still out there. I escaped by the skin of my teeth today. We were only three hours north of Miami…

  “Ay Dios mio!” Rachel’s aunt squealed from the living room. Out of concern, I walked around the corner to see what made her say that. The news was on. I covered my mouth in shock.

  “…Vicenzo Flores was arrested on two counts of vehicular manslaughter. Authorities have now informed us he was driving the Hummer that assisted Owen Marina is his escape. Three of the five bikers have been arrested, and his brother, Luciano Flores, was turned in by one of the bikers. N
ow that the FBI has apprehended almost everyone involved, the pressing matter is finding their cousin, Rachel. Owen and she are still on the run. Please, if anyone knows of their whereabouts, please call the FBI’s anonymous tip line. There is a hundred-thousand dollar reward for their capture…”

  The footage of Vinny’s Hummer plowing into the side of the Tahoe replayed over and over. Glass exploded and scattered on the asphalt. The Tahoe rolled three times from the impact. I rubbed the scrapes on my forearms, wondering why I wasn’t in the hospital. Maybe it hadn’t hit me yet. I couldn’t comprehend that I even survived such an impact.

  I felt someone beside me, and I looked over my shoulder to see Grey standing a few feet behind me watching the same thing. His dark, beady eyes were cold. Sometimes I wondered what was going on in his head. He was so quiet, and he always had been. Actions spoke louder than words for him. His intellect did all the talking. I was still curious to what he did in the airport.

  “…Once again, there is a hundred-thousand dollar reward for Owen and Rachel’s capture. Please contact the FBI’s anonymous tip line at 1-888…” The words faded out. They made my stomach flop. How predictable, the government enticing the American People with money to turn me in. All the odds were against me, against us. A fog hung over my brain; it felt fuzzy. I was enveloped in it. Being here was the cause. It was a temporary escape from reality. Nausea overtook me every time I thought of where we would go tomorrow and what we could do. My road was becoming shorter by the day…but where would it end?

  “Shit, they got Vinny and Luke?” Briana asked from the other side of the living room. She stood beneath the arched opening which led to a hall and the master bedroom. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel.

  “Si,” Rachel’s aunt answered.

  She turned around and went back down the hall. I heard muffled voices. She was probably telling Rachel and her mom. I looked over my shoulder again. Grey had sat back down at the dining room table. I walked over and pulled out a chair to join him. He looked at me, blinking. His lips pressed into a line, and I couldn’t tell if he was zoning out or just waiting for me to say something.

  “So, I was curious…” I began. “What did you do at the airport?”

  A childlike grin emerged. He actually started to chuckle.

  “I used my ticket to execute a code in the existing system. All calls in and out of the airport wouldn’t work. Then, I posed as an employee and hacked into the mainframe. I turned off all the security cameras and set their override clearance to wartime status. Only the President could intervene.”

  He was so casual about it.

  “No shit!” I coughed, patting him on his back. “Fucking incredible, you’re unreal man.”

  He smirked. “It was pretty badass, I’m not gonna lie.” We laughed and continued for quite some time. It was empowering, reliving our day. Grey’s plan worked, Briana’s passport worked, it was just that goddamn air marshal. We were so close it made me sick. I was in the fucking plane for crying out loud. How much closer could I have gotten? I would never know.

  “No wonder you didn’t want to tell us. I wouldn’t have wanted to jinx that shit either!”

  “Yeah, you’re telling me…” He said. “I knew how important it was that it worked. I wanted you to be safe, man.” His statement was heartfelt. I could feel it, and it was good to know I had a friend like Grey, who had risked his life from the beginning to keep me safe. I would have never made it out of Virginia if it wasn’t for him.

  “Thank you, man. You have no idea how much it means to me that you’ve helped me from the start.”

  He shook his head. “What else was I gonna do? You were framed for a crime you didn’t commit. It’s right and wrong, man—black and white. There is no other way to see it in my eyes. I knew I had to do what is right, and that was helping you. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, man.”

  “No, don’t thank me,” he countered.

  My eyebrows quirked. “Why not?”

  “Because man, I know we go way back to before you had your title, but still, I never thanked you for what you have done for this country.”

  My breath shuddered. He almost made me tear up. Not because I hadn’t been thanked before, because I had, many times. It was because it was from him. The longest friend I had in life.

  “If Cole wouldn’t have badgered me for weeks on end back in our Camp, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now. He managed to convince me.”

  “How?” Grey asked. I didn’t expect him to question me further. I drew the memory from the recesses of my mind…and it was painful. Very painful. It was the question that changed my life forever.

  “He said, ‘The real question for you is, once you’ve left this world…how do you want to be remembered?’”

  I stirred from my sleep and let out an obnoxiously loud yawn. I stretched out my arms and legs, accidently kicking a throw pillow off the sofa. I pushed myself backward to slide up in a sitting position, and I rubbed my eyes. Mrs. Flores was sitting in a recliner, staring at me with a warm smile. I jumped in shock. She hadn’t been sitting there when I dozed off, or at least I didn’t think she was. I pulled the blanket over my body more because I felt exposed, even though I wasn’t. I glanced around the dimly lit living room. No one was with us. Was everyone asleep?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m disturbing you,” she chuckled. Her voice was a tad raspy, but it had that silky tone that Rachel’s did, and I couldn’t handle the similarity. It was too weird.

  “Sorry…” I mumbled. She held the remote in her hand, but she wasn’t changing the channels. The TV was turned to a reality show from what I could tell, and the volume was muted.

  “You know…” She began. My heart sped up. Where was everyone? I was afraid of where this was going. I had watched way too much porn in my life to not know what happens next in situations like these. The hot, middle-aged woman was away from her husband and couldn’t resist but to watch the young stud toss and turn in his sleep…

  What the fuck am I even thinking? What is wrong with me? Where is Rachel?

  “My daughter really likes you…a lot.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I just nodded in acknowledgment.

  “She has always been naïve with men and her relationships.”

  “She told me,” I responded.

  “Did she?”

  I nodded.

  “I guess she just picked the wrong ones, for the wrong reasons. She’s only twenty-three, you know.”

  I knew she was a few years younger than me, but I had never discussed Rachel’s age with her before. Hearing it out loud made me realize she was probably only a year or so out of college. I was pushing twenty-eight. Her maturity masked her youth.

  I nodded. I didn’t know what Mrs. Flores was getting at. I got the sense that she was trying to feel me out, like any good mother would of a new man interested in their daughter.

  “She tells me you are one of the best guys she has ever had the honor of meeting.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I heard Rachel’s voice in my head telling her mom what she thought of me.

  “The honor is all mine, Mrs. Flores. Like I said when I met you earlier, she has helped me get this far. Her connection to Ian was the reason she approached me in the first place. It is the only hope I have left. There isn’t much anymore.”

  My words felt cold—empty. It was a difficult truth to acknowledge.

  “Thank you, Owen, for your kind words. She is the brightest star in the sky…and the last one that I have remaining, in an all but dark world.”

  I stayed quiet.

  “Seeing my daughter on the news with you was indescribably painful. I don’t think you’ll ever understand the feeling until you have children of your own. I haven’t been eating much because I have been worried sick about her.”

  “I’m sorry…” I mumbled.
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br />   Mrs. Flores pressed her lips together and sighed. She adjusted her legs and turned more in my direction.

  “Don’t be,” she said flatly. “From what she explained to me, you didn’t ask for this to happen to you. You were just trying to do something good.”

  “I was, and I still am.”

  “Also,” she continued, “Rachel always looked up to her father so much, and when he died, it only made her emulate him more. She was a great writer all throughout school. After high school, naturally she pursued journalism. I knew it was because she wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

  I stayed silent. I had a soft-spot for Rachel, and hearing her mother tell me these things was just what I wanted. I wasn’t on a plane to Moscow anymore. Every bit of Rachel I could get was precious to me. Whether it be from her or Rachel.

  “The way she talked tonight, it was different. She had this determination in her eyes that I have never seen before.”

  My eyes locked with hers. I knew exactly what she was talking about.

  “I have seen it, too. When I first met her.”

  “Well, apparently, it’s all because of you. She said that this was her chance to do a real story. One that mattered.”

  “I know she will…” I muttered. “Regardless of what happens.”

  Mrs. Flores tossed her hair over one shoulder, just as Rachel did. They were more alike than I thought. Her eyes met mine again, and this time, they were cold.