Page 21 of Blue-Eyed Jacks
“Kate,” his voice was soft.
“What do I do?”
His silence stretched out.“I’d say run.You got any cash?”
“Four hundred saved.”
“Jesus.That and a fucking dime would get you to exactly mother-fucking nowhere.Wait.That’s what you need.Mother-fucking nowhere.Step one, do you know anyone with a car?”
“A few people.”
“Any men you trust, big guys.The kind you don’t mess with?”
“One.”George would say yes.He was the linebacker-sized stocker here.He’d once been a football player in high school.College came, and his scholarship wasn’t enough to help him escape his urban plight, and he started down the path of drug abuse.He was about five years clean and sober, and coaching middle school kids in the local Rec league.He was a teddy bear of a human, but like most bears, you didn’t want to be on their bad side.
“Okay.Can you hold out a week?”
“I can try.”
“You can.You’re smart, brave, a fucking hurricane in little human form.You got this.Next Tuesday morning, get up and on the road as early as you can.I want you to get your guy to drive you to a little adult toy store just off the 309 near Wilkes Barre.You’ll know it because there’s a hotel, a custom car place, and a bunch of discount chain stores nearby.Maybe even a Salvation Army, if I remember correctly.He should drop you off and watch you walk inside.Bringnothingwith you.From there, he should go to the hotel across thestreet and take a room for the night.It will be reserved under the name Fred Manford.”
“What happens at the adult store?”
“You go to the back dressing rooms.”
“And?”
“That’s all you get, babe.Some parts of this plan still need work.Just get your ass there on Tuesday, and don’t delay.Anything happens in-between then and here, I can’t cover.”He hung up almost as soon as he finished.
But I had a plan, which George was happy to help with.But I made him swear to secrecy.I made a few more calls, one to the police, to tell them about the car in front of the store.
A squad car drove past, and the car was gone within the hour.Trouble was, no one saw who got in it.That itch between my shoulders was full-out stabbing now.George made himself more than useful escorting us between vehicles and work, even going as far as driving us on more than one occasion.
Monday afternoon, I was in the back, tagging merchandise.A commotion up front sent George and a couple of the other men running to take care of it.
But it was too late.Cara was gone.
At the register, a single piece of paper was stabbed on the old memo spike we kept there.I tugged it off and my body washed cold.Scribbled on it was a Destroyers skull.Around it were squiggly lines.It was so poorly drawn I didn’t understand it at first.Then I realized it resembled Shock’s back tattoo.He had the Destroyers’ patch inked there.Ringed around it were thunderheads and lightning.
I pocketed it.The police would want it, but what if they fingerprinted it?I’d held it.My sweaty hands were sure to leave a residue.I cursed my stupidity.Fingerprints were indisputable evidence that would get back to my husband as proof I’d been there.
He’d figure out the missing pieces and target Jackson this time.I was so dumb.
“Kate, the cops are on their way.Do you need me to take you anywhere?”George hovered, the concern making the frown lines in his forehead groove into deep mounds.
“Here.”I dug out the paper.“My ex.That’s his tattoo mark.He’s probably got someone on payroll.”
George studied the drawing.“Destroyers?”
“Yeah.”
His dark brown eyes studied me.“You don’t look like a biker chick.”
“Why do you think I ran?”
His jaw tensed.“I got friends…”
“No.Use them to helpyou.I want nothing to do with gangs or bikers or anyone.I just need to—” The bell rang as the other workers filed into the store, all of them excited and angry.Mostly, they were upset that Cara was gone.I was, too, but also terrified of what would happen next.
