The Gambit (25 page)

He froze up, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob. His eyes glanced left at the barrel.

“Get out,” I demanded.

“No,” he stammered.

“
Get out!
” I shouted.

He slowly lifted his hands off the steering wheel and popped open the driver door. He paused before he stood up. He was a chalk-white man, with freckles that covered his face, and he had orange hair. He winced like he was about to cry.

“I just bought this car a week ago,” he hiccupped. “I’ve been saving up for it forever.”

I glanced at the exterior of the car. It was a faded, dark-purple. There was rust along the side molding. Something inside me felt sympathetic for this man…but we
had
to get to Orlando.

“I need you to trust me,” I said. “Get out!” I yelled once more.

He scowled and stood up. I held the gun against his head and threw my backpack into the open window. It landed in the driver’s seat.

“Rachel. Please give this man a bundle.”

She nodded, and I heard the sound of a zipper. The man’s eyebrows quirked from my words. He was lost.

“Here,” she said.

I leaned over and grabbed the bundle with my free hand.

“Take it,” I said, pushing it into his gut.

“What? Are you serious? I thought you were taking my car.”

“We are, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get yourself another one.”

An awkward smile emerged on his face.

“How much did you pay for this thing?”

“Three thousand,” he answered.

“Well, there is ten. Call yourself a cab, and go buy a better car outright.”

“Uh, okay,” he mumbled as he groped the large stack of hundreds in his hands.

I sat in the driver’s seat, and when I glanced to see what belongings he had in the back, I discovered a nylon, string-strap backpack. I threw it to him.

“Put that money in there. Don’t want anyone to take it from you.”

The man nodded.

“Oh, and, if you could—don’t call the cops.”

“Okay,” he said.

With my request, we drove off.

I glanced over at Rachel beside me. Her messy hair was flowing around the cabin from the windows being open.

“Good job, Clyde,” she said with a wink.

“Not too bad yourself, Bonnie.”

She leaned in over the console, and as I turned to look at her she gave me a kiss. It was electrifying.

“Sorry, I’ll let you drive,” she teased playfully.

I shrugged my shoulders with a flirty grin.

“You can kiss me whenever you want.”

“Oh really?”

She kissed me again.

“All right, all right,” I laughed. “Let me drive.”

“You just can’t make up your mind, can you?”

I could see the road for miles. It was flat in all directions. Occasionally, we would pass fields of oranges or a house. When I would see a cop, my whole body would clench up. Every single one just drove past.

“How long to Orlando?” I asked.

“From here, maybe half an hour.”

“Do you know where we are going?”

“Kind of,” she muttered.

“Kind of? You can’t be serious.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get us there. It’s just been a while since I’ve visited.”

“How long?”

“Almost two years.”

“Two years?!” I threw my hands up. “She could have moved for crying out loud!”

“Relax, I remember where she lives. These apartments off of Conway Gardens Road.”

“I hope your memory is as good as your oral.”

She slapped me hard on my bicep.

“Ouch! God, I’m just playing.”

“Men…” She muttered.

We pulled into an apartment complex. The parking lot was half-full, and I saw a dark-skinned guy leaning into the window of someone else’s car. On the drive in it appeared like the rest of Florida—flat, palm trees, and clay-tiled shingles on many of the roofs. I had never been here before, but these were definitely the outskirts. Downtown was farther west.

Rachel turned the car off and just sat there for a moment. She pulled her hair out from the bun and began sliding off the sweatpants I gave her.

“Here are your pants back,” she said.

I handed her business slacks back to her.

The building in front of us was beige-colored and three stories. I counted, there were twenty units, and as I looked to my left and my right, there were at least ten buildings.

“Do you remember her apartment number?” I asked.

She glanced at me with uncertainty in her eyes.

“I remember it was on the bottom, and a corner unit. I sent her a Christmas card last year. I think it’s apartment 1A.”

“I hope you’re right. I wouldn’t want us knocking on the wrong door in this kind of area.”

She gave me a bizarre look as we stepped out of the car and began laughing.

“This kind of area?” she mocked. “Orlando is nothing compared to Miami.”

“I grew up in a small town. D.C. is the biggest city I’ve lived in.”

“Aren’t there bad areas up there?”

“Yeah, I avoid them.”

“Some of us aren’t so lucky,” she pointed out with pursed lips.

I shrugged, and we approached the corner of the building. Once inside the breezeway, I saw these apartments were labeled 1A, 1B, 1C, and 1D.

“This is the one,” Rachel said, pointing to her left.

I grew nervous as we approached the door. Almost
two years
since she had visited? We could have been knocking on a cop’s door for all we knew.

Rachel rang the doorbell. I waited anxiously.

Nothing
.

Rachel glanced over at me, shrugging her shoulders.

She rang it a second time. I counted the seconds. I was beginning to doubt anyone was home to begin with. Rachel’s face revealed a slight frustration.

This time, she knocked on the door. She gave it three solid raps.

“
Briana
,” Rachel said, her accent switching over to Spanish. “
Es Raquel—abre la puerta, por favor.
”

She continued to knock persistently.

“It’s probably the wrong person,” I said.

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, and the door swung open. A woman around Rachel’s height with dark, mocha skin stood in the threshold with a stunned expression.

“
Raquel, ay Dios mio!
” Briana shouted.

They embraced in a long hug and jabbered in Spanish to each other. Their voices fluctuated with momentary laughter. Briana pointed at Rachel’s dirty clothes. Rachel said something, and then Briana’s eyes darted to me. She gave me a look that a foreigner might give a loud, obnoxious tourist who didn’t belong. It wasn’t pleasant. Rachel grabbed her attention and muttered something else. Briana’s face turned worrisome.

“Come in,” she motioned to us.

We walked inside. The dining room was to the left, and the den was of good size. I scanned the walls in awe of all the decorations. There were pictures of what I assumed to be family and friends. I saw Rachel in one of the photos, but she was much younger. There was a small Puerto Rican flag on the wall in the kitchen. The apartment had the faint scent of Hispanic food; it made my stomach growl. We hadn’t eaten in over a day. Rachel sat on one of the barstools that lined the eat-in kitchen counters. I remained standing.

“Rachel. Girl, what’s going on? Be real with me, I’ve seen the news and I almost didn’t believe it was you.”

“Well,” she began. “Owen here was framed. He wasn’t behind the terrorist attack at Georgetown.”

“How do you know for sure?” Briana countered.

“He’s—I mean, it just doesn’t make sense.”

Briana pursed her lips in a duck-face.

“It sure makes a whole lotta’ sense on TV.”

“You can’t believe everything you see on the news—”

“And you can’t believe every pretty boy that has a good story,” she interjected.

Rachel’s mouth was agape. She glanced between Briana and me. I became flustered listening to them go back and forth. Briana acted like I wasn’t even in the room. She had her hair slicked back into a ponytail, and out of it sprung golden-blonde ringlet curls. They bounced around as she talked.

“He doesn’t have a story,” Rachel said. “The media is telling it for him.”

“Then what did he tell you?” she pressed.

“Brianna, I am completely innocent. I devoted the last two years to my party and to this election. They are trying to take that away from me, whoever they are.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Listen to him talk like the
gringo
he is,” she snorted. “My name is Bri-
ana
, not Bri-
anna
.”

“Bri-on-a,” I repeated, enunciating the syllables. “I know to you I’m just a white guy, but I am innocent. I wouldn’t lie to Rachel. Anyway, she approached me.”

“Really?” Briana asked, turning to her.

“Yes,” Rachel answered. “I saw him in a coffee shop where I live.”

Briana seemed hesitant. She studied me up and down and kept glancing between Rachel and me.

“No one followed you guys here, right?”

“Not that we know of,” I answered.

“You better be right. Rachel, you know I love you,
amiga
, but if the feds come I can’t get caught hiding you. You know my history.”

“That is
exactly
why we are here.”

Briana’s eyes grew wide. Rachel’s pressed lips and stony glare screamed tension. Something sensitive was just brought up.

“No, no,” Briana nodded her head and walked towards the door. “I need you to leave. I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Are you seriously going to kick us out just like that? So easily?”

“Don’t even fucking go there, Rachel! You spend three years in prison and tell me how easy it is to kick you out. It’s the easiest decision I’ve made in years! Get out!” she repeated, fuming.

“No,” Rachel huffed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Briana’s face turned red.

“Don’t try me! Every pig in the country wants you two. I could have you out of here in a second.”

“
No eres una rata!
” Rachel shouted in Spanish, her expression stunned.

“
Ay, por favor
,
Raquel!
Don’t call me that!”

“Is that what you’re gonna be? A fucking rat?”

Briana’s eye twitched and her lower lip trembled.

“We have been through thick and thin,
hermana
. Don’t make me do something I
don’t
want to do. Get out!”

Rachel crossed her arms and shook her head. She wasn’t budging.

“Please, can you just listen? Just for a few minutes? We are dirty, tired, and hungry. We can’t show our faces anywhere. Just let us be safe for a few hours.
Please
.”