by Gordon Brown
Charlie sits on the bed. ‘The good news – if there is any – is that the riot overshadowed what happened on the stage. In fact, if you read the detail you would be forgiven for thinking that the two politicians tried to intervene to help.’
‘So I didn’t kill a future world leader?’
‘The suits underestimated what they had turned you into.’
I remember the electricity flowing from my fingers. Of playing it across the theater. The feeling of hate sweeping across the building. Driven by me. ‘I was drugged to the hilt.’
‘And you think you have it under control now?’
‘Strangely I do. Not in a way that I can explain. Hell I can’t explain the half of it but there’s been nothing since you rescued me. Your kids would have been prime candidates. The firemen. The suits. All were in proximity when I was in the hole with you. If it’s stress that brings it on then it sure as hell should have happened then.’
‘So is it gone?’
‘Not gone. Just a bit more predictable. I think. I can still feel it buried in the back of my head. Waiting. But I think it needs my permission now.’
Charlie looks doubtful. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m not sure of anything.’
‘So what will you do tonight if we get in?’
‘I told you. Let nature take its course.’ I lie back in the chair. ‘So how do we get in?’
The newsreader is sitting in front of a picture of me again. Only this time it’s a grainy shot from a CCTV of me in my full baldness. It’s a crop from the theater. My eyes are glazed but it’s clearly me.
‘Shit.’ We both say it at the same time.
Chapter 39
The pizza boxes lie. Fallen soldiers to our appetite. We’re two large bottles of Coke down and a couple of Babe Ruths to the wind.
‘I’m stuffed.’ Charlie rubs his stomach to prove the point.
I stand up. ‘Me too. Now to work. It’s baseball night and I feel like a bleacher moment. We should get there early. Before the police and security get into full swing.’
‘Won’t it be easier to lose ourselves in the crowd?’ Charlie asks. ‘After all, they don’t know you’re going to the game.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it. The senator, Lendl – it has to be a risk for them. I’d be betting on me being there.’
‘Where the hell will we hide if we do get in?’
‘Good question.’
‘And we need tickets.’
‘Cash only. They’ll have your cards marked.’
‘I’m low on cash. I need to use an ATM.’
‘You can’t. They’ll be onto us in minutes.’
‘We can’t get in without money. And we sure as hell can’t go on the run with loose change.’
‘True. Any thoughts?’
Charlie scratches his head. ‘I know where there’s a wedge.’ ‘Where?’
‘In the house in Hudson. Ten grand to be exact.’
‘That’s some nest egg.’
‘As long as Sharon hasn’t used it at some point.’
It’s the first time he’s mentioned Sharon since the escape. He pauses mid breath.
‘I’m sorry.’ I say.
‘It doesn’t seem real. They showed me the tape but it wasn’t me.’
‘It wasn’t. It was me. Both times it was me.’
‘Let’s not go there. It won’t help.’
‘You can’t go to Hudson. They’ll be watching. Anyway, why the hell didn’t you tell me you had ten grand? I wouldn’t have needed the job.’
‘It’s the only source of cash I have and I’m not a complete charity case. Anyway, I’m betting the suits will be watching the front. Remember the house backs onto a golf course and I have the key. If I’m lucky I can be in and out before they know I’m there.’
‘Charlie, they’re not stupid. They’ll have the house covered from all angles.’
‘Have you any better ideas?’
‘I’ll come with you. Two heads are better and all that.’
‘Will you hell. You’re dead weight and anyway it’s you they want. I may not have a two hundred IQ but taking you up to a house we know they’re watching is dumber than a dumb thing. I’ll get a cab. All being well I’ll be back before five. That’ll give us plenty of time to get downtown.’
Charlie stands up and heads for the door.
‘Take care.’ My words sound weak.
‘Stay put. Don’t answer the door. Don’t leave the room. Watch the adult channel if you have to, but stay put.’
I nod.
As the door closes on him I slump onto the bed and wait for my face to reappear on the TV.
My mind turns to the night ahead. I have no plan and no idea what will happen – but it will happen. How the hell do we get in? The place will be alive with cameras and, even if we go early, security won’t just let us wander through.
I go back to my training. Occam’s Razor. Not exactly a grunt’s phrase but my platoon leader liked it.
‘Occam’s Razor. Keep it simple. Complexity leads to complexity. The easy way is often the best way. The more obvious the less likely they’ll see it coming.’
I relax on the bed. Sometimes you just have to give your mind a chance to take a break. A little lateral thinking time. Wait for the rabbit to pop from the top hat.
*
An hour rolls along. I’m starting to fear the worst for Charlie. He would hardly have reached Hudson by now but my mind is a dangerous thing when given nothing to do. I take to checking the windows on a rota basis. Looking for signs of suits, SUVs or police.
I switch off the TV. My face is annoying me. I also wish I’d thought about picking up some pre-paid cells. Then I remember that I haven’t any cash.
There’s a knock on the door and I freeze. A drain fly flaps in front of me, its large wings in slow-mo as the sound of flesh on wood settles in the room. I watch the fly circle the main light as a second knock breaks the silence. There’s the sound of a key in the lock. I move across the room and into the bathroom. I shut the door and flip on the shower. I’m at the small window turning the latch when I hear a Spanish accent. ‘Housekeeping.’
I relax a little but push the window out. At a squeeze I could get through.
‘Housekeeping.’
A prelude to an attack or a genuine call to scrub up the room? Hard to tell.
‘I’m in the shower.’
‘OK,’ comes the reply.
I hear the door click shut. If they’re going to come in, it’ll be quick. I push my head through the window. No one in sight but that means little. I check I have the room key in my pocket and clamber out. I’m better out than in.
I drop to the ground, tensing for whatever it is that I am tensing for.
Nothing.
I stand up and walk to the edge of the building. I take a breath before poking my head out. The rear of the maid catches my eye. There are no suits. No cars. No nonsense. I walk to the main road and all is clear.
*
When the door opens I’m half asleep back in the room. Charlie stands in the doorway like a returning hero. His face is filthy and his clothes are ripped. If he looked bad after our episode in the hole he looks worse now.
‘Trouble?’ I enquire.
‘You might say.’
‘The suits?’
‘Yes.’
He flops on the bed.
‘They were waiting. Two car loads. One in front of the house and a second round the corner. No SUVs this time. Old battered Cutlasses instead.’ He brushes some dirt onto the floor. ‘I spotted them easily enough but they had the house well covered and I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for dark. I skirted the golf course and came at the house from behind. I was lucky. The car covering the back had two in it but they were more interested in chatting than watching and I got in OK. I grabbed the cash and was on my way out when the door burst open.’
‘They saw you?’
‘I think the house was wired.’
‘Wh
at did you do?’
‘I ran. Straight out the back and across the golf course. I had no time to avoid the bushes and trees and I figured it would make it easier if I took them through rather than round. I feel like I’ve torn half my skin off.’
‘But you lost them?’
‘Only because I stole a golf buggy. You should have heard the owners. They were just teeing off when I grabbed the thing and put my foot down. They’re faster than you think. It was all I needed to get a lead. I abandoned it a couple of blocks away. Spent an hour working my way back to the main drag.’
‘If they had cameras inside they’ll know what you were back for.’
‘All the more reason to cut and run.’
‘No. We’re going to the game. I’ve had a change of mind on the plan. Clean up. I need you to run an errand for me.’
Charlie takes his second shower of the day, and, once he’s wearing clean clothes and fifty Band Aids, I tell him what we’re going to do.
‘Let’s not make this complicated. There will be thirty or forty thousand going tonight. So let’s dress the part. Full Devil Rays kit. Baseball cap. Tops, the lot. We simply merge in with the crowd. They’re never going to check everyone, and with a cap pulled down, collar up and head down we just walk in.’
‘We just walk in?’ Charlie doesn’t sound convinced.
‘Yip. I need you to get two home plate tickets, or as close as you can. You also need to strip the nearest seller of a lunatic-fan’s-worth of Devil Rays gear. We leave at six-thirty.’
Charlie is back in less than forty minutes. He looks like the Devil Rays’ best ever customer. ‘I hope the hell that the suits aren’t looking for odd patterns in the sale of baseball gear. The shop will stick out like a sore thumb.’
After we dress I look in the mirror. Head to toe in Devil Ray’s gear. With the cap down I doubt anyone would know who I am.
I lift a knife from the table and put it in my pocket.
‘What do you need that for?’ asks Charlie.
‘Stimulus. What’s this?’ I hold up a cowbell.
‘Seems the fans use them. Usually on the three and two count.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Nope.’
I ring the bell. ‘I reckon a taxi to within a half mile of the ground. Then we walk.’
*
My optimism was misplaced. A mile out and we’re down to a crawl. We pay off the taxi, taking to the sidewalk. We fall in behind two large families and in front of six teenagers. As we close in on the stadium the throng swells. I begin to believe this is not going to be difficult.
The Tropicana Stadium sits in St Petersburg, despite being the home to the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, and is a closed dome. It looks a little worn at the edges but the fans don’t care. The Rays are in the hunt for a pennant. A win tonight will put them a game up on the Yankees.
We need to cross the parking lot to get to the stadium and people are threading their way through the cars – passing tailgaters who are in full beer-and-BBQ mode. The buzz is good, the noise one of hope.
We squeeze between two compacts and then we hit a line. We join it. I step out to get a better look at what the hold-up is.
A temporary fence has been set up. It stretches around the stadium. There are gaps every ten feet or so, each one manned by police, security or suits.
They are asking everyone to remove baseball caps. They aren’t searching bags, just checking faces. As such there’s only a small delay. I pull Charlie out of the line by pretending to tie my shoelace. We’re next to a large van. I slide behind it, out of sight of the checkers.
‘The checks have to be for me.’
‘Probably.’
‘We wait.’
Charlie shakes his head. ‘They have people working the lines. Two are on their way up this one.’
‘Back, then?’
He spins to look behind us. ‘More. Coming the other way. We have a minute at most.’
I turn. A second line is snaking up on the other side of the van. ‘Anyone working that one?’
‘Not that I can see.’
‘Come on. We’ll join it.’
‘But you’ll be on the police in a couple of minutes.’
‘Better than one minute.’
We join the new line to do the traditional line shuffle. Around us the crowd are griping at the delay.
‘Checkin’ for bombs.’
‘Escaped prisoner, I hear.’
‘Police killer.’
‘Terrorist.’
Charlie is eyeing me as we approach the fence. I reach into my pocket. I take out the knife I lifted from the motel room. We’re six from the front and there are two young police officers manning our gap.
‘Hats off. All hats off. We need to see faces.’
The smaller of the two officers repeats the phrase and the people in front pull off their baseball caps. I keep mine on. I place the knife, point first, into the side of my thigh.
‘Hats off, sir.’
We are at the front of the line.
‘Hat off, sir.’ The smaller officer is speaking to me.
I shove the knife into my thigh and twist. A living pain train shoots up my leg and I drop to the ground. Charlie bends over me as the policeman steps towards me. I give the knife another twist and nearly pass out.
‘Sir?’ The officer leans down.
One more twist and my head explodes as the kernel cracks.
I look up and remove my cap. He recognizes me in an instant and stands up. Turning to his colleague he opens his mouth. My headache rolls up and he stops, turning to me, tipping his head to one side.
‘Problem, Jim?’ His colleague is stepping forward as he talks.
Jim’s fist is already travelling when his colleague reaches him. The punch is a good one and takes the other officer by surprise. Jim follows up on the punch with a kick.
‘Move,’ I say to Charlie.
The world drops blue. The pain is gone. We push through the gap as the second officer retaliates. I cut to the right, dragging Charlie with me. Weaving through the crowd. The fighting police officers are lost to the rear.
‘Did you just stab yourself?’ Charlie asks.
I nod. When the blue world goes the wound will hurt like hell but, at the moment, I can move and that’s all that counts.
‘We need to get to our seats,’ I say. ‘The suits will put two and two together and be after us.’
Charlie checks the tickets. He points to the main entrance. ‘We’re in there. At the back of home plate. Best seats I could get.’
The entrance swallows us up as we enter a concourse lined with food concessions and merchandise areas. The place is alive with people behaving like ants. Scurrying around. Charlie counts down the entrances before leading me up a set of stairs and through a tunnel.
We emerge into a filling stadium. A vast empty space sitting below a dome roof that seems to float high above. Three sides of the diamond are attended by seats. The fourth is a wall of advertising and glass. Charlie checks with the ticket girl and we’re shown to our seats.
We have to squeeze by a few people to find our allocation but Charlie has done well. We are less than a dozen rows back, slightly to the left of home plate. The Red Sox pitcher is loosening up. We’re a lot closer to the start of the game than I had bargained for.
The mike is out for the National Anthem and the teams have already been introduced. I look for the senator and Lendl but there’s a lot of ground to cover. A lot of people to check. ‘See if you can spot the senator.’
Charlie starts to look. The blue is fading. The knife wound takes this as a cue to start bitching. I feel blood on my leg and wonder why it’s only starting now. I ask Charlie for the pennant he’s carrying and, to the disgust of the lady next to me, wrap it around the wound.
‘Got him.’ Charlie grabs my arm and points. The senator is talking to some players in the tunnel. There’s no sign of Lendl but he can’t be far away. ‘You realize they’ll be scanning t
he crowd.’
I nod as Charlie says this. ‘I know.’
I keep my head down.
‘Keep your face out of sight,’ I say. ‘We’ll know when the first pitch is due. Let’s try and not give them anything to work with.’
The National Anthem starts up. I don’t stand. The disgusted woman next to me spits at me. ‘Stand up.’ I ignore her. The anthem stops and everyone sits. The announcer calls for the first pitch. I look up and see the senator walking across the infield, ball in hand. The catcher is standing – ready to receive. There is no sign of Lendl. I bury my head in my lap, playing with the knife in my pocket.
The senator pitches and a weak cheer echoes around.
‘What now?’ asks Charlie.
‘We wait. Where’s Tampoline now?’
‘Five rows down, in the VIP seats.’
‘Lendl?’
‘Can’t see him.’
The game gets underway. I keep my eyes on my lap. We hit a three and a two on the Rays’ pitch and the crowd go nuts with the cowbells. I look up and a hand taps me on the shoulder. I start to turn and a familiar prick hits me in the arm.
‘Just sit still, Mr McIntyre. No need to get worked up.’ The voice is not one I want to hear behind me. I feel the drug take me down.
‘You too, Charles. Just take in the game.’
Charlie slumps onto my shoulder.
‘I’m afraid your bar friend may not be quite so used to our hospitality as you are.’ Lendl is oozing confidence.
Treacle flows through my veins and candy floss plays with my head. ‘I’ll fuckinhish, bashdard. I’ll fuchsin.’
‘We’ll talk later. Save it for then.’
There are a hundred things I want to do and say but the drug is strong. Not the ones I’m used to. This is a new sensation. Not so much chilled as just cool. I’m cool with the world. I want to tell Lendl we’re OK. He and I. Really OK. He’s just doing his job. I understand.
I look at the game and I see men trying too hard. Running too fast. I want to tell them to take a drag on a Jamaican Marlboro. Inhale a little of that Caribbean slow time.
Lendl speaks softly. ‘Just watch the game and we’ll all have a friendly cup of coffee at the end.’