by Karlin
yards to the corner of the yard, and ducked behind the paddy wagon. The guards shouted, and I heard answering voices from inside the building. My dumb guards would be reinforced in a few seconds. I wasn't sure that the police were any brighter, but they were likely in better shape, and worse yet, a lot of them had been in the service, and might manage to actually hit me.
Three seconds. That's what I remembered from basic training. It takes three seconds for the enemy to take proper aim on a moving target, so count to three while you run, then duck behind something. I already was behind the truck, and they knew I was there, but they didn't know what I might try. There was a good chance that they thought they could just come around the truck, knock me about a bit, slap the cuffs back on, and nobody would ever know that they had fucked up so badly. They wouldn’t think of shooting me unless they thought that I would really get away.
Three seconds. It was foolish to count on any more, and it was stupid to wait for the police to show up, likely with their weapons already drawn. There was a step up to the driver's seat. I put a foot on the step, hauled myself up, got a second foot on the hood of the truck, and scrambled up to the roof of the vehicle. Three seconds. How many had I used already? When should I start counting? No time to think. I crouched and jumped up to catch the edge of the courtyard wall. Heaved myself up, the barbed-wire tearing my clothes and skin. I could hear my guards shouting, and a warning shot fired in the air. Running footsteps announced the arrival of the cops, and when they sound of running feet suddenly stopped, I knew that they were in stance, carefully taking their aim. I rolled over the concertina wire, and dropped over the wall as the shots rang out.
Outside. A minute, two or three and the place would be swarming with police. A convict in bright orange overalls would not be hard to spot. I started walking briskly down the sidewalk, grateful that there were no pedestrians on this side street to notice me. The sirens went off as I reached the main road. There was plenty of traffic here, plenty of problems for yours truly, and close to no time to solve them. I had to put some distance between myself and the court, and I had to look less conspicuous if I was going to get very far.
A construction crew was doing some street repairs. The rear door of their van was open. No keys in the ignition. But bright yellow safety vests with the words "Tel Aviv Road Crew" emblazoned on their backs, along with matching hats. I committed the first crime of my life, stole a vest and hat, and walked away, turning street corners randomly, but making sure to gain that distance that I needed.
I could hear the sirens as the squad cars set off on the search. Civilians might be fooled by my vest and hat, but police would immediately recognize the orange overalls. I thought of finding a hiding place, a cellar, maybe, or even inside a big trash container, but I couldn't stay there forever, and it wouldn't be long before they started systematically searching the area.
I would be trapped in my hole while the cops opened every door and looked under every bush. Do-gooder volunteers would join in a few hours, to get the dangerous criminal back behind bars.
I needed to get far away from the entire neighborhood, and as soon as possible. They were quite capable of setting up roadblocks and searching every vehicle that left the area. It was standard procedure when chasing after a terrorist, so why not use the same method to catch a dangerous criminal?
Getting some normal clothing was my top priority. Small apartment buildings lined the street I was walking on. They were older buildings, but in good repair, since this was considered a yuppie part of the city. Low stone walls surrounded the small gardens around the buildings. I walked past two or three of the buildings, unsure of myself. I had already stolen the hat and vest, and now I was contemplating more thefts. But there was no time for philosophizing about this. My choice was simple: either to take care of myself, or go back to prison.
I turned into one driveway, and moved to the back of the building. As I expected, the laundry lines were in the back. And as I had hoped, there was laundry hanging from the lowest line. It would have been best to just slip a jacket and sweatpants over my uniform, but I would have to make do with what there was. I grabbed a T shirt and jeans off of the line. I didn't like the idea of changing right there, but time was working against me.
I stripped down to my underwear, and put on the clothes. Not a perfect fit, but it would do. My considerate host was bit heavier than me, so I would need some kind of belt to keep the pants from sliding off of my hips. I had no time for belt shopping, though, so I grabbed an undershirt off of the line, ripped a strip of fabric from it, and used the strip to tie two belt-loops together. The tee-shirt covered up the sloppy fashion design, and I was ready to move on.
The police had squad cars going down the streets now, bullhorns warning that a criminal was loose. I finished tying my shoes, and looked up to see an old woman looking at me from the second story of a neighboring building. It was likely that she had seen me change, and if she had heard the police announcement, or heard the news for that matter, she was likely to turn me in.
I could do nothing about this witness, unless I was willing to become quite violent, but at that point violence didn't seem like an option to me. Instead, feeling absurdly guilty, I took a white stone and scratched "thank you" on the rear wall of the building. There was nothing left to do but to get back out to the street and walk as nonchalantly as possible away from the great laundry line heist.
The vast majority of people in the world are at their ease when walking. Sure, they may be hurrying, checking their watches every few minutes, but there is still something natural about their gait. Do you have any idea how hard it is to deliberately appear natural? To pretend that you have all the time in the world, when you want to run as fast as you can, when you can be caught in a few seconds?
Fortunately, your average civilian is not very observant. A non-descript guy in non-descript clothing is easily ignored. After I managed to walk a few blocks further south, I felt a little more at ease – until I remembered that I had foolishly left my prison clothes in a pile right by that laundry line. I spent a good five minutes cursing myself for such a stupid move, but figured that there wasn't much to do about it, so I continued on my way.
How did it happen? How did a perfectly normal guy wake up one day and discover that he is a criminal? It happened to me, and frankly, I haven't a clue. One morning there was a knock on my door. I was packing my lunch, looking for some apples in the fridge, and was just about ready to leave the house. We normally don't get unannounced callers at seven a.m., but I wasn't particularly concerned. Probably one of the neighbors needing something.
There were two policemen at the door. I asked them what they wanted, and they politely asked if they could come in. At this point I was a bit confused, but I invited them in, as any law-abiding citizen would. I was alone in the house, since my wife had taken our daughter to the kindergarten on her way to work.
The police explained that they needed to question me about a rape and murder that had taken place a couple of weeks earlier. I said: 'sure, ask away', but they said that they would prefer to speak to me in their 'offices', as they put it. I agreed, though at this point I was getting a bit nervous. Had I done something that they caught onto? I couldn't think of anything that would be worth their bother. Maybe one of their cameras had caught me running a red light?
I got hold of myself as best as I could. They were investigating those awful murders, and it only made sense that they would want to do it in an organized fashion. They were only being helpful when they suggested that I ride in the squad car. I left my wife a message on her cell phone, and rode down with them.
At first I didn't understand what they were after. They kept asking me questions about where I was this morning or that afternoon, who did I see, did I notice anything unusual. I answered as best as I could, but it was really hard to pin down all the times and places that they were talking about. I hoped that they would find the rapist, so I really tried to help them.
Out of the
blue, one of the cops told me that I should call a lawyer, since from this point on I would be questioned "under warning". At the time I didn't know what being questioned "under warning" meant, but I did know what 'you should call a lawyer' meant.
I called our lawyer. She was the wrong sort of lawyer – the kind that you use when you are buying a house, but she was the only lawyer I knew, and I had to start somewhere. She warned me not to say anything at all to the police until she showed up. The police didn't expect anything different, and left me alone.
It must have been while I was waiting for her, alone in the 'interview room', that I stopped thinking clearly. My memories from that point up to the moment I realized that I could escape are blurred.
My lawyer showed up. We waited for another lawyer to come, this one a criminal lawyer. Quick questions, confused answers. Back to police questioning, but now with the lawyer's guidance. Accusations, silence on my part. Difficult phone call to my wife. Does she think, maybe, possibly, that I am that criminal? Kept overnight in prison while the evidence built up. Witnesses, hair, blood, DNA.
I am an average-looking guy, average height, average build, jeans and polo