by Greg Walker
It had taken all of his self-control to stare down the shotgun thrust into his face, even though he didn’t think Jon could pull the trigger. Jon wasn’t like him. Jon was weak and soft and still believed in right and wrong in the classic sense. Will had evolved, and he knew he had entered the ranks of an elite class. But still. He had hoped for more from his one-time friend, had even stopped himself from pulling his own gun on Jon to avoid a stand-off that could escalate into having to shoot him. So Jon got to live, but would get caught and probably do some time. Would have anyway, as the use of his car nearly guaranteed Jon's apprehension, a fact that had troubled him earlier. But it served him right for nearly botching things completely and especially for leaving him in a difficult situation. He wished now he had simply done it all himself.
He made it to the motel, a small building with only five rooms, his the only one occupied, and parked next to his car. He waited, saw the curtain in the office window part, and then return to its previous position. He didn't think the elderly proprietor would bother coming outside to check up on things. The extra weight he carried, plus the cane leaning against the wall, allowed a reasonable expectation that the man wouldn’t budge barring a fire. This was not luck. Will had checked out three other establishments before settling on this one. He prided himself in having planned this thing out as much as one man could, doing his best to reduce or even eliminate the wild card. Perhaps Brody wasn’t as accomplished as he had given him credit for. But Will had lacked experience then, and since had won a position which qualified him to evaluate and criticize.
He got out and quickly transferred the heavy bags to his own trunk, went inside to tear off his guard uniform and replace it with sweats, got back in Jon’s car and drove out towards the road. A car slowed and turned into the lot, passing his passenger side. He stared at the driver, but couldn't make out any features other than determine that a woman drove it. Nothing about the car said police. At this point, he didn't believe they would approach him with an subtlety; maybe later, if they could track his movements and so not to spook him, but right now he expected sirens blazing and lights flashing, guns drawn, the whole show.
He only had to drive a half mile to the dirt road. He made his turn with no other cars on the road to see him do it, and breathed easier. He turned off his headlights and idled until his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, then drove carefully until reaching the state game lands. He pulled into the dirt lot and then squeezed the car onto the one-lane track, riding up and down on ruts too steep to be called mere potholes, the bottom of the car scraping the surface at regular intervals. The first few hundred yards passed through a field with vegetation not high enough to completely hide the vehicle, and so Will continued to the tree line. Once inside, he turned on his lights and drove another hundred yards and stopped at a hunter’s pull off. They would find the car eventually, but long after his disappearance. Terrence certainly hadn't gotten a good enough look to give a description. Will wondered if he had suffered brain damage from the blow to his head, the way he had just stared. If so, at least no one else would have to suffer through his stories.
He got out and jogged back down the track, a clock ticking in his head, the longer he stayed the greater his chance of being caught. He would drive west from here, maybe all the way to Montana before he turned north into Canada. By then he would have fishing gear in the back seat where the border agents could see it, and more supplies to cover the money bags in the trunk. Will still had enough of his own cash to finance everything for that deception, and then could figure out how to convert and use the stolen funds once he got over the border.
He made it back out to the dirt road, still running and breathing hard. Once he reached Route 5, he walked the half mile back, despite the desire to sprint. He still had to apply the hair coloring and then clean up and leave no trace of it. He suspected that they were tearing his apartment up right now, a thought that made him smile. But soon the net would spread wider, and the further away he got the better.
As he entered the parking lot, a car parked against the trees on the opposite side and facing away from the rooms caught his attention. He eyed it carefully as he walked towards his door, trying not to make his interest too obvious. It was the same car he had seen earlier.
The driver’s door opened and a woman stepped out, looked directly at him and smiled. She had long brown hair and wore a tight t-shirt and jeans, but despite that looked like a soccer mom on furlough; nothing about her suggested any connection with the robbery and he relaxed somewhat. Probably just here for a room. Sure, she had seen him, but then the police already knew who they were looking for. And he would leave the motel a different man, anyway.
“Hi honey. You looking for some company?”
The question shocked Will, so far removed from anything he had anticipated, and he stared at her slack-jawed, then managed a smile and shook his head.
She carefully enunciated her next words. “You a little slow? It’s okay, I don’t mind. Fifty-dollars gets you whatever you want.”
The woman smiled seductively at him, but her eyes flicked continuously towards the main office window, and Will could sense her nervousness. Her doubts about his mental faculties angered him, and he wanted to tell her what he had just done, see if she still thought him slow. She wasn’t a knockout but pretty enough and looked clean, though he had little experience with prostitutes. It had been too long since his last time. He felt a stir of desire and nearly ran with it, but then chastened himself. He needed to get going, not get it on with some hooker.
“No, I’m not slow. I’m in a hurry and not used to being propositioned by a whore.”
She didn’t flinch at his slight as he had hoped.
“What about your friends inside? You think they might want something?”
“What are you talking about? Who’s inside?” He stepped closer to her, and the force of his words caused her to shrink and the smile slipped a bit from her face.
“I didn’t know if anybody was. I was passing by when you drove out, and there was that other car here so I thought maybe you had company. Look, if you’re here with your wife or girlfriend, I could join in. Cost you just a little extra. Could be a lot of fun.”
Will turned away and continued on to his room, had wasted enough time here already. Over his shoulder, he said, “No thanks. I said I’m not interested. Now why don’t you leave before I call the police?”
“I’m just trying to make a living, Mister. You don’t need to be an asshole about it,” she huffed. Will turned at the threshold and watched her get back into her car and slam the door. She pulled out of her spot, gave him the finger while she shifted gears, then got on route 5 and drove back towards the city.
Will had just finished rinsing and wiping down the sink, and was inspecting his new head of black hair in the mirror for any spots missed and wondering how long it would take for his stubble to morph into a full-fledged beard when he heard the knock on the door, delivered in a light tap. He held his breath and listened. The seconds stretched on in silence but for the drip of the faucet that wouldn’t shut off entirely, and he decided his nerves had caused him to imagine the sound when the knock came gain, a bit louder.
He crossed the motel room floor as quietly as possible, picked up his gun from the bed and went to the door. He peered into the peep hole and after correcting for the distortion, recognized the hooker from the parking lot. He thought about opening the door and screaming at her to go away or even pulling the gun on her, but realized that she would then have seen him with his new hair color and could give a description to the police. Instead, Will seethed and waited silently on the other side for her to leave.
She knocked again, louder this time.
“I know you're in there, Mister. Listen, there are cops all over the place looking for somebody, and from the picture they had, I’d say he looked a lot like you. They set up a road block a few miles towards Erie. If they get down here and see me standing outside they're going to wond
er why, so let me in and we can talk. I can help you get away. I know all the roads around here and they can’t block them all."
A shiver ran up Will's spine. He peeked out and tried to discern the alternate flashes of blue and red through the tiny hole. The girl was standing with her back to him, her head swiveling around as if scanning the road. All the moisture had fled from his mouth and his mind raced. Will opened up the door but left the security chain attached and looked out at her through one eye.
"Why would you help me?" he said.
She turned back around to face him. "Because I can't stand the cops. They're always harassing me. As long as you didn't hurt some girl, I don't care what you did. You didn't do that, did you? I got pepper spray, just so you know."
Will didn't want to let her in. But he wanted to draw the police even less. He stood frozen with indecision, his hand on the little chain.
She blew out a breath of exasperation.
"Jeez. Just trying to do you a favor. I don't expect anything for it, unless you feel like it's worth something later on." She shifted her weight and turned around again, nervous, watching the road. Still, Will said nothing.
"All right, do it your way. I've been warned to stay away from this place and I can't handle another arrest right now. I might stop by the jail sometime to say ‘I told you so.’ Good luck." She walked away.
"Wait. Okay, come in."
She spun on her heel and walked quickly toward him and into his room. Will shut the door, looked out through the peephole again, then went to the window.
"How far away were they?"
"I didn’t talk to any cops. I just made that up."
He whipped around to face her, saw the gun and forgot his own that hung slack at his side.
“Put that down or I’ll shoot you.”
Will dropped his weapon. It thunked as it struck the floor.
“You want money? Here, take what I have and go.”
Will reached around to get his wallet.
“Hey! Keep your hands where I can see them. I don’t want your money. I want to know where my husband is.”
“Your husband? How the hell should I know. I didn’t think that hookers even had husbands. Look, I really need to leave, so if that’s it I can’t…”
“Jon Albridge. Where is he?”
“Jon? You’re his wife? Erin?”
“Tell me where he is right now or I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”
She had started to cry, and the gun shook as she held it in both hands. Will thought about leaping towards her and trying to wrestle it away, but checked himself. Despite being distraught, she didn’t strike him as a frail woman, and though he didn’t believe she wanted to kill him, he believed that she would.
“Jon should be along any minute. We were supposed to meet here.”
“Then why were you driving his car? I saw you in it. How’s he going to get here, walk? One more time. You tell me the truth or you’re a dead man. I swear to God.”
Will regretted the lie, or at least wished he had come up with something better. Having a gun stuck in his face had put a crimp on his creative abilities. But he had to try again. If he told her he had left Jon in the warehouse, he didn’t like his chances at making it out of here.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Jon ran. We were right in the middle of everything and he just took off. He’s probably out hiding somewhere. I didn’t have time to look for him. I swear I would have. I stashed his car down the road so they wouldn’t find it and planned to call him later. Nobody saw him, and I don’t think anyone saw his car either. He should be a free man.” Will maintained eye contact, looking for facial cues to see if she bought his story. He thought he saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes and the taut line of her mouth soften. The gun, while still pointed at his chest, didn’t waver as much.
“I’m sorry. There were some complications. Things didn’t go as smooth as I had hoped but I think we made it.”
“Okay,” she said.
He allowed a sigh of relief to escape. She began to lower the gun but then something moved within her and she slowly raised it up again. Her eyes held steel and her jaw muscles tensed as she gritted her teeth.
“Hey, wait. I swear that’s the truth.”
“Maybe. Damn you, Brody.”
“But I’m not…”
He sunk to his knees as the explosion reverberated through the room, his world slowly receding as if looking through the peephole again, but this time from the edge of a great darkness.
...Brody Stape, he thought, and then even that little window closed and the darkness swallowed him whole.
Erin walked through the parking lot, her eyes fixed on the curtain of the motel office. She thought she saw it twitch, waited for a face to peer out and catch her standing frozen in the lot, but the face never came. She focused on drawing deep even breaths, then forced her feet to move. She pushed away thoughts of the morality of what she had done, didn't think she would ever spend much time trying to sort it out. No matter what other emotions her act evoked - terror, anger, fear of being caught - she could not muster any sorrow for killing him. Especially if it turned out Jon was dead.
She hiked down the road, the gun tucked away in her purse, and almost missed her car parked in an abandoned Tastee-Freeze lot. She got in, threw down her purse on the passenger seat and sobbed, her entire body shaking: in response to the trauma of taking a life, for the harrowing period she had endured while waiting for this night, and especially for what might have befallen Jon.
She didn't know if Brody had told the truth, but after the first lie she knew she could never believe anything else he said. And then she knew that it had become her duty to kill him. How could she encourage Jon and then give herself a pass? For what other reason had she bought the gun, and taken classes to learn to use it while supposedly at some home decor party or watching a movie at a friend’s house so that Jon wouldn’t know? She had more scented candles picked up at Wal-Mart on the way home to fool him than she knew what to do with. She didn't relish killing Stape, but people did things all the time they didn't want to do, and sometimes a thing just needed done.
On Friday morning, Erin had dressed after a quick shower, hiding her clothing beneath her robe. After a flurry of kisses and a long hug that felt too much like a final goodbye, Jon had left. She waited a few minutes and followed, easily catching up on the two hour trip north on route 79. Once she had spotted his car, she hung back just far enough to keep him in sight but remain out of his.
She then played a nerve-wracking game of remaining hidden but staying close enough to keep tabs on him. Erin decided that she had no choice but to check into the same motel. She felt ridiculous in a pair of oversized sunglasses and the wig transforming her into a brunette, and the clothes designed for a woman half her age purchased at the mall. She needn’t have bothered. The few times she saw her husband, he was so distracted that she could have walked past him naked without him noticing.
She remained vigilant, running to the window anytime she heard the sound of a car starting in the lot. Her diligence paid off when on Friday night she got outside just in time to follow him to the warehouse. She had gone straight when he had made the final turn, after noting his taillights signaling that he had braked and slowed down, and quickly cut her lights and pulled to the curb, getting out of the car and watching over the roof. Another man had gotten into the car with him at the gate, and she burned with hatred on seeing Brody Stape, the source of so much misery, for the first time.
She then discretely followed the white Toyota back to the hotel, waited until Jon had gone inside, waited in the car a while longer to see if he would leave again, and then reluctantly returned to her room to get some sleep. She had no idea what she could possibly accomplish, except be near for her husband's sake while feeling so very far away. She only knew that she couldn't bear to sit home, waiting for a call from the police to notify her of his death, or a call from Jon himself from inside the police station.
She awoke to the sound of a car idling and, still groggy, rushed to the window as the white car left. She had slept in her clothing, and so hurried out the door in pursuit. Back to the warehouse. This time, only Brody came out. Both Jon and his vehicle were stashed inside. She fought the temptation to follow Stape, but couldn’t leave Jon. Surely Brody would be savvier to a tail, anyway, and she refused to jeopardize Jon's safety or force them to abort this mission and possibly begin the cycle all over again. She couldn't bear that without going insane.
Brody didn't look like much from a distance: tall and skinny, like a banker or car salesman. Certainly not a killer. She wondered why she had only seen two men, where Will fit in all of this. Maybe inside too. She hoped so; hoped that, for all her disdain of Will, he and Jon could at least draw strength and support from each other. For now.
She sat at the curb a while longer, watching for activity. Traffic increased as the rest of the world woke up. A man walked by with his dog and then stared at her while the animal watered a sign post. She knew she had to move before arousing suspicion, maybe attracting the police. She started the car, and for the morning and afternoon drove varying routes, learning this scruffy section of Erie by heart, always swinging back by the warehouse. Nothing had changed, but for all she knew Jon wasn't inside anymore, could have slipped out at any time. But her gut told her that this is where it would happen, and at night made the most sense. She battled both terror and boredom, a strange mix of emotions but appropriate for the strangest day of her life.