On the Run

On the Run

by Paul Westwood

Copyright 2013 Paul Westwood

Published at Smashwords

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I took the risk of walking on foot. It was
hot. Not that I was surprised by the heat since I was in the
desert, on one of those little state freeways that wound its way to
Vegas. The sun was a blazing ball of orange, just now beginning to
dip on the horizon, which seemed like a thousand miles away. A few
cars had passed by, but in these days of sensation and worry, no
one was willing to pick up a scruffy hitchhiker with a three day
beard. But I knew I had to get to the next town and inside since
nights out in the desert turned cold. I also wasn’t ready to sleep
in the sand with the rattlesnakes and scorpions.

Hearing the rumble of an approaching vehicle,
I turned my head. To my relief it was just an oncoming white van.
The driver was hidden by the glare of the sun. It passed me and
slowed to a stop. I saw a New York license plate. With rusty wheel
wells and a faded plumbing logo on the side, it wasn’t much of a
vehicle. But it beat walking.

I ran up to the passenger window which rolled
down.

“Was that your car back there?” the woman
inside asked. Her voice was smooth with only a hint of an eastern
accent.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with surprise since I
had expected some gruff workman to go with the rough exterior of
the van.

She was a thinnish creature, though not
overly petite, somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties.
Her hair was dirty blonde, cut almost boyishly short, and the blue
eyes revealed an innate intelligence. The tiny mouth and narrow
head would be too wide for a fashion model, but still the parts
were put together beautifully. I had that moment of shock that only
happens a few times in life – love at first sight. This was a woman
that men could easily fall in love with, and continue to love over
the years, even if it meant heartache and sorrow. I was almost
afraid of her. She reeked of sexual danger that made my heart beat
fast and hard.

“Why didn’t you use your cellphone and call
for a tow?” she asked.

As she talked, I could see fine pointed teeth
underneath her pale lips. I could imagine her nibbling on my ear or
biting my neck.

I pulled my phone from out of my front
pocket. I held it up and said, “The battery ran out this morning.
So I had to walk.”

She hit a switch on the driver’s door and the
lock plungers clicked upwards. “Get on in,” the woman said. “I’ll
give you a lift to the next gas station.”

I clambered in, setting my duffel bag by my
feet. After I had shut the door, we were off. She drove fast,
steering the heavy van with practiced ease. It was hot in here. A
trickle of warm air leaked out from the vents. Looking over my
shoulder, I saw the area behind us was partitioned off by a metal
grate to protect the driver from any errant cargo. Lying on the
floor was a narrow mattress covered with a pile of blankets. On the
metal windowless walls were suitcases hanging on hooks. This
luggage swayed back and forth with the movement of the vehicle.

Through the back windows, I saw something
that gave my heart a start. It was a black Lincoln, built back in
the days when Detroit still made massive land yachts for cruising
the highways. It was coming up fast behind us. I had seen this same
car back in Santa Fe and knew it was nothing trouble. Had the
driver seen me get picked up? If so, there was going to be
bloodshed.

“What’s your name?” she asked, interrupting
my thoughts of dread.

“James,” I managed to choke back. “The last
name is Warren.”

I watched as the Lincoln sped by us,
continuing on until it disappeared ahead. I let out a sigh of
relief.

“That car is going to get a ticket,” she
commented. “Anyway, I’m called Cat. You know, short for Catherine,
which sounds so terribly old-fashioned these days.”

“Please to meet you, Cat. Aren’t you afraid
of picking up strange men on the highway?”

“Not really,” she replied. With a sudden
movement, she pulled out a little handgun – a Colt - which quickly
disappeared again, apparently resting against her left thigh.

I had my own gun, a Browning automatic, in my
duffel bag. I didn’t tell her about it. Instead, I licked my lips
and felt the cracked lines with my tongue. I said, “Don’t worry
about me, I’m harmless enough. I see you are traveling for the long
haul. Where are you headed?”

She let out a little laugh which sounded like
music to my ears. “It’s a long story,” she said.

I leaned into the seat, feeling the heat of
the cloth bite into my back. “It’s twenty miles to next gas
station. We’ve got plenty of time for a story.”

Cat shot me a shy smile that revealed a fine
pattern of laugh lines on her pale face. They gave her character
and an honest beauty. The heat inside her felt like an oven. She
was sweating through her thin t-shirt. I could tell, like me, that
she wasn’t used to this climate. She said, “I’m afraid I’m running
back home with my tail between my legs.”

“Something didn’t work out?”

“You bet it didn’t work out. I traveled from
California to New York City almost three years ago, expecting to
strike it big on Broadway. I ended up working as a waitress, living
in a cockroach infested apartment, and getting a few bit parts in
some independent productions. It was hardly the life I
expected.”

“Why New York?” I asked. “It seems that
Hollywood is a tad closer than traveling all the way across the
nation.”

With a shake of her head, Cat said, “Ever
since I was a little girl, I was into plays and musicals. I guess I
never had much interest in films or television. So that’s why I
went there. Now I’m driving back to Bakersfield to go live with my
aunt. I’m hoping I can straighten out my life and find something
interesting to do.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a nod.

“How about you? What are you running
from?”

“Me?” I snapped back with a shake of my head.
“Nothing.”

“You’re not a very good liar,” Cat said. “I
saw how you reacted when that Lincoln drove by. Someone is looking
for you, aren’t they? You’re not a wanted outlaw or anything like
that?”

I pulled my gaze from her and instead turned
my attention to the rolling landscape. There was nothing to look at
but sand and rocks. I finally said, “I’m a detective.”

“You mean you work for the police?” she
asked, the tone of her voice one of distrust.

“No, nothing like that. I’m a private
investigator working in Miami. I used to be a cop, but didn’t like
the brass telling me what to do. I got into the position where I
had to quit or else they would have fired me.”

“I see. You’re a long way from home. So now
you work hiding in bushes, trying to catch women cheating on their
husbands?”

“Something like that,” I said with a chuckle.
“Of course cheating goes both ways. I don’t like doing divorce
cases but for a man in my profession, they’re still the bread and
butter. Sometimes something more interesting comes up, which is a
blessing, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to handle the job for
long.”

Cat seemed content with my answer.

I continued on, “A few weeks ago I had a
woman named Carmen Salvatore come in. She wanted me to find
evidence that her husband was having an affair. At the time, I
didn’t think much of it and took the case. Little did I know that
her husband, Adrian, is a captain in the local mob. It was easy
enough to figure out that he was seeing a stripper from one of the
downtown clubs. I got pictures of Adrian meeting with her and then
taking her to a hotel. I also got a picture of him at the hotel
door, talking to another man. I didn’t think much of it at the
time, but that other man has to be someone important. Anyway, other
than the photo of the man, I turned the photos over to the wife,
fully expecting her to go through with a divorce.”

“It all sounds rather seedy,” she commented.
“Why do you think that other man that this Adrian met is
important?”

“I don’t know, but after I gave Carmen the
pictures, I was visited at my office by two hoods. They worked for
Adrian. They tried to kidnap me. I had to shoot one of them to make
my escape. I managed to get to my car and run for it, packing
whatever I could from what was in the office. I didn’t even stop
home to pick anything up, I just started driving, trying to put as
much distance between myself and Miami as I could.”

“You’ve put on a lot of miles. How are they
keeping track of where you are?”

I shrugged. “I gave it some thought. The mob
in Miami must have someone working for them in law enforcement
since every time I used a credit card, I ended up being picked up
by someone. I had to stop using the plastic, relying on what little
cash I had. As you can see, I eventually ran of gas. I was hoping
to make it to Vegas and get lost in the crowd.”

Cat took her eyes off the road long enough to
raise a skeptical eyebrow in my direction. She said, “I’ve heard
lots of stories in my time, but yours takes the cake. You’re trying
to con me, aren’t you? Look, I don’t have much money myself. I mean
take a look at this van. Do you think I’m rolling in the green
stuff?”

In aggravation, I fumbled for the wallet
resting in my back pocket. “Look, I can prove that I’m a detective.
I have a license.”

She shook her head. “You could show me
anything, but it could be a forgery or who knows what. Look, I’ll
drive you to the next town, okay? Just don’t go asking me for
money.”

“Fine,” I shot back, trying to keep my voice
cold and level. No one likes being called a liar. For the next few
minutes there was an uneasy feeling in the air as if a wall had
been built in between us.

When she next spoke, the tone of her voice
was conciliatory, as if offering a truce. “James, I’m sorry if I
seem so jaded. Working with a bunch of theater types in New York
City makes you suspicious. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve
heard someone go on about their big plans for a show, or try to get
me into bed on the promise of giving me a lead in their
production.” She smiled to herself, perhaps reliving some old
memory. “I’ve heard it all.”

“Well I’m not making it up. Whoever is
driving that Lincoln is after me. I would prefer it if you could
drop me off in big enough town where I could lose him.”

She made a face, sticking her tongue out just
enough so it brushed against her upper lip. “It’s a small detour,
but would Vegas work?”

I thought about this. Las Vegas was my
original destination since it had an ever moving population of
tourists, hucksters, and conmen. It would be easy to get lost in
the crowd. I could draw out some more money from my account and
disappear before the Mafia had a chance to get me. From there I
could get to California or maybe catch a flight to Europe. It
wasn’t the best plan, but it was better than walking on the side of
the road.

“I’ll take your offer,” I said. What other
choice did I have?

We zipped by a gas station that was lit up
with neon. The sun was almost gone now; just a faint smear of
orange along the horizon. Cat turned on the headlights. The beams
broke across the road, leaving temporary imprints along the black
asphalt. The previous colors and rolling terrain of the desert
disappeared into a black empty void. We could have been travelers
on some alien planet; the only humans for millions of miles.

Covering her mouth with the back of her hand,
Cat let out a yawn. “Look, James, I’ve been traveling all day. I
need to get some sleep.”

“I can take over driving,” I suggested.

She said uneasily, “It’s not that I don’t
trust you, but I would hate to fall asleep and wake up somewhere I
don’t want to be. I’ll find a place to pull over and I can sleep in
the back. You can take the front here. Since I will have the keys,
and can lock myself inside, you won’t be able to get to me. How
does that sound?”

“Do I have any choice?” I asked, not
expecting an answer.

“Not unless you want to start walking again,”
she replied with a sweet smile.

A few miles later and Cat found a spot to
turn off. It was an old service road that led off into the brush.
The headlights bounced along the rutted road. The dark shadows of
cactuses almost looked like standing people. Once we reached a low
rock outcropping, she turned the wheel and slowed to a cautious
pace. The wheels bounced and dipped, making it feel like my teeth
were going to fall out. Once Cat was satisfied, she killed the
engine and pulled the key out of the ignition. It was so quiet that
I could hear the breath escape from her lips.