by Dave Conifer
“Time to move,” he said after they’d been hunkered down in the sand for less than a minute.
“Why don’t you leave Allie here?” Jane asked. “We can get around better without her.”
“Nice try but I need her here to keep you honest,” he said. They returned to the boardwalk and maneuvered through the joggers and bikers until they’d reached a raggedy line of rolling chairs, guarded by an array of unkempt men who looked too feeble to push them. “Get in,” Creedmoor ordered, pointing at one of the chairs. He handed a few bills to the emaciated chair-pusher and pointed north before climbing in beside Jane. Although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky he unsnapped the clear plastic rain cover and spread it across the front, making it more difficult to see in and out. The pusher tucked the bills away and slipped behind the chair. She didn’t think he’d be able to budge it, especially after Creedmoor got in, but somehow he managed to get it moving back in the direction of Bally’s. After fifty feet she could hear the pusher’s labored wheezing but the chair continued to roll. Pedestrians, their shapes hazy through the thick plastic, moved out of the way without bothering to look. An occasional cyclist whizzed past without even a backwards glance.
Creedmoor turned back to the chair-pusher just after they rolled past the entrance to Bally’s from which they’d come onto the boardwalk not long before. Jane wondered if she and Allie should make a break for it while he wasn’t looking. She pushed the plastic aside and saw what had led Creedmoor to confer with the pusher. A stream of uniformed police officers was filing out of Caesars onto the boardwalk and assembling along the beachside rail. No wonder plans were changing. Again. The chair veered to the left as it rolled to the plaza in front of Bally’s, where country music blared from every direction. Creedmoor continued to pass instructions through the back window as they passed the Korean War Memorial. “Stop!” he finally commanded when they reached a shabby row of storefronts. An army of Middle Eastern and Asian shopkeepers were busy in front of each one, carrying heaps of merchandise and erecting displays of t-shirts and beach toys.
Even before the chair had stopped moving Creedmoor was pushing Jane and Allie out. The man working on the windows of the closest store with a bucket and squeegee came toward them after Creedmoor climbed out and yanked on the locked door. “Not open!” the man said firmly. “Nine o’clock.”
Creedmoor looked across the boardwalk at the growing crowd of police, who were beginning to fan out in every direction. “Open the door!” he commanded.
“Not open,” he insisted, water dripping from the squeegee onto his leather shoes. “Later. Come later. No open.”
Creedmoor pulled the pistol from his pocket, cocked it, and jammed the barrel into the man’s temple. “Now. Open the door now or I’ll blow your brains out.”
The man dropped the squeegee and pulled a ring of keys from his pants pocket. “Okay. You stick up?”
“Shut up and open the door.” When he heard the lock click he shoved the man aside and yanked the door open. He lunged at Jane but before he reached her she walked inside on her own and pulled Allie in behind her. She looked back as the door swung closed and saw no sign that the police had seen them at all.
They’d only taken a few steps when the door swung open again and Squeegee came in. “He stick up! He stick up!” he shouted at a woman who was busy rearranging bins of souvenirs on the counter near an electronic cash register. She looked up, her face already wrung with fear as she watched Creedmoor advance with the gun in his hand. Squeegee caught up and jumped onto Creedmoor’s back, locking an arm around his neck from behind. Creedmoor flicked him off like a bug with an effortless twitch and pushed him into a rack of sweatshirts. The woman dropped a box of decorative magnets and began wailing. Metal sweatshirt hangers screeched on the steel display rack as Squeegee fought to extricate himself. Creedmoor lifted the gun and fired three rapid shots when Squeegee rushed at him. Jane saw a sweatshirt on the rack twitch with the first shot but the second two drilled into Squeegee’s chest, dropping him like a stone onto the grubby tiled floor.
The woman behind the counter howled even more loudly as she brought her hands to her face. Jane braced herself when Creedmoor aimed the gun at her. She knew by now that he could do it, and probably would. But before he had the chance the woman’s eyes rolled back and she collapsed onto the floor out of sight behind the counter, accidentally yanking a dish of small change with her. Coins rattled on the floor as the only three conscious people in the store looked at each other. “Come on,” Creedmoor commanded as he slipped the gun calmly back into a pocket. “Out the back. Move it. We can still double back to the garage.”
With Allie and Jane in front, the group picked their way through a jam-packed store room and a kitchen before they found a plain door that opened onto an alley lined with electric meters and greasy dumpsters. Bally’s towered over them to the left. She wondered why they’d stopped walking after only a few paces behind the store until she looked across the ruins of a demolished building toward Pacific Boulevard, the main avenue of the casino strip. Two Atlantic City Police Department cruisers were parked at the curb with red and blue lights flashing on their roofs. Five or six officers were visible up and down the boulevard, some moving and some not. Creedmoor looked back toward the casino, as if he was assessing whether or not they could get there without being seen.
“Why don’t you just let us go?” Jane asked. “You can get around faster without us. You haven’t really done anything wrong yet.” Well, not to us, anyway, she added silently, remembering what had happened inside the shop and in the garage the night before. “At least leave Allie behind!”
“No,” he said immediately. “He’s not getting off that easy. Otherwise, how would he ever understand what I’m doing here? He’s got a lesson to learn, Jane.” His breathing became noticeably heavier. The gun came back out and suddenly it was jammed between Jane’s ribs. “No more ideas from you. Got it?” Jane nodded.
Allie had been brave so far but as they lingered behind the store a sob escaped her lips. No wonder, Jane thought. Until the previous evening she didn’t know what a gun could do, or even what one was. Now she was probably feeling the danger for the first time as she watched Creedmoor threaten her mother with one. Jane wiped the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “It’s okay,” she said, forcing a smile.
They moved north through the alley, past the rear doors of the tattoo parlors, massage studios and grimy gift shops that Jane had largely ignored on countless visits to the boardwalk. When they reached the end of the string of stores the boardwalk was again in full view. In the other direction the boulevard was now teeming with police. It looked to Jane like they expected Creedmoor to try to break out and they were determined to seal him on the boardwalk. Surely Creedmoor could see this too. Or did he? Maybe not. He sees what he wants to see.
She expected to be led back to the boardwalk but instead they continued creeping along in the gritty no-man’s land of vacant lots and dilapidated housing that remained between the boulevard and the backside of the boardwalk. They were passing through one of the few areas where the casinos hadn’t squeezed everything else out yet. She could see the towers and turrets of the Trump Taj Mahal a few blocks ahead. What would happen when they reached it, she asked herself. She didn’t think Creedmoor was planning to go that far. They’ll be waiting for us there and he knows it. But he’d have to take them somewhere, because after a few more blocks the blighted streetscape that was providing cover would be gone. She made a secret pledge that regardless of where he took them, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She owed that to her daughter.
All three of them looked back when they heard police sirens behind them. Not satisfied with taking control of the boulevard, the police were now moving toward the boardwalk along the cross streets whose names had inspired the layout of the Monopoly board. So far the police hadn’t reached Tennessee Avenue, which Creedmoor was about to lead them across. It’s not going to be long, Jane knew. Things are going
to start happening for good or bad.
“We’re in trouble. It might not work,” Creedmoor allowed. “They’re onto us. This changes things.” He looked at Allie, who had taken the opportunity to wrap both her arms around Jane’s leg with her eyes closed tight. “The cops are all over us. This isn’t good news for Allie. I don’t know if I can cut her loose now. We might not make it for our ride after all.” He took his hands out of his pockets and squeezed his head violently as he worked his jaw. The driver of the passing car slowed long enough for a better look before speeding away. “It’s not supposed to work out this way. It’s not supposed to be this way!” Creedmoor yelled. His hands pumped open and closed as they came away from his head. Jane watched closely as one of the hands went back into the pocket. The pocket with the gun in it. “Come on,” he ordered, preparing to cross Tennessee Avenue.
Jane took a look around. The van coming their way wasn’t moving as quickly as she would have hoped but the situation felt suddenly desperate. It would have to do. Creedmoor had already stepped off the curb but was waiting for the van to pass. Jane peeled Allie from her leg and gauged the speed of the van, which was almost on top of them. She let a few more seconds pass before lunging at Creedmoor, throwing both hands firmly into his back. The sound of squealing tires filled the air as the driver of the florist van stood on the brake pedal in a futile effort to avoid hitting the man who had suddenly fallen into the road in front of him.
The van lurched to a stop but not soon enough to avoid hitting Creedmoor. The jarring slap of steel against human flesh reached Jane’s ears an instant before Creedmoor’s body was launched forward, landing violently on the asphalt. For a fraction of a second nothing moved. Then the driver of the van threw his door open and hopped out.
Jane watched open-mouthed as Creedmoor struggled to flip onto his back, exposing a growing red blot along his left side. She couldn’t believe it. He was hurt but she’d hoped he’d be dead. He was already coming to his senses and his hand was already moving unsteadily in the direction of the pocket, a move that she’d learned to dread. Allie stood frozen on the sidewalk, a sitting duck target for Creedmoor. They both were. There had to be plenty of bullets left in that gun. A quick survey of the area and she knew which direction offered the quickest escape route and provided the most immediate shelter. She grabbed Allie’s hand and dragged her in the direction of the boardwalk. “Allie, I need you to run as fast as you can.” As they scrabbled away from Creedmoor’s crumpled body he rolled back to his stomach and groaned, spitting mouthfuls of blood onto the pavement.
“Hey!” shouted the van driver. “Where ya’ going? Get back here, lady!”
Gunshots ended his protests. Even without looking Jane had no doubt about the driver’s fate, but that didn’t matter to her at the moment. All she wanted to do was get Allie to the boardwalk, which was sure to be swarming with police by then. She considered picking her up but didn’t think she had the energy to carry her. “Keep going, Allie! Hurry!” Relief washed over her when they reached the wooden steps that would take them up onto the boardwalk. Without thinking she hopped up two at a time. It worked for her but not for Allie, who tripped and landed hard before falling over the side and back onto the street. Her jeans were shredded, revealing a skinned knee and a scraped ankle.
“Mommy!” she cried, her face scrunching into a wet, red mass. Jane shushed her as she pulled her to her feet. There was no time for that. She was more concerned with what she saw at the Tennessee Avenue crossing fifty yards back. Things had changed.
Creedmoor, who just a few seconds earlier was sprawled helplessly in the street, was now trotting awkwardly at the boardwalk where Jane and Allie were stopped, holding his bloody side with one hand and the pistol in the other. The lifeless body of the van driver lay in the road behind him. Without waiting for Allie, Jane scrambled up the steps to boardwalk level and scanned in both directions. The police were there, as she’d hoped, but they were too far south to help her. In fact, it looked like they hadn’t moved very far since she’d seen them last. For the time being she and Allie were on their own.
Jane scurried back down the steps to Allie. “We have to run!” she gasped as she lugged Allie up the stairs and deposited her on the boardwalk. “This way!” She again took Allie’s hand and began to jog north as fast as she could while allowing her daughter to keep up. Part of her wished that Creedmoor would fire the gun again. Maybe somebody would intervene if he did. When she looked back she saw that he’d already gained a lot of ground. She considered diving into the Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum, but decided against it. If there was no obvious exit they’d be trapped, and there wouldn’t be anybody in there who could protect them.
He was only twenty feet behind when they reached the Hard Rock Café on the outskirts of the Taj Mahal. She made a quick decision. It wouldn’t be long before the police caught on to what was happening, but she needed a little more time. Maybe there would be a place to hide if she went indoors. “In here!” she yelled at Allie as they changed direction. She yanked the door open and shoved Allie into the restaurant ahead of her. They darted between startled wait staff who were busy serving breakfast. Jane looked back after they slipped past a display of electric guitars and a wall that was plastered with black vinyl LPs. Creedmoor hadn’t been fooled. He was already in the restaurant. Jane paused long enough to see him palm the face of a hostess and shove her savagely into a stack of high chairs. If only it was darker in here, she thought, but it was clear that he’d already spotted them.
They walked through another hallway that took them out of the restaurant and were immediately bombarded by the familiar sound of chiming slot machines. This must connect directly to the Taj, Jane thought. Not a bad place to get lost and stall for time. She led Allie around a corner and charged forward. When she realized that they were about to enter a breezeway, well-lit by the sun but with no exits, she considered turning back. One look over her shoulder told her that wasn’t an option. Creedmoor was on the verge of catching them.
The breezeway, devoid of people at the moment, crossed back over the boardwalk toward the beach. As they hurried through Jane glanced at the boardwalk and saw a throng of police on foot and bicycles advancing toward her. They were still at least a minute away but they’re definitely on the move, she told herself. “We just have to last a little bit longer!” she shouted at Allie.
Something else caught her eye from the breezeway as they raced over top of the boardwalk. The man standing in front of the beach patrol headquarters looked a lot like Sergeant Duane Rockingham. Was that even possible?
When they reached the other end of the breezeway there was nowhere to go but down. As they clattered toward the bottom of the gaudy stairway she looked up in time to see Creedmoor appear at the top with the gun in firing position. She was so busy sliding herself between the gun and Allie that she didn’t hear the shots, but she did feel the sharp sting of grainy shrapnel from where Creedmoor’s bullets had struck the ceramic walls of the stairway around her. How can he get away with this? So far there hadn’t been any security guards or police anyplace that Creedmoor had chased them.
She considered running onto the boardwalk but decided against it. There was no way the police could get to her before Creedmoor would. A foot race in open space was a bad idea. Even with his injuries he’d shown he was fast enough to overtake them. Instead, they ran onto the Steel Pier. The park was deserted at that early hour but luckily the gates were wide open. Surely there’s a place to hide in here, she thought. They ran past a carousel and came to the multi-level Fun House. Creedmoor was limping through the gate but hadn’t seen them yet. “In here!” she said, pushing Allie through an oval doorway.
They scaled a ramp that took them to the upper level but they were still exposed. Creedmoor was searching the carousel horse by horse, the gun in his hand glistening each time it caught some sun. It wouldn’t be long before he moved on. Jane herded Allie through a series of colorful punching bags and waited at the foo
t of a swinging bridge. It seemed like a good spot. If Creedmoor came in they could move forward or retreat depending on which entrance he used. She pulled Allie behind one of the bags and tried to slow down her own breathing before the sound of it gave away their position.
The worst part was not knowing what he would do, but that didn’t last for long. Jane felt the entire Fun House shake as Creedmoor stomped in. When he dragged himself up the same ramp they’d used moments earlier she swung Allie by the arm onto the bridge, but Allie lost her footing on the shifting floor slats and fell on her face. Jane could hear the slap of Creedmoor’s body as he bulled through the punching bags. “Run across!” she yelled at Allie after pulling her to her feet. The bridge was swinging raucously but somehow Allie was able to stay on her feet long enough to make it to the other side. Jane was halfway across when she looked back to see Creedmoor emerge from the punching bags and lurch onto the bridge. She lost her own balance and crashed into the rope side rail before falling onto her stomach. Creedmoor fell too when he stepped onto the bridge, but while grunting with pain he lunged forward and slapped a hand on Jane’s ankle.
Propelling herself forward with brute force by her grip on the rope rail, she pulled away before he was able to close his hand around her. Allie had already passed through a mirrored tube causeway and was painstakingly descending a narrow staircase to the lower level. Jane followed, and together they burst back out into the sunlight. Now she could hear police sirens as she and Allie ran deeper onto the pier. Help was close at hand. If they could last just a little longer—
Thoughts of escape were interrupted by another series of shots. This time they didn’t hit anything close to her, but she pulled Allie in closer to her own body anyway, hoping to shield her. They passed through an alleyway of carnival games, which might have provided worthy hiding places except that each booth appeared to be tightly sealed. A rusty steel bar rested on the protruding counter of one of the booths. Without much thought about what it was or what she could do with it she scooped it up with her left hand without breaking stride. It might not be much of a weapon against a two-hundred and fifty pound man armed with a pistol, but it was better than nothing.