Running On Empty

by Colette Ballard

  My heart pounded in time with the footsteps hitting the wooden stairs behind me. When I reached the bottom, I took a sharp right and pushed through the swinging employee doors and followed the lit exit sign. As fast as my fingers would move, I fumbled with the dead bolt until it clicked, then heaved the door open.

  Warm air hit my face as I sprinted into the barely lit parking lot. I skidded to a stop when I saw that the lot was enclosed by a tall chain-link fence. My eyes darted wildly until I spotted a gate slightly ajar.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Drakie and Wick exiting the restaurant. Thug-zilla lurched around the corner, still rubbing his eyes. “Get her!”

  Electricity buzzed though me as I raced for the metal gate. I tugged at the chain-locked opening, but it didn’t budge. Dammit! Gripping my fingers into the cross-hatched metal, I attempted to climb the fencing, but my boots slipped and sent me back to the blacktop.

  My pulse swooshed in my ears so loud I could barely hear the sound of labored breathing coming from behind me. They couldn’t be more than twenty steps away. I attempted to squeeze myself through the narrow opening. God, it was so tight. Metal rattled as I shimmied and pushed until I finally squeezed through.

  Behind me, Tony cursed. “She won’t make it far in that direction. We’ll get my car and head her off in the alley.”

  After running what seemed like a mile, I skidded to a stop where the alley intersected. Oh God! Now what? Surrounded by darkness with only scattered street lights, I’d lost my sense of direction. All the buildings looked similar: concrete and graffiti painted on crumbling brick buildings. Wait. Crumbling brick, graffiti… Suddenly, I remembered the building Kat had pointed out when we parked our car, the tallest building in the area that would serve as an easy marker. Our North Star.

  I climbed on the hood of a junked car, and my heart skittered when I spotted it in the distance. As fast as I could, I darted left and took off in that direction, hyper-aware of what Tony said about catching me in the alley. Not knowing whether it was a trick or the truth, I ran like I was on fire. And when I finally got close enough to see our lone car parked where we’d left it, with Billi Jo sitting on the hood and Kat pacing in front of the parking lights, I nearly leaped out of my skin.

  I made it another block and was about to run for the car when a canary yellow Camaro rumbled around the corner, slow and searching. When it passed under the streetlight, I saw Tony in the passenger seat. Cold chills rocketed up my spine. If I didn’t do something quick, they’d see Kat and Billi Jo and go after them. Without hesitation, I veered under a light where they could see me, then ducked into the building that, I’d decided hours ago, was my safe haven.

  In an instant, tires screeched to a halt, doors swung open, and tennis shoes slapped the pavement. “We’ve got her now,” Tony snarled.

  One of the heavy wooden double doors moaned when I pawed it open and slipped inside the dilapidated structure. Moonlight filtered in through the door, and broken windows shed an ominous light on the cobwebs and inch-thick dust. Pieces of shelves and broken chairs scattered the wooden floor like an obstacle course as I made my way to the hall, searching for a place to hide or an escape route.

  The door squealed as they entered, and muffled voices whispered about the different routes they could take. “Drakie, you take the stairs, Wick, you…”

  I ducked into a room with a busted-out window and stood still as stone while I strained to listen. My heartbeat jackhammered in my chest so loud I was sure it would lead them straight to me.

  The loud crash of wood furniture made me shudder. “Son of a bitch!” Tony cursed, and then another loud crash followed.

  Idiot, that’s what happens when you explore dark, abandoned buildings after you’ve been pepper-sprayed.

  Broken glass popped beneath my boots when I inched closer to the edge of a tall window. My stomach somersaulted when I peeked over. The windows weren’t that high by most standards, maybe six or seven feet off the ground, but for somebody who hated sliding boards as a kid, I might as well have been contemplating sky diving—without the parachute.

  “This way,” Drakie called. “I heard something.”

  My heart slammed against my rib cage as I stood motionless at the window ledge, holding my breath with each of their crunching steps. I braced my hands against the brick wall to steady myself, crumbling mortar gritty and warm beneath my fingertips. Sweat trickled down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I was too afraid to move to wipe it away. This place was no safe haven; it was probably never a library but a damn insane asylum.

  When the door creaked behind me, I squeezed my eyes tight and jumped into what seemed like ten minutes of airborne hell. My body jolted with the shock of impact, and I pitched forward on my knees, my hands burning as I skidded across crumbling shards of brick and debris.

  I pushed myself up and only got a few steps before something large and damp clamped onto my upper arm, causing me to spring back like a rubber band. Fear shot through me, and I went into fight mode. “Get off of me! Get off of me!”

  “Calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you.” His voice was familiar, and it gave me the sense to focus. It was Wick.

  Relief flooded me when, in my peripheral view, I saw Kat and Billi Jo still parked in the same spot less than thirty yards away. “Take the money.” I unclenched my hand and let the wadded bills drop to the ground. “Just let me go.”

  “You’ve gotten me in a hell of a lot of trouble tonight,” he growled. “Why should I?”

  Because I had good intentions tonight—making money so I could keep my friends from starving, then protecting them after everything went to shit. “Because I could’ve gotten you in a hell of a lot more trouble. I could’ve told Tony about your little diversion scheme, but I didn’t.”

  Wick narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “Why?”

  Because I understand what it’s like to make a mistake so big you can’t fix it. “Because he would’ve hurt you.”

  He scowled. “I’m not afraid of him.”

  I looked up, doing my best to make eye contact in the poorly lit parking lot. “Well, you should be.”

  Something crossed his face; maybe an understanding that he had good reason to be afraid of his cousin, or maybe an understanding that I’d been hurt by someone like his cousin. Whatever the reason, his fingers loosened their grip around my arm.

  “Wick, did you catch that crazy bitch?” Thug-zilla yelled from somewhere in the shadows above me.

  Wick allowed me to ease my arm away but watched me like he was an attack dog questioning his job. “You’re not like him,” I assured him before I slipped away and took off.

  It was true. In the restaurant when we ran into each other, he stopped to help me pick up my things. And now, he let me go instead of feeding me to the waiting crocodile. His intentions for inviting us to play cards were naïve and reckless, but he wasn’t a bad person. I understood this all too well.

  Tires squealed out into the street when Kat saw me coming, and I raced to meet her. She pulled to the sidewalk, I jumped in the back, and she floored it.

  My shoulders fell when I glanced back at the three guys standing under the lamppost; Drakie and Thug-zilla pointing and cursing, and Wick staring.

  “Hot damn, that was some crazy shit!” Billi Jo drummed her red Chucks on the dashboard, then broke out into a crazy hyena laugh.

  Kat looked over and grinned, then started to snicker, and before I knew it we were all some version of hysterical. As messed up as it was that we were laughing, in that moment it didn’t matter what we were laughing at, or who, or why. It only mattered that we were doing it together.

  13

  RUNNING ON FUMES

  “Fuck.” Kat hit her palm on the steering wheel. “The tank’s on E, and we can’t stop at a gas station tonight. We need to keep a low profile in case our friends haven’t given up searching for us yet.”

  “It’s past time to ditch this car anyway.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “We knew
it was coming.”

  Kat nodded in agreement, and Billi Jo rubbed at her eyes. “Can we at least swing through a drive-thru first? I’m starvin’.”

  “Did you miss the part about keeping a low profile?” Kat pointed to the nearest well-lit fast food restaurant parking lot as we drove past.

  Billi Jo arched her back and raised her arms above her head, stretching. “We’ve been driving over an hour, surely they’ve given up searching for us.”

  “Doesn’t matter either way,” Kat thumped the gas gauge, “we’re running on fumes.”

  After a couple more blocks, I spotted a weathered brick building with a half-lit neon sign in the window that was supposed to say Charlie’s, but only lie’s was actually lit up. For a split second, I wondered if it was an omen to stay away from the place. My desperation to get my friends off the streets made me point anyway. “What’s that?”

  “I think it’s a bar.” Kat eased up on the gas pedal. “With a nice, dark parking lot.”

  “Maybe they sell food.” Billi Jo’s face brightened, then fell. “But we’re not exactly legal age to go in a bar.”

  Kat veered into a parking lot at the side of the building and found a space behind a big SUV. “We are today.”

  As we entered the small dive, the aroma of stale cigarette smoke, alcohol-soaked furnishings, and lack of fresh oxygen greeted us. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I scanned the bar. Lining the front windows on either side of the entryway was a row of booths with chocolate-colored vinyl seating. An assortment of wooden mismatched tables and chairs filled most of the room except for the space toward the back where two pool tables sat. Despite the absence of both charm and personality, the familiar smells made the place strangely homey.

  Only a few customers occupied the barstools that lined the thick wooden bar top. Even with their backs to us, I could hear them debating over the call of a baseball game. The bartender sat slouching on a stool that faced them. I figured him to be Charlie, and he appeared to be in his late 60’s with thinning gray hair and a sturdy build. With his arms crossed over his chest and a cigarette burning between his fingers, he seemed to be only half paying attention to their argument.

  Careful not to interrupt, we edged toward the end of the bar. The bartender gave us a bored glance. After he finished his cigarette, he turned his attention to us, annoyed and unfriendly. “You girls lost?” His voice was thick and raspy, I presumed from years of smoking.

  Kat stepped up. “No, sir, we were just hoping you serve food here.”

  “Yep, I do,” he grumbled from his perch. “But not this time a night.” I picked up on his southern accent right away—minus the hospitality.

  My stomach dropped, then growled when I noticed a small plastic bowl of pretzels on the table. “Can we just order some drinks, then?” A few complimentary munchies would have to do.

  “Long as you’re twenty-one. Are ya twenty-one?”

  “Yes, sir, we are,” Kat lied without batting an eye.

  I had a strong feeling he didn’t believe her, but he asked anyway, “What’ll it be?”

  “I’ll have a Sprite,” I answered, and Kat and Billi Jo nodded in agreement.

  “Humph,” the bartender grumbled, “interesting choice for legals.”

  Billi Jo leaned into the bar and winked. “We’ve already had a loooonng night.” Understatement of the year.

  After he finished our order and slid our Sprites across the bar, he filled a short glass with ice. I couldn’t help but wonder about the lines that creased around his mouth and gold-flecked hazel eyes. Were they once laugh lines—maybe from when he was a teenager? Did unfortunate circumstances turn them into worry lines? Over years of bitter disappointment and loss, did they settle into frown lines? I wanted to believe that his tough exterior didn’t match what was in his heart. I needed to believe in something good.

  “So,” he said as he reached behind him for a bottle of Maker’s Mark and poured, “what kinda trouble you girls in?”

  “No trouble at all,” Kat lied and swept her drink off the bar.

  I bent my head and took a sip of my Sprite, attempting to keep my fading black eye hidden behind my hair and glasses.

  He pointed his finger in a circular motion at my face. “Then what’s that all about?”

  “Huh?” I squeaked. He kept his eyes on me as he waited for an explanation. So much for my ZZ Top disguise and his good heart.

  I reluctantly took my frames off. “Bicycle accident.” It was easier to lie to somebody when you knew they didn’t believe you in the first place.

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He rattled his glass and took a sip. Hard liquor on the job—always a good sign.

  “Looks like you could use a couple extra hands to get this place cleaned up.” Billi Jo scowled at a cluster of broken chairs, empty liquor boxes, and stacks of papers.

  Leaning against the back of the bar with his arms crossed in front of him, he glanced around the room. “Yep, I sure could.”

  Billi Jo tilted her head. “That mean you’re hiring?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, you should. This place is a dump,” Billi Jo announced to the best hope for employment we’d seen in days. The way she raised her eyebrows and crooked her neck as she blurted out her observation told me she didn’t say it to be mean or snarky, just honest. Billi Jo saw things for what they were and gave out her opinions with no apologies. Usually after people got to know her unedited ways, they fell in love with her—I think because whatever she said ended up just being the simple truth.

  Kat gave her a sharp jab in the side, but to all our surprise, a funny thing happened. After a few awkward moments of silence, a hint of a grin began to creep across Charlie’s lips. “You might have a point, young lady. This place is a dump. I had to close my joint down for a few months, and I just opened it back up this week.” He tapped his cigarette pack on the heel of his hand. “I reckon I could use a little help gettin’ things back in shape.”

  “We can start right away,” Billi Jo pushed.

  Charlie pulled out a cigarette and held it in his hand. “Now listen, I might be able to take two of you as waitresses. All three of you can help me clean for a couple weeks, but I’m not promisin’ anything after that. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Billi Jo said.

  “Alright, then.” He reached beneath the bar for a piece of paper, then grabbed a pen and slid them to us. “Just write down your names and contact information.”

  Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. We needed these jobs.

  “We, uh…” Billi Jo snatched a pretzel from the bowl on the bar and crammed it into her mouth to bide time.

  I racked my brain to remember one of the recent street signs I’d seen tonight. “We just moved to the north end,” I blurted out. “And we don’t have a phone yet.”

  “North Las Vegas, huh?” Charlie studied my face, then opened his mouth to say something but lit his cigarette instead.

  “Yeah, back that way.” I thumbed in the direction we’d come from.

  “I know where it is, but that might be a problem.”

  Crap, I was busted.

  “North Las Vegas is kinda far away, and I’m a real stickler for bein’ on time.”

  “We’re very reliable,” Billi Jo crammed another pretzel into her mouth. “Let us start tonight and we’ll prove it to you.”

  He took a long draw and exhaled as he eyed us. “Suit yourselves.”

  Billi Jo grabbed more snacks and passed them to Kat and me as she whispered under her breath. “Winner, winner, pretzel dinner.”

  Kat briefly closed her eyes and shook her head. Billi was one-of-a-kind—no denying it.

  “Names.” Charlie patted the blank piece paper still sitting on the bar, “You never gave me your names.”

  Kat opened her mouth to answer but Billi Jo, still high from her job score, beat her to it, “This is Riv…uhhh…eeva,” she mangled my alias to hell and back. “Reeva,” she over-pronounce
d the ‘e’ sound in case he missed it the first time. She pointed to her left. “And this is—”

  Charlie held his palm up. “Everybody’s lookin’ to start over in this town.” He swiped the paper off the bar, crumpled it, and turned to walk away. “What happens in Vegas…”

  While he delivered a beer to a customer several feet away, we stood silent until he came back. “Next time I ask your names, you tell me the truth. I don’t need to know last names or backstory, but if you’re gonna work here, I expect a certain level of honesty.” With his cigarette still burning between his fingers, Charlie raised his glass to his lips and nodded toward me. “And you, no more lies or you’re out.”

  Unsure if he was referring to the lie about my injuries or my lack of address specifics, or the discrepancy with my name, I was about to make my case when Billi Jo broke in. “You won’t be sorry, sir.”

  “You can cut the crap with the ‘sir’ business. Just call me Charlie.”

  “Okay, Charlie, we’ll go get our car and be right back. Is there someplace out of the way we can park… so we won’t take up customer space…?” Billi Jo back-pedaled.

  “There’s a small parking lot out back. Just cut through the alley on this street and it comes up behind this place.”

  We started to turn when Charlie stopped us. “Remember, no trouble.” He shook his cigarette at us like it was his finger.

  Billi Jo shrugged and emptied the rest of the pretzel bowl into her hand. “You won’t even know we’re here.”

  His eyes darted to her full hand and then to my face. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “No trouble,” Kat assured him as she bit the edge of a pretzel. “We promise.”

  Walking away, I knew we were all praying for the same thing—that we could make good on that promise.

  After we retrieved the car and parked it in the lot, Charlie showed us around the bar and gave us a list of jobs. He had us start with cleaning and organizing the stock room, and when the customers left, we stocked the coolers with beer.

  Long after closing time, Charlie squinted up at the clock. “You girls ready to call it a night?”