Knowing (26 page)

“Oh, fuck, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” Jane argued, straining against the blindfold. “You’re ripping me off?”

“I never bet against the team,” John replied. “So I like to improve my odds whenever possible.”

He stuffed the wallet back into her pocket and leaned close to Jane’s face. The hot, venomous stench of his breath nearly overpowered her.

“I’ll let them finish what they started,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t ever believe you can outsmart them, Perry. They always get what they want.” He dug into her jacket pocket again, removing her car keys.

Jane heard him heft the keys across the parking lot and their soft landing in dirt.

“That’ll slow you down in case you’re stupid enough to follow us,” John sneered.

There was a tense moment before Jane heard John and S.B.’s feet trail back to the SUV. She waited until she couldn’t hear the vehicle’s engine any longer before removing the blindfold. They were back at the bowling alley, lying next to the Mustang. Jane quickly pulled out her wallet and found that everything was still there except for one thing: all the cash. She untied Harlan’s blindfold and nudged him in the shoulder. He didn’t respond.

“Harlan!” She nudged him again with more urgency but he didn’t move. Leaning closer to him, she said the first two words that came to mind. “You’re safe.”

Harlan immediately opened his eyes and looked at Jane. Looking around the scene, he shook his head of the cobwebs. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled. “What’d I miss?”

Jane brought Harlan up to speed, which didn’t take long since she left out most of what transpired. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

He thought about it. “Drivin’ into this parkin’ lot.”

She sighed. “You don’t remember singing, ‘Just in Time’?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, gee, Harlan,” she stated wryly, “And I thought you were singing those words just to me.”

“It ain’t funny, Jane.” Suddenly he became serious. “None of this is comical. We’re outta money. How in the hell are we gonna buy gas and food?”

“We have about half a tank left. I have an emergency hundred-dollar bill stashed in the glove compartment. And there’s still enough food in the cooler if we ration it.” Her attempt at Pollyanna optimism quickly disintegrated. She turned to Harlan. “Okay. We’re fucked.” She worked herself up off the asphalt, gingerly avoiding the broken beer bottles. Her car keys were sitting out there in the dark somewhere, probably closer to dirt than pavement based on the sound she heard when they landed. Jane walked around the Mustang and realized something was wrong. Peering at the right rear wheel, it was completely flat. “Oh, fuck.” This was instant Karma—ethereal payback for slicing the cop’s patrol car tire.

Harlan heaved himself up. “You got yourself shitty tires, Jane. I tried to tell you that when we first met.” He rubbed his hand across the top of the tire. “You got an air pump and a good spare?”

“Good enough.”

“Well, finally somethin’ I can actually help you with!” he said with pride.

After Jane found the keys lying in a landscaped island next to a small, decorative tree, she popped the trunk and Harlan went to work changing the tire. Jane grabbed a cigarette, promising herself just two puffs. She checked the time on the clock. It was 3:11. “Shit,” she whispered. If this was a cosmic joke, she wasn’t laughing. How many times had she seen 3:11 staring back at her during her last case in Midas, only to find out it happened to be Wanda’s birthday. She took another drag on her cigarette and walked into the empty parking lot. How long had she been gone? Six days? No. It was coming up on four. How in the hell was that possible? Based on what Hank and she had learned, there was only a short window of time before Wanda moved from her halfway house to another location. After that, tracking her down might be more difficult, especially if she ghosted herself like a lot of addicts and fell back into her old life. Jane tried to persuade herself that she didn’t need to meet or talk with Wanda but Hank convinced her that if she didn’t make the trek to Northern New Mexico she’d always wonder about her half-sister. “That’ll dog you forever, Jane,” he warned her. And he was right. She hated that fact but it was true. But it was also a fact that Wanda didn’t have a clue that Jane existed. Here Jane was, focused on the woman, like she had been a couple weeks before, and realized that she could think about Wanda 24/7 but it didn’t mean they had any purposeful connection. Right now, it was a one-sided relationship. Jane lectured herself that if she wanted to, she could blow it off and never look back.

She took another hit of nicotine, hoping it would ease her nerves. But there was a gradual shaking that crept under her skin that felt like a thousand electrical outlets buzzing simultaneously. Jane looked into the coal darkness. She heard the distant horn of an Interstate truck, miles away from their desolate location. But she didn’t feel one bit alone. Were they watching her, she worried. Had John made a call and improved his odds even more by tipping them off to their whereabouts? Between the cops and the mysterious Romulus, Jane knew she had to make some serious adjustments in their plans if she was going to be able to continue and figure out how to remove Harlan from this mess.

Her lip started to throb where she’d been slapped. Rubbing it gently, she noticed some of the dirt from the floor of the cement blockade was firmly embedded in her inflamed cut. All she needed now was an infection to cap off her night from hell. She turned back to the Mustang in time to find Harlan stashing the dead tire in her trunk. Letting out a hard sigh, she knew what she had to do. It wasn’t going to be easy and she’d have to wing it, given the enormity of her situation. But her back was against the wall and as much as she wanted to continue being the lone wolf, she was aware that either the cops or Romulus would devour her unless she got some help.

Trekking back to the car, Harlan was waiting for her.

“They may have jobbed your two guns, Jane. But I still got one,” he beamed, tipping his head toward the backseat. There was the 9mm he’d grabbed when he escaped from the hospital days before. “Extra clip, too, don’t forget.”

Jane looked at him. He was so proud that he could fix her tire and now he was thrilled that he could offer a gun and a clip. “Thank you,” she offered.

He licked his lips nervously. “We’re gonna be okay, Jane. Right?”

She nodded, still formulating her plan.

“Hey, can I ask you somethin’?” he said.

“What?”

“How’d you wake me up? What’d you say?”

“I said, ‘You’re safe.’”

“Yeah?” he smiled. “Humph. It’s funny. I didn’t hear you say it, but I remember relaxin’. And I knew I was gonna be okay.”

Jane searched through the car and found her last remaining disposable cell phone. She stared at the phone, willing herself to dial the numbers. “We are going to be okay, Harlan.” Looking at the haphazard collection of items in the car, she sighed. “We need to get this all organized so we can transfer it easily.”

“Transfer it where?”

“To another vehicle. This one is too much on the radar. Could you take care of it for me?”

“Sure,” he said, happy to have something to do. “But, you really think we should add car theft to the list?”

Jane wished it could be that simple. “Just take care of it, would you?” She squashed out the cigarette and lit a new one. Fresh tobacco was required. She turned and walked back into the pillows of darkness that hugged the parking lot. Somehow, having this conversation in the shadows of night was fitting. She stalled for five minutes, lighting her cigarette and puffing on it like a fiend. Then she dialed the number halfway and stopped, going over her appeal out loud, changing the wording to sound less desperate. After half an hour and down to the butt of her cigarette, she let out a long breath and with a shaking hand, dialed the number. It rang twice before he picked up.

“Jane?”

She was stunned. It was a disposable phone. How could he know it was her?

“
Jane
?” he asked again, his voice raising a nervous octave.

“Yes,” was all she could utter. Hearing his voice somehow overwhelmed her.

“Where are you?”

“I’m okay, Hank.”

“Where are you?”

“Can you get to Sheldon Springs sometime today?”

“Sheldon…Jesus, how in the hell did you get down there? Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

She arranged to meet him at the only motel she remembered in that area. If memory served, there was a wooded area one block west of the motel that would come in handy. Jane gave him her cell phone number and asked him to call her before he got there and she’d relay the room number.

“I need some stuff,” she added. She could hear him grabbing a paper and pen.

“Are you going to tell me what in the hell is going on?”

“I will when you get here.”

“Has this got to do with Wanda?” he asked in a probing manner.

She smiled. “God, I wish. You have that pen ready?”

“Yeah,” he said, not satisfied. “Shoot.”

“I need five hundred bucks. I’ll pay you back.”

“I don’t give a shit about that. What about your credit cards?”

“I lost them.”

“Uh-huh.” His voice was tense. “Jane, what in the hell is going on?” he asked, dredging up his past law enforcement tone.

“I’ll fill you in when I see you. The next thing I need is food. Lunchmeat, apples, cheese, chips, two dozen eggs…no, make that three dozen—”

“
What
?”

“You writing this down?”

“Three dozen eggs. Got it. You want four pounds of butter? How about a skillet? Should I pack some dishes and cutlery? Need any salt?”

His sarcasm was oddly calming to Jane. God, it felt good for her to hear his voice. “Nah, just the eggs will do. I could also use a couple disposable cell phones.”

He scratched his pen on the paper. “This is getting interesting.”

She touched her cut lip, feeling heat emanate from it. “Is that aquarium store still in business south of Midas?”

“
Aquarium
store? Yeah…”

“Good. When they open this morning, could you go down there and pick up some fish antibiotics?” She heard his pen drop.

“
What
?”

“Just look for Fish-Mox Forte,” she replied in a serious tone. “It’s amoxicillin. The same shit humans use, just packaged differently.”

“Is that right? How many bottles do you need, Jane?”

“One will do. I figure that a single capsule a day treats a ten-gallon aquarium and there’s 100 capsules in a bottle—”

“Jane! What in the hell is going on?!”

“Will you get these for me?” she stressed.

He let out a tired breath. “Fish antibiotics. Check. What else?”

“I need a rental car. Something on the larger side.”

“How large? A four door sedan or a van?”

She thought about it. The idea of tooling around in a van gave her the chills. But it would be a helluva lot more comfortable for Harlan and it would give them an adequate place to sleep at night without having to rely on seedy motels. “Get me the van. Something really plain and boring.”

“Plain and boring van. You want GPS?”

“No. I hate GPS. I like to see where I’m going. I’ll take a good map, though.”

“A good map. Anything else?”

She thought quickly. “Maybe a box of 9mm ammo?”

“Ammo. Of course. Makes sense. Right. Is that it?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“So, let me read this back to you because I think you need to hear this. You want five hundred bucks, lunchmeat, apples, cheese, chips, three-dozen eggs, a couple disposable cell phones, one bottle of fish antibiotics, a vanilla van with a good map and a box of 9mm ammo.”

She went over everything in her head. “Yeah. That covers it.”

“
Seriously
, Jane?” He sighed. “You realize that anybody else would get the authorities involved?”

“You’re not ‘anybody else.’ That’s why I called you.”

“Why didn’t you call me four days ago when you got your car stolen?” For the first time his voice sounded angry.

“I sent you a message,” she offered in a soft voice.

“What do you mean?”

“The day after my car was jacked. I sent you a mental message, letting you know I was okay.”

“You know that’s not the kind of message I’m talking about, Jane.”

“Yeah. Well, you must have gotten the message.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you said my name when you answered the phone tonight. And if you believed for one second I was dead, you wouldn’t have done that. Am I right?”

There was a hard pause on the other end of the phone. “Okay. I’ll give you that. But goddammit, Jane, you should have called me. The old fashioned way? You can’t leave me hanging here! I need to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll talk to you when I see you. My minutes are running out on this crap phone,” she lied. They said a rushed goodbye and she hung up. Part of her felt weak for having to phone him and ask for help. But another part of her was aching to touch him. He’d reduced her to rubble, she decided. Where once had stood an independent, self-sufficient person, there now was a lost soul standing in a dark parking lot at four in the morning, counting the hours until she could hold him in her arms. She hated herself for it. Needing anyone was a sign of weakness in her eyes. One starts depending on another and before they know it, they’ve lost their drive and vulnerability becomes their fulcrum. While she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable with Hank over the past month, it wasn’t etched into her psyche. And the longer they’d been apart, the more she’d convinced herself that it was wise to leave a door open or at least a large window in order to escape if necessary.

Taking advantage of the cloak of night, Jane drove north to a twenty-four hour gas station. She secured her ball cap on her head as she got out of the Mustang and did a quick check around the area. She added air to her tires and checked the oil level under the hood. Using the rainy day, hundred-dollar bill she’d been holding back in the glove compartment, Jane put twenty-five bucks of fuel in the Mustang. If the plan was going to work, she wanted to make sure he could drive straight back without stopping. That’s assuming Hank would agree to do it.

Checking the time, she figured that traveling on the highway might be safer and certainly quicker than the bumpy county roads and back highways. But the closer she drove toward I-25, the more she felt the walls caving in on her. A few blocks later, she saw flashing lights and what appeared to be a checkpoint up ahead. Her paranoia kicked in and, putting two and two together, wondered if the cops at the Shangri-La put out a BOLO for her Mustang. She pulled over to the side of the road, keeping her engine running.

“Why you stoppin’, Jane?” Harlan asked from under the covers in the backseat.

“I don’t know how to get to Sheldon Springs on the back roads. I’m not sure there even are back roads. What’d you do with the map I had in the glove compartment?”

He lifted his head and scanned the interior of the car. “I saw it ‘round here somewhere.”

Headlights crested the hill behind her. “Get down, Harlan,” she ordered him.

He obliged. Jane watched the headlights loom closer in the rearview mirror. As it approached, the vehicle slowed. She kept her eyes pinned in the mirror, her heart racing faster as it moved closer. And then, the flashing lights came on.

“Fuck!” Jane exclaimed, as her mouth went dry.

“What’s goin’ on?” Harlan asked.

“Whatever you do, whatever happens out here,
do not
make a sound or move a muscle. You hear me?”

“What’s happenin’, Jane?” Harlan stressed.