Heist 2 (17 page)

15

Harlem

“I
have to go to the bathroom,” Johnnie announces just outside of nowhere, Tennessee.

Groaning, I cut a suspicious look at her since it's the first words that she's uttered since we left the gas station in Blacksburg, Virginia.

“What? We've been in this car for like forever. I'm surprised that your bladder isn't the size of a bowling ball too.”

“Now that you mention it,” I say, suddenly feeling the pressure building inside my bladder. I check out our surroundings, but there are only acres of flat land stretching out before us on these back roads. “I guess we can just pull over somewhere.”

Her neck snakes around like my ass cursed her out or something. “I know that you're not suggesting that I pop a squat on the side of the road to take a piss.”

I throw back the same attitude. “That's exactly what I'm suggesting,
princess.
If you'd notice there aren't any golden toilets around for you to plant your spoiled ass on at the moment.”

“Then find one,” she says, indignant. “You got me seriously fucked up if you think I'm wiping my ass with grass or some shit.”

“Oh, my God. You are seriously working my nerves.”

“Right back at you,” she snaps. “I keep asking you to let me out of this bullshit joyride, remember?”

“Well, maybe I should do that right now since there's nothing around for miles. You can hitch a ride right after you take that piss you're bitching about.”

“You get out. This is my fucking car.”

I open my mouth to go in, but then stop myself and take a deep breath. “We're starting to sound like an old married couple,” I gripe.

“Humph!” She folds her arms and continues to stare out of the side window.

The car is silent again during the next twenty-two miles until we come across an old gas station that looks to be at least a half a century old and hasn't seen better days in quite a while.

When I pull up toward the back and a faded bathroom sign, Johnnie starts twisting up her face.

“I don't know about this,” she says.

“What? It's not the side of the road.” I grin while I retrieve my gun.

Her gaze drops to the weapon and then glances back up at me questioningly.

“Protection,” I say. “We are in redneck territory, you know.”

Her gaze says that she doesn't believe me, but I'm not about to waste more time trying to convince her, either.

“C'mon. Let's go ahead and get this over with.” I pocket the car key and then we both climb out of the car at the same time. We look around and note there's not a soul in sight. We head straight to the bathroom door, but discover that it's locked.

Shit.
“We got to go inside and ask for the key,” I tell her. At the flash of hope in her eyes, I reflexively place my hand over the gun tucked at my side. Her hope is replaced by anger. She reads the move as another threat and I'm going to let her roll with that. “C'mon.” I grab her by the arm and direct her to the front of the gas station.

Opening the front door, a bell jiggles overhead. An old geezer with black-rimmed glasses looks up from a small five-inch television to look us over. Immediately, I can tell that he doesn't like the looks of us.

“You folks lost?”

I tense because he said the word
folks
like rednecks usually say the word
nigger
.

“No. My lady needs to use your restroom. Any way we can get the key?”

“You plan on buying anything?” he asks.

I turn and look at the anemic rows of candy and stale-ass looking potato chips. “Sure. Why not?” I glance at Johnnie. “Want something, sweetheart?” If looks could kill, Boss Hog at the counter there would be white-chalking my ass personally. But to my relief, she doesn't appear that she likes or trusts this man any more than I do.

I pull her toward the first aisle with me and just grab the first couple of bags I come across and then take them up to the counter.

Boss Hog doesn't look impressed, but tosses down the restroom key first before ringing up our items.

Johnnie, lightning fast, snatches the key with a smile. “Thanks.” She attempts to break away from me to head toward the door.

“Johnnie,” I hiss, snatching her back by her arm. “I'll go with you.”

“That's not necessary,
sweetheart,
” she hisses back with a wooden smile. She pulls away again, but I'm not having it. We engage in an awkward tug-of-war while Boss Hog rattles off my total.

“That'll be seven dollars and sixty-five cents.”

With my free hand, I toss down a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

We start for the door still tugging back and forth.

“Hey,” he barks. “Don't you want your chips?”

“Oh. Sorry.” I snatch them up while continuing my mini-war with Johnnie.

“You don't want to put them in a bag?”

“Nah. That's all right. We're good.” Out the door we go. My annoyance with this chick skyrockets. “Nice try, slick.”

“What? I have to go to the bathroom,” she insists and adds a little dance as we head toward the back of the building.

I don't buy her act. When we reach the bathroom door again, I hover patiently outside of it while she uses the key to gain access. But when she steps in with me right behind her, she stops and blocks my entrance.

“Uh, where in the hell do you think you're going?” she asks.

“Where does it look like?”

“Oh no the fuck you're not. You're not going to stand over me while I take a piss. Have you lost your damn mind?”

I glance over her head to see that the bathroom is a single room with a lone toilet, a sink, and a mirror. “All right. But hurry up.”

Her response is to slam the damn door in my face.

I spin away angrily, wishing that I had something that I could punch. How has a woman that I've spent five years loving and dreaming about be riding my last nerve after spending less than twenty-four hours with her? Granted, we're not doing the normal things that couples do, and yes, I did steal her car, kind of kidnapped her, and then threatened her life with a gun, but still.

All right. That evaluation doesn't sit right with me so I start pacing outside of the door. The voice in the back of my head gnaws at me. I still love Johnnie and I don't want anything to happen to her, regardless of how this whole thing turns out. I also don't want her going back to Connecticut so that she can marry that clown that's waiting for her at the altar—or any other clown, for that matter.
But what the fuck can you do to stop it?
I shake my head as my pacing picks up.

My attention is pulled from the bathroom door when another car pulls up into the old gas station. When I look over to see it's a sheriff's patrol car, I experience something close to a heart attack.

When this good ole boy climbs out from the car, his gaze zeroes in on me like a laser.

I force on a smile and nod as a greeting.

The sheriff doesn't say anything as he heads into the station's front door.

The moment he's inside, I turn back toward the bathroom and hammer the door. “Johnnie, we gotta go,” I hiss.

No response.

“Johnnie!”
Bam! Bam!

What the fuck?
I slip the key back into the lock and push inside. The muthafucka is empty. For a few seconds I just stand there blinking, unable to process how the fuck this shit could be—then I notice the rectangular window high above the mirror. Clearly, she could've reached it if she stood on the sink.

Rushing inside, I hop up on the sink. The porcelain bowl wobbles beneath my weight, but I get a good look out the window to see where the muthafucka leads and if I can spot Johnnie. But I hear something behind me and before the door slams shut, I catch sight of Johnnie's long legs bolting from the door and slamming it shut.

She was hiding behind the door the whole time.
I jump down off the sink, stumble about a foot before I reached the door.
Locked.
As I fumble to unlock the door, I hear the roar of a car engine.
How in the fuck?
The car key is still in my pocket so I know Johnnie can't possibly be behind the wheel of the car. But when I bolt out of the door, that's exactly where she is. The car speeds back in reverse.

In an ironic replay with the roles reversed, I race toward the passenger-side door as she tries to whip around to head back out of the gas station. I get the door open but then nearly stumble and wipe out when she shifts into drive and floors it. It's just a miracle that I'm able to heft my way into the speeding car.

“Stop the fucking car!”

“No. You get the fuck out,” she shouts, swinging her right arm wildly at me in an attempt to knock me back out the car. With the speed accelerating, it's attempted murder in my eyes.

I duck and dodge the blows, but make sure that I go ahead and slam my car door. Next, I dive to wrench hold of the steering wheel. We zip and zag all over the road.

“Let go,” Johnnie shouts, snatching the wheel in the opposite direction.

The wail of a police siren draws my attention. I jerk my head toward the back window to see the same sheriff's patrol car now gaining speed on us.

“FUCK!”

16

Sam

A
fter Kasey completes her story about how her older sister Johnnie and Harlem met and fell in love, the entire Robinson family is in shock. Apparently, the younger sister was the only person Johnnie had ever truly confided in. When I add the fact that Johnnie had recently pulled strings to see Harlem last month to possibly plan or aid in his escape, Reese Singleton turns apoplectic.

“This is going to be a scandal,” Mrs. Robinson whispers. Her face drains more blood by the second.

“I still say that this is some horseshit,” Mr. Robinson barks. “You say this man escaped last night, but our daughter was with us the entire day for the wedding rehearsal and the dinner. And we can all vouch that she didn't leave that dinner until this morning. Her friend Janine drove her home, isn't that right?” He glances over to the woman I presume is Janine.

She nods. “Yeah. Gosh. It had to be like one—one-thirty. I watched her as she went into the house.”

“Doesn't rule out that Mr. Banks was waiting for her inside.”

The idea clearly horrifies the woman. “Maybe I should've walked her inside myself.”

“And then what? You could've just been in danger yourself,” I try to console. “Don't beat yourself up. We're going to find her.”

I order more of my team to the scene as we instruct everyone except the immediate-family and fiancé to leave. Within minutes of their arrival, every inch of the house is combed over. Evidence points to Johnnie having a visitor last night—especially in the bedroom. But if Johnnie had
planned
to run off with her ex-lover, she forgot the clothes she'd packed for her honeymoon.

An APB goes out for her vehicle. This now swings the pendulum to Harlem Banks definitely being out of the tri-state area, crushing my assumption that he wouldn't leave his sick child behind.

“Still have my money on Mexico,” Greg deadpans.

“You may be right.” I dig my cell from out of my pants pocket and quickly get the chief on the other line for the latest updates. The local story will be national within the hour. Harlem's name and picture will shoot up the FBI's Most Wanted List. No sooner do I disconnect the call with the chief than the first news van arrives outside of the house.

“Oh God,” Mrs. Robinson laments. “What are we going to say?”

I shake my head because I can't tell whether she is more concerned for her daughter or their image.

Reese Singleton, however, is definitely more pissed than concerned. The brewing scandal will tarnish him just as much as the Robinsons, if not more. In politics, a rising star can quickly turn into a dying star in a single news cycle.

For me, our best option is to continue to press Kasey for more information.

“I need you to think. Did your sister ever mention any place that she'd be dying to go—or any talk of her and Harlem wanting to go somewhere?”

The young girl is completely drained and keeps shaking her head. “No. No nothing like that. She was determined to move on. I swear.”

“Then why the visit?” I counter.

Kasey's large brown eyes keep filling with tears. “I don't know. Clearly, she kept some secrets from me, too.” She glances to her family for help, but their disappointment trumps their sympathy for her at the moment.

My phone rings. It's Max. “Tell me some good news.”

“Not today, boss,” he says. “We got another runner.”

“What?”

“Isaiah Kane. He's missing from the halfway house.”

“Shit!” All heads in the house whip in my direction. “Excuse me,” I tell them, climbing up from the sofa and seeking out a corner in the house for some privacy. “What happened to the team posted outside?” I ask Max.

“Apparently, they didn't see a damn thing. And neither did anyone else in the damn house. I'm on my way to talk to the community corrections manager. I'll keep you updated.”

“All right. Thanks.” I disconnect the call with a “fuck,” mumbled under my breath.

“That doesn't sound promising,” Greg says, cornering me.

“Isaiah Kane is in the wind.”

Greg doesn't look the least bit surprised. “I knew that dude wasn't on the up and up.”

“Which means that there's a huge part of this puzzle that we're missing. They're all in this together somehow and there's got to be some powerful people helping them out, too. They could be headed for Mexico or halfway around the world for all we know.” The idea of these people slipping through my grasp is starting to give me my first ulcer.

Outside, two more news vehicles arrive. One manages to successfully persuade Reese Singleton to the sidelines to get his take on what happened to his runaway bride and the escaped convict. I can't hear what he's saying, but I'm sure that he's broadcasting his ignorance and throwing his deceitful fiancée under the bus. The victim card is probably the best way to save his promising career.

I pull in a deep breath as my exhaustion becomes extremely difficult to ignore. My ringing phone pulls me back to the job at hand. Since it's too much to hope for good news, I answer with a flat, “Yeah.”

“We got something!”

The announcement hits me like an injection of adrenaline straight to the heart. “Hit me.”

“Johnnie Robinson's vehicle is in the middle of an active police chase right outside Cleveland, Tennessee.”

“Yes!” I signal to Greg for us to roll out. “Get me the number for the district US Marshal for that area and you guys get ready for a field trip.”