Graffiti Creek

by Matt Coleman

  Marlowe shook his head. “No. I mean, you can’t. Not right now. I pointed them back toward where you came from. Like you had doubled back. They’ll be watching your car for a while, at least. We gotta let the heat die down a bit.”

  “So, what? Where do we go?”

  He cocked his head. “I don’t know. I was thinking we’d grab breakfast.”

  Cary laughed loudly. “Breakfast? Are you shitting me?”

  “What? You get chased around and all the sudden you don’t eat no more?”

  “No. I eat. Obviously. But I don’t think stopping for breakfast is the smartest move while becoming a fugitive from the law.”

  Marlowe clucked his tongue. “‘Fugitive from the law.’ Jesus. I don’t think you’re all that quite yet.”

  “I got shot at!”

  “I know! And you deserve some pancakes for that shit!”

  Cary started something but stopped. “I do like pancakes.”

  Marlowe smiled and nodded. “See? Breakfast helps you think. There’s this place on St. Ives and Cumberland on the way out of town. On the way, girl!” He smacked his lips. “Damn, girl. Can’t you at least buy me breakfast? I might still get killed over this shit.”

  Cary frowned. “So why draw it out? Take me to my car and be done with it.”

  He snorted out a laugh. “Cary, your brother knew how to survive bears and woods. I know how to survive some city cops. We need to let the shit die down a little. And we might as well have some bacon while we do that. Sound good?”

  Cary still frowned but nodded in agreement.

  Netta’s was a little diner in a converted strip mall. It advertised soul food and looked about as greasy as a greasy spoon was supposed to. At 6:00, the place was empty. Cary wasn’t sure if empty was a positive or a negative. There was no crowd to hide in, but, at the same time, there was no one around to notice them. Besides, once they stepped inside, the smell of bacon and coffee overpowered every other thought in her head.

  Marlowe had let her wear an L.A. Dodgers cap he had in his backseat, and she pulled it low with the collar of her jacket popped up around her neck. They found a booth in a back corner, and Cary slunk down in her seat with a menu in front of her face. Marlowe shook his head at her. “You want me to run to the store and pick you up some of those Groucho Marx glasses with the mustache?”

  Cary peered over her menu. “What?”

  “What? You look ridiculous.”

  “I do not.”

  “Like a damn fool. Relax. Act like you’re a goddamn normal person.”

  She gawked around and sat up straighter. “What am I acting like?”

  Marlowe chuckled, “Like somebody running from the cops.”

  His advice brought her up to a straighter posture, and she even relaxed enough to order a coffee and a short stack of pancakes with bacon. Marlowe ordered the same, but with sausage. And they sat in silence for a moment waiting for each other to talk.

  Marlowe poked his chin out at her. “You from here?”

  Cary nodded. “Yeah. I left. For college. I stayed gone for seven or eight years. I moved back about a year ago. I had to help my mom after my dad died.”

  Marlowe squinted. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “What about you?”

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Born and raised. Never left. Went to college here. Dropped out. Went back. Dropped out again.” He laughed. “But I managed to finish about a year ago. Got me a decent job and everything.”

  Cary nodded along as she spun her pre-paid phone on the table. “I understand. I was an English major. Did me no good in the job world. But I’ve managed. I do graphic design work for several places in town. It pays the bills.”

  Marlowe pointed with his forehead at the phone. “Why ain’t you called nobody yet? You don’t even know your mom’s number?”

  She shook her head. “My mom. She—well, she struggles. With reality, sometimes. Something like this,” she rolled her neck around, “it would send her over the edge.”

  “What about your survivalist brother?”

  Cary laughed. “He’s currently on some kind of walkabout in Australia.”

  Marlowe nodded. “Of course he is. That’s about the least surprising thing you’ve said yet. But you gotta have somebody.”

  She nodded. “I do. I have a friend.” She smiled. “A girlfriend. She’s my girlfriend. As soon as I get my car, I’m going to find her. She was with me when I got picked up, but they let her go.”

  Marlowe grinned. “Right on.”

  Cary rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

  He threw his hands up. “What? That was all progressive and accepting and shit.”

  “Not if you call it progressive and accepting.”

  Their food came, and they ate like a couple of people who had ridden an hour-long adrenaline rush. Between bites, Marlowe asked, “So why you?”

  “Why me what?”

  “Why you? You said they got the wrong person or something, right? I ain’t doubting. I’m only asking. Why you?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I have no clue. The first cop—the one who pulled me over—he checked my license. I figure there must be someone with the same name. Somewhere out there has to be a Cary Trubody who could make some sick sense out of all this.”

  “So is that what you do? Find her?”

  “I feel like it might be my only option. Either find her or find a cop who isn’t dirty. They can’t all be assholes, right?”

  Marlowe cocked his head at her. “Did you just ask a black dude if all cops are assholes?”

  She laughed. “Touché.”

  “Ahhh.” He wobbled his head. “Nah. They aren’t all assholes. Tons of good cops. The struggle is gonna be knowing who to trust. I mean, unless you go all the way to the top, you got no way to make sure which ones are in on it and which ones ain’t.”

  Cary sipped her coffee. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not like I can blindly trust any cop who walks through the door.”

  As she said it, two police officers entered Netta’s and sat at a table beside Cary and Marlowe. The two cops were engrossed in conversation and paid little to no attention to Cary and Marlowe. As did the next pair who came in. And the next.

  Cary held her coffee cup in front of her mouth and spoke through her teeth. “Did you bring me to eat at a goddamn cop hangout?”

  Marlowe whispered from behind a smile. “I didn’t realize it was a cop hangout.”

  The waitress seemed to recognize all the officers in the place. They totaled nine when it was all said and done. It must have been shift change. None of the nine paid Cary or Marlowe any attention though. Unfortunately, neither did the waitress. The problem did not lie in the nine cops sitting on all sides of them. The problem was the tenth who came strolling through the door. Officer Reynard.

  He met Cary’s eyes on his first steps through the door. And there was no question he recognized her. His whole body tensed. Cary made one quick motion to run, but Marlowe stopped her with his foot and whispered, “Wait.”

  Reynard strolled over to a table and exchanged greetings with other cops in the room. The only time he took his eyes off Cary was to type out a message on his phone. When he finished it, he leered up at Cary and gave her a knowing smile.

  Cary muttered, “Did you see that?”

  Marlowe nodded. “Yeah. But he ain’t doing nothing. Because of these other cops. Whatever they want you for, they can’t do it in front of other cops. The two at the Dollar General, they ran from those sirens. And this guy, he’s not making a move in here.”

  Cary swallowed. “Yeah. But he’s also not letting me out of here. Not without a—” She paused and raised an eyebrow at Marlowe. “What did I say I’d pay you before?”

  Marlowe narrowed his eyes at her. “Two hundred.”

  “I said one hundred.”

  “Why you ask if you knew?”

  “I’ll make it three if you’ll go along with what I’m about to do.”

  “I wou
ld say to make it four, but I have the feeling I ain’t got a choice.”

  Cary picked up her silverware and slammed it down on the table hard. Then she said, far too loud, “I cannot fucking believe this.”

  Everyone stopped talking and watched her.

  Marlowe muttered, “Yeah, we better make it four.”

  Cary continued, undeterred. “Every goddamn time. You want to go out, go out, go out. But you never have any fucking money. Are you seriously going to try to make me pay again?”

  Marlowe reached out for her hand and said, “But baby, I always get you back.”

  Cary jerked away. “Oh no. Don’t give me this bullshit again. I’m not going to do it this time. You’ll have to wash dishes.”

  The waitress was coming over with a concerned scowl. A couple of cops had moved to stand at her back. When she reached them, she folder her hands in front of her and asked, “Is there a problem, hon?”

  Cary flailed her arms. “Yeah there’s a problem. I’m dating a motherfucking cheapskate.”

  A police officer leaned in and set, “Why don’t we tone down the language, ma’am.”

  Marlowe cocked his head. “Man, my girl will talk any way she fucking wants to.”

  Cary pushed her empty plate across into his chest. “I don’t need you to fucking come to my rescue. I can take up for myself.”

  A second cop stepped forward and held a hand out to Cary. “Ma’am, why don’t you let me escort you to your car. I think it’s time to go.”

  Cary stood up in a huff. “Oh, I do, too. I think it’s time to go home and pack.”

  Marlowe stood up and reached for her. “Baby, don’t be like that.”

  Cary stormed for the door, with a cop at her back. Another cop ushered Marlowe behind them. Once outside, the first cop said, “You two need to take this conversation somewhere more private.”

  Officer Reynard stood in the window, watching, smiling.

  Cary and Marlowe both broke character and said, in unison, “Yes, Officer.”

  Chapter 12

  “I can’t believe it worked.”

  “Stop looking at me! Watch back there!” Marlowe took a corner fast enough to make his Civic fishtail.

  “But I was pretty clever, huh?”

  “Brilliant. Now tell me what you see.” Marlowe wove up and down residential streets, slinging Cary around in her seat.

  But Cary bounced with pride. “I mean, it worked so perfectly.” She stopped and leaned over her seat to stare out the back window. “Shit.”

  Marlowe craned his neck. “Don’t say ‘shit.’ That makes me think—”

  They said together: “Somebody’s following us.”

  Marlowe banged on the steering wheel and sped up. He burst out of a residential neighborhood onto a main thoroughfare—a four lane street with a middle turning lane. He wove in and out of traffic as Cary kept watch out the back. After splitting two delivery trucks, Marlowe used the turning lane to pass a string of three SUVs. He stayed in the turning lane and told Cary, “Tell me if he gets in the turning lane behind me.”

  After a few seconds, Cary shouted, “He is.”

  Marlowe had created enough distance between the Civic and the next closest car, so he took a sharp right across both lanes and squealed onto a side street. Cary hugged the headrest of her seat and cursed. The Civic jumped a curb and righted itself before careening into a parked car. Marlowe slowed a bit down the quiet neighborhood street, but he flailed a finger behind him. “Did it work? Did it work?”

  Cary worked a pain out of her neck. “Yes. I shit myself.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Cary strained to look back. “Yeah. He missed the turn.”

  Marlowe made another sharp right. “He’ll catch the next one.”

  After three more zigzagging turns, Cary caught sight of the unmarked, dark sedan trailing them and pointed.

  Marlowe nodded. “I see it.” He slowed down, allowing the sedan to make its way toward them down a connecting street.

  Cary shifted in her seat. “What are you doing?”

  “Calm down. I want him to catch up.”

  “Why?!”

  “Because I know this neighborhood. He don’t.”

  Marlowe pulled into a driveway and stopped.

  Cary panicked. She hit his arm and watching the sedan creep closer and closer. “Go! What are you doing?!”

  Marlowe checked his side view mirror. “Wait. Just wait. I told you, I know this neighborhood. This is my cousin’s house.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  The Civic eased forward. “Because I know this driveway,” he curved right around the back of the house and eased left around a detached garage, “connects to alleyway.”

  Marlowe punched the gas, and the little car spun out around the garage, cutting back left down a gravel alley. The alley spit out into a road which connected back to the same four-lane they had been on before. He sped up to around sixty and found a ramp to merge onto a freeway.

  Cary sat back and smiled. “That was sort of badass.”

  Marlowe shrugged. “I have moments.”

  “Well, we have to get my car now. We can’t stay in this Civic.”

  Marlowe smacked. “Man. You got me all in this shit now.”

  Cary hung her head. “I know. I am so sorry. I never meant for this—”

  “I know. Shut up. I ain’t mad at you. I’m mad at my brother.”

  Cary shook her head. “Your brother?”

  Marlowe nodded. “Soldiers, cops, and older siblings, right? Well, my brother is the one who put my damn head on a swivel a long time ago. The reason I can’t just walk away from shit like this when I damn well know I should.”

  They made their way toward the edges of town, taking an exit for the lonely highway winding out toward Cary’s car. The drive took almost half an hour, so Cary used the time to try Johnna multiple times, with no luck.

  Marlowe peered around at the woods he drove into. “Girl, you realize you’re leading me into, like, the whitest part of this city, right? This is a black person horror movie set-up right now.”

  Cary curled her lip. “Technically not the city, but…”

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Your girl ain’t answering?”

  Cary shook her head. “I figured they just left her out there to call a cab or something.”

  Marlowe grimaced. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure she’s sleeping it off. You said she was pretty lit, right?”

  Cary nodded. And tried again. And again.

  When they passed the railroad tracks, Marlowe slowed considerably. They hadn’t seen any sign of cars, but coming up on Graffiti Creek meant curling around a bend. If someone waited there, they wouldn’t see them until too late. About a hundred yards before the curve in the road, Cary spotted a dirt tributary snaking off into the woods. She pointed, and Marlowe needed no explanation. He pulled off and parked far enough off the main road to be hidden by shadows. They got out and stared at each other across the hood of the car for a moment.

  The sounds of the stream trickled up from out of sight down an incline. Cary motioned toward the sound with her head. “I followed this creek before. I think if we make our way through the woods and keep the sound of water to our right we’ll come up on the car without being spotted.”

  Marlowe raised his eyebrows. “We?”

  Cary swallowed. “If—if there’s someone by my car, then I’ll—I’ll need a distraction to get to it.”

  He laughed and nodded. “So you want me to lure a dirty cop to chase me through the damn woods while you—”

  “Three thousand dollars. All of it.”

  Marlowe paused and stared.

  Cary nodded. “Walk with me through the woods up to my car. If no one is there, we part ways and I’ll pay you five hundred—”

  He closed one eye.

  Cary smiled. “A thousand.” She raised her eyebrows and Marlowe nodded slightly. “If someone is watching the car, all yo
u have to do is come back here and honk the horn or something to get their attention. And if we have to do that, then I’ll give you all three thousand before you start back.”

  Marlowe nodded and waved his hands out for her to lead the way. Cary turned on the flashlight on her phone but kept it low. They steadied one another multiple times laboring down the trailless path. Once inside the oil dark pit of trees, everything smelled like mud and rain. Up ahead, the shadows were cut with swirling lights. Red and blue lights. Faint voices drifted through the trees. Marlowe reached out to slow Cary. The rise off the creek drifted up to a cluster of trees which looked out over the base of the bridge. Cary pointed to them, and they gingerly worked their way to them and crouched in behind a jumble of wild bushes.

  They were much closer to the scene than they had realized. Maybe twenty or thirty feet separated them from a meandering horde of police buzzing around Cary’s abandoned car. Cary whispered, “What are they doing?”

  Marlowe swallowed and bit at his lip. “Not sure, but if we hear anybody say ‘Search the area,’ we run.”

  There were no uniformed officers. Only a few plain-clothed detective types and several people in CSI gear—white bodysuits and little blue booties. The attention centered around the car’s open trunk.

  Marlowe leaned close. “What was in your trunk?”

  Cary shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “That don’t look like something you do for nothing.”

  A woman detective appeared to be in charge. She was tall and attractive—thin with a no-nonsense look about her. She looked like a high school principal or a future district attorney. She had tossed out a few orders to different people around the scene. She pointed several times at something in the trunk, and now she stood back from the car to clear a path for one of the CSIs. He stepped back to a kit of some sort to grab something, leaving the view of the trunk wide open for the first time.

  Cary stood as much as she dared to manage a peek. Marlowe hissed at her and pulled her to squat back down, but she strained against him and spied over the bushes.

  The trunk was not empty. The spindly limbs of a person filled it from one end to the other. The shape started with a tangle of blonde hair splayed across a face. The dress stretched tight and bordered on skimpy, showing off a long pair of legs folded in odd angles like a broken doll. The legs ended in strappy heels. One hung halfway off and the other disappeared behind the lip of the trunk, or altogether. But Cary recognized them. She helped pick them out.