Page 4 of Hidden Rocco
The older man let out a sigh and asked, “That’s all you got?”
Rocco had intended to walk and hide and work whatever odd job he could to continue this journey. So far he’d ridden on luck so he kept up his story. “Until I get to my bank, sir.”
Doug printed something under the counter. “Most people aren’t as polite as you. You sound like you were in the military.”
Rocco stared at Doug and swore he saw a halo about the man’s head, which was impossible. Angels didn’t exist in the real world. “Marines. Ten years, sir.”
The man reached beneath the counter. Rocco froze, half afraid he’d sounded the alarm, but then Doug handed over a small white receipt. “I could tell. Look, we have a military discount. Have fun in Denver and good luck with starting over.”
Moisture formed in his eyes when he never cried. Doug politely ignored him as Rocco blinked away his tears. He tried to give his small amount of cash to Doug as he said, “Here-”
“No, you keep that.” Doug shoved it back. “This is the least we can do for a Marine and your service.”
That had been years ago. Rocco composed himself as the police officers in the corner laughed with each other. Rocco’s spine tingled but he pocketed his money and ticket while he said, “Thank you, sir. I’ll repay you when I can.”
Doug laughed. “Well, if you were a bad guy, half the town is also former military so we’d shoot you straight between the eyes without blinking.”
Rocco’s adrenaline spiked but he nodded, “I understand, sir, and thank you.”
Without another word, Rocco kept his head down but walked briskly out the back door, away from the officers, and toward the endless lines of buses.
The smell of diesel was almost sweet.
He checked his ticket and continued toward Bus 24, Denver bound. Rocco climbed on. Some seats were filled, and half of those passengers wore shifty expressions, something he was familiar with from prison.
He spoke to no one and took a seat in an empty row.
No one dared to join him.
After a few minutes, the bus driver honked and pulled out of the station.
As they headed onto the highway, Rocco’s mind raced at his good fortune. He’d expected to hide in bushes during the day and go through a battlefield until he made it to Miami.
And his mother.
Denver was north and west instead of east and south, but it was far from the prison. He could get a few odd jobs in the city, earn money, change his appearance, and buy a faster ticket home.
The view from the bus on the highway was brown on brown with the occasional cluster of pine trees and until the scene changed to more trees and the distant mountains. His mind reeled. Now what? He couldn’t call or get in touch with his mother to let her know he was on his way. The cops would keep her under constant surveillance.
He watched everyone from his seat and didn’t move a muscle. Perhaps he’d find a different way to reach his mother. Talking alone wouldn’t convince her to help herself.
Hours passed and up ahead he saw a sign for Colorado. He was almost out of Utah. Good.
Cars slowed at the state border, then stopped in a line.
His heart raced as the bus driver announced on the intercom, “The police are doing a car search. Seems there was a prison break and they are checking IDs.”
They knew.
The entire busload of people groaned like they were annoyed. Rocco saw the blue lights and his mind blurred—he had to disappear. But where? He ignored his instinct to hide and walked over to the driver. “How often does this happen on the bus, sir?”
“More than you think. They always find a reason to search. It’s usually the police or ICE these days.” The driver let the sentence sit in the air, then added,
“So, we’ll be here a while as the police will check everyone.”
He wouldn’t go back to prison.
If his mother agreed, the two of them would head to Costa Rica. He had contacts and could get a fake ID. She could join a retirement community of ex-pats there. In prison, he’d read about the American lifestyle that his mother might like.
