by B. B. Hamel
“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re with me.”
It took more than two hours for his criminal friend to show up.
“How do you even know this person?” I asked him once it was clear he was late.
“Met him in Mexico,” he said. “He supplied some documents to the cartel men. I’m usually good with names and numbers.”
“And he remembered you?”
“Apparently. Not a lot of gringos working for the cartel.”
Around the third hour, a large white van with no windows in the back came rambling slowly down the street. Camden stood and crossed his arms, watching as the van slowly pulled over in front of us. It was the first car we’d seen in almost an hour.
“Jim?” he called out.
The tinted window rolled down. “Hello, Camden.”
He grinned and walked up to the van, shaking the man’s hand. He was old, with wild graying hair and sharp blue eyes. His white beard was trimmed close and his long hair was tied back in a ponytail. He pulled the van over next to our car and parked it.
“Let’s see what we’re doing,” Jim said, stepping out. He looked me over and nodded. “Just the passports and licenses?”
“Standard fare,” Camden said.
“No problem. But it’s going to cost you a lot, getting me out here like this.”
“Fine. Whatever you want.”
He nodded and opened the door to his van. “Come on, you first,” he said, gesturing at me.
I stood up and followed him into the back. I was shocked at what I saw. Inside, it was like a police stakeout van from the movies, except it was filled with equipment to make fake documents. He sat me down in front of a simple white backdrop on a tiny stool and told me not to move.
“Ever have a passport photo taken before?” he asked.
“I have.”
“So many people in your generation don’t bother getting one.”
“We don’t get to travel as much, I guess.”
He took a picture without telling me. “Maybe that’s true.”
“Wait, can you take it again?”
He laughed. “Sure, for an extra fifty bucks.”
I shut my mouth as he got to work. I felt uncomfortable around him. He was older, but he was far from friendly, and he was working methodically to put together a few things. Machines whirred and printed, and he meticulously pasted on images and drew in watermarks.
I watched it all in stunned silence. When he was finished, he handed me a passport and a driver’s license from California.
“Lucy May?” I asked.
“That’s your name. Memorize all that info, too.”
I looked at the birthday. “I’m not twenty-eight.”
“Close enough. Now get out of here.”
I climbed out of the van. “Dick,” I mumbled.
Camden grinned as I approached. “How’d it go?”
“You can call me Lucy,” I grumbled.
“Camden,” Jim called out. “Your turn.”
While he went through the same weird process I just went through, I sat on the curb and memorized my new identity. By the time Camden came back, grinning ear to ear, I had it down pretty well.
“And?” I said to him.
“You can call me Cincinnati.”
“Seriously?”
He shrugged. “His idea of a joke, I guess.”
“That’s insane.”
“Maybe. But the quality is incredible, especially considering this was all last minute.”
“Payment time,” Jim said, coming around the van and interrupting us.
Camden went into the car and pulled out the duffle. He unzipped it and began to count out stacks.
Jim was suddenly very still. His face was impassive, but I noticed the change in his demeanor immediately.
“Here’s five thousand, like you said.”
He looked at the stacks in Camden’s hand. He glanced at me and then moved fast. He whipped a gun out from the waistband of his pants and aimed it directly at Camden’s face.
“What are you doing?” Camden asked.
“This just became an old-fashioned robbery,” Jim replied.
“You son of a bitch,” Camden growled. “We need this.”
“So do I. You think it’s easy living like I do? That kind of cash could change my fucking world.”
“I can’t give this to you.”
Jim pressed the barrel of the gun against Camden’s forehead. “Hand it over.”
“Do it, Camden,” I said, my whole body stiff with fear.
Reluctantly, Camden handed over the bag. Grinning, Jim slung it over his shoulder and slowly backed toward the car.
“I’ll let you keep those documents,” he said.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“You just made a serious enemy,” Camden said, staring Jim down.
“I know. But you’ll never see me again, so who cares?”
Jim climbed into his van, still aiming the gun at Camden.
“Never stop driving,” Camden said slowly. “Otherwise, I’ll catch you.”
“Maybe next time.” He waved, started the van, and then drove away.
I stood next to Camden, watching the van slowly disappear down the street. “What do we do now?” I asked him.
He grinned at me and walked over to the car. He opened the trunk and gestured for me to join him. I walked over and stood next to him, looking down. He lifted up the spare tire’s cover and laughed.
Shoved down inside the spare tire were fat rolls of money.
“What the hell?” I said, laughing along with him. “You had more?”
“I’m paranoid,” he said. “I like to keep some separate, just in case.”
“How much is that?”
“Enough to get us there. But not much.”
I laughed and kissed him again, his arms wrapping around my waist. “Canada?” I asked after a second.
“Canada.”
It was dark when we got to the border crossing.
There were only a few cars ahead of us as we queued for the guards. We didn’t speak, and I felt my heart hammering in my chest. I went over the information on my documents over and over again in my head, making sure I knew every date by heart.
“Remember,” Camden said suddenly, “don’t hesitate when they ask you something. This is who you are now.”
“I got it.”
He looked at me and smiled. “You’re going to be fine, Lucy.”
“I know, Cincinnati.”
“Call me Nate. All my friends do.”
“Friends?”
“Sure. Hundreds of them.”
“I find that hard to believe. Did Jim fake them, too?”
He laughed and we pulled up a spot. I felt a little better, but I still kept going over the facts in my head.
This was the first time we were coming across an authority figure. In all our time driving stolen cars and shooting guns, we hadn’t come up against the police yet. I was nervous they were going to spot the problems with our story right away and throw us in handcuffs.
“What if they’re looking for you?” I asked suddenly.
He sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t think of that.”
“You mean that’s possible?”
He looked at me. “I killed three people in the last week. Yes, it’s possible.”
I sat back, stunned into silence as we advanced another car. We were one away, and I could see the border guards eyeing us up from their booths. I suddenly felt like a criminal, and the full magnitude of what was happening sunk in.
I was in a car with a man who had killed. We had cash in the trunk, guns up front, and we were traveling with fake documents. If something went wrong, we were both going to jail.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I’ll get us through this.”
My heart was racing as the car in front of us pulled forward.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No.”
He pulled up an
d stopped, rolling down his window.
“Documents, please,” the guard said.
Camden handed him both of our fake passports. The man made a show of looking at them and glancing up at us.
“Names?”
“Cincinnati Benadictus,” Camden said. “But call me Nate.”
The guard looked at me. “Name, please.”
“Lucy May.”
He looked back down, studying the documents. After a second, he looked back up. “Reason for your visit, sir?”
“Vacation.”
“You, miss?”
“Same for me,” I said.
“Where are you guys headed?”
“Vancouver. We hear the beer there is fantastic.”
The guard didn’t smile, just handed him back the documents. “Anything to declare?”
“Just my love of your fine country.”
He frowned. “Please, sir. Anything of value to declare? Any cash or illegal substances we should be aware of?”
“No. Nothing.”
The guard stared at us for a second. “What about you?” he said, looking at me.
“Me?”
“Yes. Anything to declare, miss?”
I shook my head. “No, nothing.”
“Baby formula? Plants? Grains or seeds?”
“None of that,” I said.
He nodded. My heart was about to jump out of my ribcage.
“Have a nice trip,” he said, and the gate in front of us rose.
Camden accelerated smoothly past the guards and over the border.
“Welcome to Canada,” he said, grinning.
I felt like I was going to pass out with relief.
“I never thought I’d be so happy to be here,” I said.
“Nobody feels this excited for Canada.”
“Except criminals.”
“Obviously.”
We drove north for another few hours, the miles flashing by. I felt elated, terrified, confused, and ready.
Alaska wasn’t far away.
12
Camden
The drive through Canada went surprisingly fast.
We stopped at a Tim Horton’s, like I promised her we would, but otherwise we stuck to whatever we found that was convenient and dingy motels. We ditched two different cars, moving up along the coast into colder and colder weather.
At one point, we were forced to stop and buy heavier clothing. I hated using our money for that, but I couldn’t exactly let Lacey freeze to death on my watch. Once the clothes were purchased, we were surprisingly light on cash; it would last us until we got to Juneau, but not much longer. I hoped, at least.
And worst of all, I wasn’t sure if Trip’s people could be trusted, if they even existed. It kept nagging at me as we drove. I couldn’t plan for what was going to happen because I genuinely had no clue.
I wasn’t sharing my reservations out loud with Lacey, though I could tell she was thinking the same thing.
“What’s going to happen when we get there?” she asked me one night, lying side by side. We hadn’t slept together since the night in the car, but there was a tension between us.
“I really don’t know.”
“I hope we see our parents.”
“We will.”
“Do you still trust Trip?”
I looked away. “I don’t know.”
We lay there in silence for a while. I couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or not until she let out a long, low sigh.
“It’s me they want, you know,” I said finally.
“What do you mean?”
“They don’t really care about you guys. They just want me.”
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“I’m just stating a fact.”
“You’re not going to sacrifice yourself for us.”
“That’s not high on my list of things to do.”
“But you will.”
I looked over at her in the half moonlight. I wanted to kiss her lips, but I had no clue where we stood. The tension between us was so thick it was hard to breathe.
“I will if I have to.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, frowning, her hair spilling all around her.
“I’m not letting you do that.”
“You don’t have much of a say, Lace.”
She put her hand on my chest. “Don’t be an asshole.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed her hair, pulling her face toward me, and kissed her hard. She returned the kiss, at first. But after a moment, she gently pulled away.
“Another night,” she said, climbing into her own bed. “Now I’m tired.”
I sighed, clenching my jaw, my cock rock hard but throbbing, wanting her sweet pussy. I watched as she turned over and pretended to sleep.
I had no clue what was going on with her, but she didn’t want me to fuck her. Still, maybe not that night, but very soon I was going to eat every inch of her delicious little pussy until her voice went raw from moaning.
I put my arms behind my head, annoyed that I was going another night with blue balls. She hadn’t been frigid, exactly, since that first time we fucked, but she had been distant. I didn’t know why but assumed it had something to do with the stress of the situation. Plus, she probably wasn’t sure how she felt about the guy she watched murder two men, even if it was in self-defense.
There were no easy answers here, this wasn’t just a movie or a game. It was the real thing we were dealing with. I hated how complicated it all was. For me, life was simple: I protected my family, and I fucked when I wanted to fuck. But for Lacey, though, things weren’t so easy. I wanted to make my tight little step sister come for me over and over, and as much as I knew she wanted it too, she was obviously too conflicted.
But it didn’t matter. I’d keep her safe, and I’d get that nice wet pussy again soon enough.
I rolled over and tried to sleep.
But it wasn’t long before we were through the Canadian portion of the trip and knocking on the door of America again.
We didn’t have to stray far from the border as we wound our way up toward Juneau. The biggest part of Alaska was the most northern, and it bordered Canada’s Yukon Territory It was basically one huge frozen wasteland where only the craziest, hardiest people went to live permanently.
Fortunately, Juneau was still close to British Columbia, the westernmost province in Canada. It was in the middle of a small sliver of land that fell down from the mainland toward Canada, which meant it was only a few hours’ drive from the border itself.
We were ready for the crossing, but we were nervous. I had no clue if anybody had reported our car stolen yet or not, and I really didn’t want to find out the hard way. We stole one just before trying to make the crossing, which definitely helped our chances, but it didn’t guarantee anything.
The line to get into Alaska from Canada was even shorter than the line from Washington to Canada, which meant we were put to the test almost immediately. Lacey seemed nervous, almost jittery, the whole ride toward the border, but she wasn’t interested in talking.
And frankly, neither was I. There were more important things coming, and I knew Lacey could handle herself.
As it turned out, though, it was pretty easy to get into America as an American, especially when the border guard was a young, bored Alaskan. We declared nothing and were across almost within five minutes of pulling up.
It was almost too good to be true, but neither of us complained. We sped down the highway, following signs for Juneau. I felt nervous and elated all at once.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, we turned off the main road and headed in toward downtown Juneau.
“So this is it,” Lacey said, breaking our hours-long silence.
“Smaller than I expected.”
“More water.”
Juneau was a port city located in a bay. It was split between two halves, a western and an eastern half, with a bridge over the water connecting them.
&
nbsp; But it wasn’t much of a city. I was used to Mexico City, which was an enormous urban place, and Lacey was probably used to Chicago. Juneau, though, was more like Hammond or any number of smaller cities spread throughout the US. Alaska probably didn’t have the population to support a large urban center.
“Small, too.”
“Can’t be too many people that want to live out in Alaska,” I said.
“Still. This is where we’re supposed to hide?”
“Maybe, maybe not. This is where we’re supposed to meet Trip, at least.”
She went silent at that as we slowly drove through the city streets. There were people out, though it was late in the day on a Thursday. The people were mostly dressed in outdoors-type gear, raincoats and boots and thick-looking sweaters. We were dressed similarly, which was good. We wouldn’t stand out.
“What do we do?” she asked after a few minutes of driving.
“Look for a pay phone.”
“You’re really going to call that number?”
“I don’t have much of a choice here.”
“Are you sure you don’t know where Trip might be? There’s no other way of contacting him?”
I sighed. “This is the plan, Lace. We didn’t have time to set up anything more than this.”
“Still, you’re supposed to be partners in crime.”
I clenched my jaw, memories coming back to me. I remembered the desert and Trip’s big black cowboy hat. On the ground in front of us were two men, strangers to each other, but well-known to the cartel. They owed us money, owed us a lot of money, and we were supposed to get that money. But when we showed up at their houses, they had both tried to run.
We got runners every once in a while, but usually people realized that it was useless to try to resist. Those two guys, though, they had both put up a fight, which was very unusual. Our standard practice with runners was to tie them up and drag them out into the desert. That was usually enough to scare them into talking.
But those two, they were made of stone. Or maybe they were feeding off each other’s energy. Either way, they refused to talk.
“Come on,” Trip said. “Where’s the money?”
“Fuck you,” the thin man said.
I kicked him in the face and he flopped backward.
“What about you?” Trip said to the ugly one.