The Circle: Fallon's Story (THE CIRCLE SERIES)

by Danielle Santiago

  ***

  “Got dammit!” Torrence cursed when the phone line went dead. She turned around to her counterparts and the looks on their faces confirmed for her that she hadn’t stayed on the line with Fallon long enough.

  “Urgh!” Torrence growled, tossing her own cell phone across the room sending it crashing into a wall. Palmeri picked up Torrence’s phone and the battery, which had flown in a different direction on impact and walked over to where Torrence stood brooding.

  “I was this fucking close Angelo. This close,” Torrence lamented in disgust. “This is starting to become personal for me. It’s like she’s taunting me or…or…like someone is giving her inside information every step of the way,” Torrence said, flailing her arms to emphasize her point.

  “C’mon Roni, this ain’t your first time at the rodeo. You can’t be taking these cases personal. Now, let’s look at some positives before you go throwing the baby out with the bath water. For starters, we know Porter is out of money and probably out of options. She’s stuck here in the desert so between these conditions and her prima donna attitude she won’t last long and as soon as she slips up for folds we will be there to get her,” Palmeri replied, trying to shed some positive light on the situation. Truth was he thought Fallon Porter was extremely smart and resilient. It had never taken this long to apprehend one of their fugitives unless the person had fled the country. But, Fallon had managed to slip right through their fingers more than once. That alone made Fallon one of the smartest fugitives they had ever chased.

  “It’s time to start combing this strip. I want every police car that Las Vegas PD has out on the streets looking for this girl. As you can see, she ditched the last thing we known her to be wearing. She could be dressed any kind of way now. We’ll have to go off instincts and good damn police work. Let’s move,” Torrence announced, clapping her hands loudly as she rallied all of the officers and U.S. Marshalls in the room.

  “I’m the fucking cat and you’re the mouse Fallon Porter. I will win,” Torrence grumbled under her breath as they all filed out of the hotel room. Torrence was starting to take this case more than personal, she was borderline obsessed.

  Chapter 10

  Manhunt

  Every few feet Fallon walked she had to duck into an alley way or stand with her back against the sides of buildings because of the helicopters hovering in the sky with spotlights shining down on the streets. There were so many police vehicles driving up and down that Fallon had counted twelve in a ten-minute span. The bottoms of her feet were numb from walking. She had finally made it off the strip and was now roaming in a residential area. Fallon spotted a park that was situated at the end of a block of single-family homes. She prayed there was a water fountain in the park because she was thirsty as hell. Fallon ducked into the park and took a seat under one of the slides. The shade was a welcomed change from the hot desert sun that had beat down on her for the past hour and a half.

  “Ahhh!” she sighed quickly taking the flip flops off so she could rub her swollen feet. Fallon sat in the straw under the slide a few minutes contemplating whether she should just turn herself in. Who was she fooling? How far could she really make it without a dime to her name? Fallon picked up a handful of straw and threw it in frustration. She dug her hand in the wood chips again and felt something. She looked down, dusted off the item and realized it was a toy water gun. Fallon sucked her teeth. “What were you expecting in a kid park under a slide Fallon…a bag of money?” She mumbled to herself as she toyed with the little plastic toy gun.

  “Aiden! Don’t run away from me like that!”

  Fallon was startled by a little boy who had run up on her and his mother’s big mouth calling after him. He was the cutest thing, no more than three or four years old. He waved at Fallon picking up the water gun then pointed it at Fallon and acted like he was shooting her. Fallon smiled. The little boy’s mother called him again. He threw the gun back down into the mulch and looked at Fallon. Fallon put her finger up to her lips. “I’m playing hide and go seek. Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” she whispered. The little boy giggled and ran away. Fallon looked over towards the bench where his mother stood calling him. That’s when Fallon noticed another woman sitting on the second bench reading. Fallon eyed the woman for a few minutes.

  “Hmph. That’s just what I would look like in ten years if I stopped wearing weaves and cut my own hair in a bob,” Fallon whispered. Then Fallon was struck with an idea that could get her closer to the Mexican border.

  “Don’t fucking scream or I’ll shoot you right in the back. I am not joking or playing games either,” Fallon huffed into the woman’s ear, holding the water gun under her shirt and pressing it into the woman’s back.

  “Oh God. Please don’t hurt me. Take the money and whatever you want. Just please don’t hurt me,” the woman pleaded.

  “Shut the fuck up. Use your key and calmly open the door. Don’t make a fuss or any noise and maybe you’ll live,” Fallon growled her breath hot on the woman’s neck. “And don’t try to trip any alarms because I will shoot you and then I’ll wait for your kids to get home and shoot them too.” It was a stretch. Fallon didn’t know whether the woman had kids or not, but she figured anyone living in such a big house couldn’t be living there alone.

  “O…o…ok. Anything you say,” the woman stuttered. Fallon could feel the woman trembling all over.

  Once inside, Fallon instructed the woman to go straight to wherever she kept her passport and birth certificate. Fallon held onto the woman tightly with the gun shoved against her spine as the woman opened the safe that was in her closet. Fallon was amazed at the amount of clothes and shoes the woman had in her walk-in closet. For someone who obviously didn’t work, Fallon had spied two or three Hermes Birken bags, Chanel, Louis Vuitton and Gucci bags and rows of Christian Louboutin shoes. It reminded Fallon of her closet at home that she missed so much. Fallon grabbed the passport and birth certificate and shoved it into the woman’s purse, which Fallon had already taken. While the woman was in the safe Fallon noticed a handgun inside. Fallon bent down over the woman and snatched the gun. Fallon also snatched a change of clothes, a pair of workout sneakers and one of the woman’s Louis Vuitton tote bags.

  “How much cash you got in the house?” Fallon asked.

  “About three hundred in my purse…the one that you have there,” the woman cried.

  “Valuables? Diamonds?” Fallon asked.

  “We um…we keep those in a safe deposit box at the bank,” the woman replied. She was probably lying but Fallon didn’t care about that shit anyway. Not like she could go waltzing into a pawnshop at this point. The fact that this woman was Fallon’s skin complexion, had similar facial features, and was almost the same height and weight as Fallon was what made her the perfect victim.

  “Where are your car keys?” Fallon asked frantically, practically pushing the woman back down the stairs.

  “On a peg by the garage door,” the woman answered. She was praying that this intruder would spare her life.

  Fallon led the woman to the door inside of the house that led into the garage. Fallon was excited when she saw the practically new vehicle parked inside. There was a Nissan Murano parked a few feet away.

  “Get on the floor and put your hands behind your head and close your eyes tight. If you comply, you live, if you don’t you know the rest,” Fallon said as she eyed a coil of old telephone wire on a shelf.

  The woman did as she was told. Fallon tied the woman’s hands behind her back and then ran the rope to her feet to make sure she wouldn’t get away before Fallon could make it out of there.

  “How long before anyone gets home?” Fallon asked as she changed into the woman’s clothes that she’d taken from the closet. The woman arched her back to try to see what Fallon was doing.

  “Don’t fucking look at me. Didn’t I just tell your dumb ass to keep your eyes closed,” Fallon whispered harshly, kicking the woman in her ribs. “Now answer the fucking question. H
ow long before anyone gets home?”

  “At least three or four hours,” the woman answered through sobs. She knew that meant she’d be lying tied up in her own garage that long. That was if her attacker let her live. When Fallon was dressed and ready to go she bent down behind the woman’s head and put the tip of the water gun up against the base of the woman’s skull.

  “Now listen to me. When your little husband and kids come home to find you tied up here this is what you’re going to say when they tell you to call the cops. You never saw who attacked you. You never saw what the attacker looked like because they attacked you from behind. You can’t give a description at all. You don’t even know if it was a woman or a man because the voice was muffled. You can’t say what the person took because you were tied up right away. No leads for the police. Understand,” Fallon instructed, pressing the tip of the gun harder into the woman’s head for emphasis.

  “Mmm hmmm,” the woman moaned her agreement.

  “Ok, Dana Reddington you better take heed to what I’ve told you. Remember, I know where you live now. I also have these wallet photos of your boys and your precious husband. So you better act like you never got a chance to see me or else I’ll return once the cops are gone. I’ll send others here too and it won’t be pretty,” Fallon warned. She had learned that shit from Rain and Dayvid; threatening someone with their family members was usually always a sure way to shut them up.

  “Yes. Whatever you tell me to do I’ll do,” the woman agreed, shaking her head up and down frantically, but not daring to open her eyes.

  “Good, in that case, I won’t shoot you right now,” Fallon replied.

  Fallon jumped into the Murano and started it up. She hit the automatic garage opener, quickly backed the vehicle out and hurried to shut the door again before anyone could see the woman lying tied up in her own garage. Just as Fallon pulled off the curb of the woman’s driveway the sound of a horn startled her.

  “Hey Dana!” One of the woman’s neighbors honked and yelled at the same time as she drove by. Fallon returned the quick honk and drove away. She was now Mrs. Dana Reddington and she was heading to the next leg of her trip.

  ***

  “Five hours and not one lead on this girl? Are you shitting me?” Torrence asked disgusted with disbelief. The Las Vegas Police Department’s sergeant on duty shook his head like he didn’t know what else to tell her. His apparent indifference incensed Torrence even more.

  “I mean who do you have patrolling out there? Toy cops? One fucking female fugitive and patrol cops with dogs and helicopters couldn’t find her. Unbelievable,” Torrence complained. “It’s not fucking rocket science I’m asking for here.”

  Palmeri squeezed Torrence’s elbow trying to get her to calm down. They weren’t there to step on the toes of the local law enforcement. It was bad enough most locals hated the feds in the first place. Aside from that, the Las Vegas homicide unit had their own shit storm to deal with after the dead man was found on the train in their jurisdiction.

  “Outside of shutting down every major highway and street in Las Vegas, we’ve done all we could do. I’m sorry Ms. Torrence, I understand you got a thing for catching this particular fugitive, but this is still sin city, we can’t keep all of our guys committed to this manhunt while other crimes go unmanned,” the sergeant lamented. He was trying to be as patient as he could with this federal intruder trying to come in his city and order him around.

  “Well then shut down the highways and streets. What’s the fucking problem? This girl has killed two men over the past three days and shot a fellow law enforcement officer, I’m sure you can get your mafia loving mayor to give the ok to set up manhunt posts on the surrounding highways,” Torrence replied, her face folded into a scowl. The sergeant lowered his eyes at Torrence. Palmeri stepped between the two glaring parties.

  “C’mon Roni, let’s just give it a minute,” Palmeri placated. Even his patience was running low with his partner.

  “Look, I’m just a sergeant around here ma’am. If you want to talk to the chief of police or our mafia mayor, I’m sure one of their offices will be glad to see you tomorrow,” the sergeant said.

  “Tomorrow?! Do you know how far Fallon Porter can get by tomorrow? Why don’t you just find her, give her a car, and tell her to roll on down the road to the next city where she’ll commit her next murder,” Torrence retorted sarcastically.

  “I’ve said what I had to say. Now, I got some calls coming in over the radio and I’m pulling most of my guys off this search. I’ve left you with two patrol cars, but that’s all I can spare,” the sergeant said, walking away.

  Torrence stood there with her hands on her hips when she got a signal on her personal cell that she’d missed a call and had a voicemail. Torrence pinched the bridge of her nose and hit the voicemail button. She listened to her message. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Dammit,” she whispered. Tears threatened to escape from the sides of her eyes. Torrence turned her back so that no one would see her distress. She listened to the message again. It was her daughter on the message crying because her mother had missed her birthday; no call or gift from Torrence.

  Torrence rushed for the door. She needed some fresh air. Just as she went to go through the door, a phalanx of black suit wearing men heading through the doorway on their way into the war room Torrence had set up.

  “U.S. Marshall Torrence?” the suit in the front asked with one of his thick, bushy eyebrows raised. Torrence shook her head slightly and gave him a strange “who wants to know” look.

  “Special Agent Gripper, FBI,” the man said, extending his hand for a shake. Torrence gave him a half-hearted smirk and a weak returned handshake.

  “Marshall Torrence is there somewhere that we can talk?” the man said, all official like. Torrence peered her eyes at Agent Gripper giving him an evil look. She didn’t trust the FBI to be in on her cases. FBI agents were notorious for swooping in, stealing cases and taking all of the glory in the end. Torrence wasn’t about to let that happen. She had worked too hard, made too many sacrifices to just give up her case that easily.

  “And what is it that we need to talk about?” Torrence asked suspiciously.

  “About your case against fugitive Fallon Porter,” Gripper said cryptically.

  “Yeah, what about my case?” Torrence asked, immediately on the defensive.

  “It’s best we go inside the room, find a place and discuss some very important matters in relation to this case,” Agent Gripper said, walking further inside the room. Torrence followed him inside like a donkey following a carrot on a stick. Just like that, she forgot all about calling her daughter to apologize for missing her birthday.

  ***

  Fallon was drifting in and out of sleep while she drove down Interstate 15. She kept shaking her head to stay awake. She couldn’t afford to swerve or make a mistake and go over the speed limit and chance getting stopped by the cops. Fallon had never liked driving alone because once she got bored she’d always start falling asleep. The news radio she was listening wasn’t helping either, but Fallon had to stay tuned to the boring news station to listen out for any new announcements in the manhunt for her and her siblings. It had been close to three hours she’d been driving and the GPS in the stolen Murano said she was only fifteen minutes from downtown Los Angeles. Finally, Fallon saw the “Welcome to California” sign.

  “Yes!! Yes! Fallon! You are that bitch!! Yes!” she screamed excitedly, slamming her left hand on the steering wheel. She had been able to drive all the way from Vegas to LA without getting stopped. The woman she robbed must’ve kept her word and gave the cops no information or leads. Fallon looked down at the gas needle, it was that time. She needed gas and she desperately had to piss. Before she’d even made it to California she was hungry, but her excitement when she was able to get that car, passport and some cash had quickly taken care of those hunger pangs. Fallon kept her eye out for a good place to stop. She wanted to pull over at a busy gas station instea
d of one that only had a few people in it. The less people the more noticeable she would stand out.

  When Fallon finally drove onto the famed Hollywood Boulevard, her heart started pounding with excitement. She couldn’t believe how far she’d come. Fallon pulled into a nicely packed gas station right off of the bustling tourist strip. Before she got out, she put on her floppy hat and the oversized Prada shades she’d taken from the woman’s house. Fallon raced inside of the gas station to use the bathroom, but before she could make it to the back where the restrooms were located, she noticed the wanted posters hanging up in the store. There they were, the four Porters kids from little old Baltimore, Maryland with their faces plastered on MOST WANTED posters all the way in Los Angeles, California.

  Fallon looked around nervously. The store clerk was busy ringing up customers and none of the other patrons had bothered to even look in Fallon’s direction as they went about picking up the items they intended to purchase. Change of plans. Fallon swiftly turned around and headed back out of the doors. She jumped back into the Murano and slowly drove out of the station.

  “Close call Fallon. You’ve come too damn far to get caught up on some wanted poster tipster’s call,” she spoke to herself. She parked a few blocks up so she could program the GPS to take her to her next destination. She would have to find an alleyway to piss in and another gas station to get gas.

  Fallon punched in San Ysidro, California. According to the map she found in the glove compartment, San Ysidro was the nearest border entry and it would put her in Tijuana, Mexico once she crossed. The estimated time of arrival from Los Angeles to the San Ysidro border was two hours and five minutes. Fallon got so excited when she seen the time frame a little tinkle of urine escaped her bladder. “San Ysidro and Tijuana here I come,” Fallon sang.