Knowing (27 page)

The patrol car eased up behind the Mustang.

“
Don’t move a muscle
,” Jane said quietly, as waves of anxiety crested. She spied the 9mm tucked into the side of the passenger seat. Moving her hand carefully, she lifted the service weapon, took off the safety and racked the slide.

“Jane?” Harlan whispered with fear. “What are you doin’?”

“
Shut up
,” she whispered, feeling part of herself drift away. Securing the gun under the driver’s seat, she watched the cop get out of his car. At first glance, he appeared young by the way he moved. She sensed slight apprehension from him, indicative of how a rookie ambles up to a vehicle late at night. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she concocted the first stunt that entered her mind. Burying her head on the steering wheel, she pressed on her cut lip until it opened and blood shot out. She heard the tap-tap on the driver’s side window and saw the harsh flashlight beam entering the car. Forcing herself into character, she left her cop vibe behind and assumed the role of a victim.

“Ma’am?” the youthful voice asked.

Jane turned to the window, blinded by the flashlight. “Help me!” she cried, rolling down the window.

“What’s wrong, ma’am?”

Jane saw that he indeed was as green as they come. He didn’t look over twenty-three and while she couldn’t be certain, he looked more scared than she was. She opened the driver’s door. “My man…he beat me up. He cut my lip. See?” She got out of the car as crocodile tears welled in her eyes.

The cop backed up and shone his flashlight in her face. “Have you been drinking, ma’am?”

“
Drinking
? Oh my, God, no! I’m just tryin’ to get away from him so he won’t do me like he’s already done me tonight.”

The officer pointed the light into the backseat of the Mustang. Jane quickly fell to the asphalt in a crouching position. She knew if the cop was trained correctly, he would keep his focus only on her.

“Ma’am? Please get up!”

“I just want to get north of here but I don’t know how to do it,” Jane cried.

“Please, ma’am,” he said with an uneasy tone, “you have to get up off the ground. Come on!” He offered her his hand.

She took it and slowly worked her way back up. “Thank you. You’re very kind, officer.”

He turned to the Mustang in an inquisitive manner. Observing him, Jane realized he was a fucking pup. He was too tentative. She knew she could overpower him in less than a second, grab his gun and knock him out. His eyes continued to linger a little too long on her car. A fire began to boil in her gut. She could take him down. One good pop to the back of the head and he’d go down hard. She’d cuff him and stuff him in the back of his own patrol car. Yes, she could do it.

He turned back to her. “This a ’66 Mustang?”

She never took her eyes off him. “No. It’s a ’69.” She inched closer to him. “It’s the only thing of value my deadbeat man owns. When he finds it gone, he’s gonna come after me. That’s why I gotta get outta Dodge and head north. But I don’t know how to do that. I’m all turned around, you see?” She looked deeply into his eyes. God, he was innocent. The inferno inside strangely tamped down. Out of nowhere, she heard three words.
Manipulate the outcome
. Looking up, she saw a vehicle crest the hill behind them. “Oh, god!” she screamed, running into the center of the road.

The cop turned around. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s him!” Jane screamed, moving farther away from her car.

“Ma’am! Get outta the road!”

“He’s followin’ me! I can’t let him catch me!”

The cop rushed toward her and quickly pushed her to the opposite side of the road. “You can’t be running into the road like that, ma’am.”

The approaching car slowed and then passed them.

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Jane exclaimed. “You see what he’s turned me into? I’m all paranoid!” She grabbed his sleeve. “Can I ask you for a huge favor?”

“What’s that?” he replied, visibly overwhelmed with her antics.

“Would you please escort me to the highway that heads north?”

“Well, I—”

“I beg of you, officer. I don’t have no map! Please? If you could just lead me to the highway and drive with me a little bit, I’d feel so much safer.”

He was so confused by this point, Jane wasn’t sure if he even knew which way was north. He nodded nervously. “I can do that for you, ma’am.”

Jane returned to the Mustang and followed the patrol car around the checkpoint and onto I-25. For ten miles, she trailed him until he waved her forward and exited the off ramp. She didn’t stop shaking for another half hour.

The rising sun was minutes from cresting over the far mountains when Jane rolled into Sheldon Springs. She checked out the wooded area west of the motel to ensure it was still densely cloistered and would work. Satisfied it would serve the necessary purpose, Jane swung the Mustang toward the far end of the motel and told Harlan to wait for her. She barely had enough cash for one night and the look on the front desk clerk’s face when she handed him every coin in her pockets was priceless. Jane specifically asked for a room in a section of the building that was vacant, explaining that she’d been on the road for days and needed to sleep soundly. The clerk happily obliged her, directing her to the second floor and the corner room, explaining that there were only two other guests staying in that section.

Jane returned to the Mustang as the morning sun filtered through the cottonwoods that lined the parking lot of the motel. She quickly motioned Harlan to get out and together they quietly ascended the stairway and went into their room. Jane figured it would do just perfectly. Before going back to the car, she quietly walked past the rooms on that side of the building. Only two of them had their window curtains covered. The rest Jane could easily peer into and see that they were empty. She noted the room number two doors down from their location. Number fifty-one. Satisfied, she returned to the car and unloaded everything out of it, including every box from her trunk and each item from her glove compartment. Taking care to be exceptionally quiet, she gingerly walked up the stairs and stuffed the sundry items into the room’s spacious closet. There was only one thing left to do. Heading downstairs again, she drove the Mustang to the wooded area about one block west of the motel and parked it in the shadiest section she could find. Before walking back to the motel, she took one last look at her beloved ride and said a quick prayer.

Once settled back at the motel with Harlan, she sat down on the bed next to him and explained her plan.

“I get it, Jane,” Harlan said, after hearing the whole thing. “You need some time alone with him. I got no problem gettin’ out of your hair for a bit.”

Jane wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just about being alone with Hank; it was more about keeping Harlan hidden. As much as she hated lying to him, the truth remained that nobody could discover him. Not even Hank.

Jane wisely used the free hours before Hank showed up. She hopped into the shower and washed her hair. After re-organizing the luggage, she pulled out clothing that needed to be cleaned. Turning the motel’s bathtub into a large washing sink, she pummeled and scrubbed a couple shirts and her muddy pair of jeans. Figuring Harlan’s lone flannel shirt could stand to be freshened up, she had him remove it and then added it to the wash water. Hanging everything on the bathroom hooks, Jane turned on the fans and heat lamp and willed the clothing to dry quickly. She heard Harlan call her name with urgency.

When she walked back in the room, Harlan had the television tuned to the local Denver news morning show.

He pointed to the television. “That’s my ex-wife, Jane!”

Jane looked at the forty-ish woman. She was maybe five feet tall and probably tipped the scale at two hundred pounds. She didn’t look smart but she didn’t look mean or vengeful. The banner beneath her face read: Arlene Kipple, ex-wife of fugitive Harlan Kipple.

“She’s lost weight,” Harlan offered, obviously taken back by the whole thing. “I expect it’s ‘cause of the stress.” He stared at the TV screen, his mouth slightly ajar.

“I ain’t seen him for a while now,” Arlene told the reporter, her eyes tearing up. “But I don’t care what anybody says, the man I knew was not capable of the crimes they are sayin’ he did. I want that information to get out there!”

Harlan began to tear up. Jane sat next to him on the bed and put a comforting hand on his back.

“I ain’t never heard her stand up for me like that,” Harlan whispered.

“If your husband is watching this, Mrs. Kipple,” the reporter asked, “is there anything you’d like to tell him?”

Arlene gave the question a good amount of thought before answering. She turned to the camera with every ounce of love she could muster. “You was a good man, Harlan. I should have given you another try. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess if I’d done that.”

That wasn’t what the reporter expected and all attempts by him to manipulate Arlene into vilifying her ex-husband were met with nothing but positive words for him.

“
Anything
else you’d like to say to Mr. Kipple?” the reporter stressed, eager for a crumb of denigration.

“Be smart, Harlan. Don’t do nothin’ ‘tupid,” she smiled weakly.

Harlan choked up and managed a sad smile. “I won’t, Arlene,” he said back to the television. He flicked the TV on mute and turned to Jane. “I wonder if she still likes my hair.”

Jane took the bait. “Speaking of your hair, Harlan. I think we need to alter your look even more.”

“Break out that black dye you bought—”

“No, not the dye. I’m thinking you ought to shave it off.”

He looked at her, aghast. “All of it?”

“No, just a stripe down the center,” she sarcastically replied. “Of course, all of it!”

“I don’t know, Jane. That’s gonna look weird.”

“You look like you stuck your head in a lawn mower, Harlan. How much worse will it look?”

He stood up and stared into the mirror above the bureau. “I’ll look like a Q-tip,” he scowled.

“Nah. Not a Q-tip,” she assured him, quietly surmising a polished marble on top of a giant puffer fish was a better analogy. “Trust me on this one, okay? There’s a razor and shaving cream on the sink in the bathroom.”

He reluctantly nodded. “You do have a plan, right Jane?” His voice sounded desperate for the first time.

“Of course. I always have a plan and then I have a plan that backs up that plan,” she assured him. The truth was she had a marginal plan and an even sketchier one behind that. But she was able to sell the statement with such confidence that Harlan was satisfied enough to gather more strength and move past his temporary panic.

He retreated to the bathroom. Jane felt the mounting tension creep up her spine and stiffen her neck. She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Checking the time, she factored that Hank was figuring out what else to bring her besides the lunchmeat, chips and other food items. Knowing him, he was whipping together his famous chicken salad and wondering how to keep one of those incredible hot dogs she loved to eat from his sports bar, The Rabbit Hole, looking good during the long drive. He was such an uncommon person to be able to read Jane so accurately. It took tremendous courage for her to fall into his comforting charms. She’d become so used to the physical or emotional abuse that past lovers dealt out, she had no idea how to navigate a relationship that wasn’t built on a foundation of turmoil. There were many nights over the past month when she’d lay awake and wonder why he loved her. What in the hell did he see in her? She didn’t acquiesce like so many other women. She didn’t bat her eyes at him and play dumb. She never sat by the phone waiting for his call. But there she was in that hotel room lying on the bed and unable to get him out of her tangled mind.

She turned the sound up on the TV to take her mind off of him. The news anchor teased the next story, featuring an announcement that Congresswoman Dora Weller’s replacement, Steve Crandall, was scheduled to make. The camera cut to an outdoor location that looked like Northeastern Colorado with miles of grassland in the distance. Crandall approached the microphone in a tentative manner and read poorly from his notes.

“I want to thank you all for coming out here today,” Crandall said in a weak voice. “First, I want to let you all know that Congresswoman Weller is doing great and her doctors are telling us that there shouldn’t be any lasting issues from the incident.”

The incident
? Jane shook her head. It was a shooting, not an “incident.” But the word “shooting” was most likely erased from this puppet’s vocabulary by the people who pulled his strings. Jane was highly tuned into the dialect of those who agree to work under someone else’s thumb and do their bidding. Their pronouncements are always filled with sterile, “soft” words that sanitize discussions and never allow for forthright honesty. Honesty and candor are the red-haired stepchildren of politics as usual; they have to be beaten to a pulp and replaced with tolerable terminologies that train the public to accept illogical answers. Considering that Weller was shot, Jane was pretty sure she wasn’t “doing great” and that there
would
be “lasting issues from the incident.”

There was a frightening coldness attached to that throwaway statement by Crandall. But then again, he didn’t write it. This guy was so out of his element, it was pathetic. He stumbled on his prepared statement several times and repeatedly rubbed his forehead in a way that suggested he was totally lost. But as the camera pulled out, Jane saw Rudy standing in the background with several other officials. He never took his eyes off Crandall and from Jane’s point of view, it appeared as if he had Crandall on a very short leash.

“We’re here today to talk about the future,” Crandall said in a way that made Jane believe whatever “future” he was about to discuss was not his creation. “We have a lot of natural resources here in our great state of Colorado and I know that Congresswoman Weller agrees with me that we should not waste those resources.”

Jane frowned. The whole thing was bullshit. This idiot wasn’t having any deep discussion with Weller. While Jane never looked at Dora Weller as being part of any brain trust, she was very clear in her voting record and actions that she sought to protect land rather than exploit it.