Make A Run For It

by Bill Bernico

I sat on the passenger's side in the front, next to Lou. Frankie sat directly behind me, keeping his gun at my neck. My reasons for being in this spot in the first place are unimportant. Let's just say that these two thugs had their orders and their orders included taking me for a ride. I always thought there'd be big money in being a mobster. It never dawned on me that what I knew would lead me to the predicament I now found myself in. Never mind that I had once been one of them and never mind that I'd taken my share of guys for their own rides. It was my turn and there was no denying that one of us wouldn't be coming back.

Lou eased the car to the side of the road and turned the key off. The desert was silent except for the occasional sound of the wind whipping through the brush. I pulled on the door handle and slid out. Frankie stepped out behind me, still holding the gun but in a more casual manner than before.

Lou stepped to the back of the car and motioned to Frankie. He whispered in Frankie's ear, “What do we do with him? We can't just head on back and leave him here for the buzzards.”

Frankie thought about it for a minute and looked back over at me. He weighed his options and scratched the back of his head with the gun barrel.

The sun was beginning to drop behind the mountain range, casting eerie shadows across the barren landscape. Off in the distance I could make out the major highway we'd left earlier. It was probably five or six miles away. The dirt road we were on ran almost parallel to it toward the south. I didn't see any crossroads. A mile or so to the west, between the road we were on and the major highway, there seemed to be a small clump of trees and some sort of a building. The other three directions yielded nothing but more desert.

Lou and Frankie eased over to where I was standing with my hands in my pockets. Lou stood behind and to the left of Frankie, looking at me with disdain. “Tell him, Frankie,” he said, nudging him in the shoulder.

Frankie lifted the gun and pointed it toward me. “Sorry, pal, but you know the routine. You've done this a few times yourself. You know what we gotta do.” He snickered. “It doesn't seem right to just leave you here out in the middle of nowhere. Just wouldn't be fair to you, now would it?”

My right hand came out of my pocket grasping my handkerchief. I let it drop to the ground as Frankie raised the gun. “Oh oh,” I said, reaching for the handkerchief. I came up with a handful of the desert and violently flung it in Frankie's face. The sand found its mark and spattered Frankie's eyes. He dropped the gun and grabbed his face. I made a run for it, weaving back and forth so as not to make an easy target for whoever might decide to take a shot at me.

Lou stepped past Frankie and grabbed the gun. By the time he had it in his hand, wiped the sand off it and cocked the hammer, I was too far away and his shot went wide. The second and third shots missed their mark as well. By now I could hear Frankie's booming voice yelling at Lou.

“Gimme that goddamned gun,” he yelled. His aim wasn't helped by eyes full of sand and his three shots missed, though one of them hit the dirt alongside me just a foot or so away. Even from sixty yards away, I could hear the click of the hammer falling on spent cartridges. By the time Frankie could reload, I'd be a quarter mile away.

“Get in,” Frankie screamed at Lou as he took his place behind the wheel of the big black Lincoln . Lou did as she was told and Frankie cranked the engine over. The starter whined but the engine didn't catch. He tried again and again in vain. He slammed his fist down on the dash. “Dammit!”

It was almost dark now and I'd been running full out for several minutes. I had to stop or I'd drop over from exhaustion. I stopped, leaned over with my hands on my knees and panted. My breath was coming in short spurts now and my heart was pounding out of my chest. When I was breathing somewhat normally again I stood up straight and looked at my surroundings. I couldn't see the highway anymore in this light but I could still make out the shape of the trees and building I'd seen from the car. I could make it there in just a few minutes.

I still hadn't heard the sound of my car starting but I kept moving just the same. In a few minutes, I found myself standing at the front door to a small shed. It looked like a place where road workers might rest or store their tools on overnight jobs. I tried the doorknob but it didn't budge. There were no windows. I turned sideways and leaned into the door. I bounced back and forth on it a few times before throwing all my weight into it. The jam gave way and I fell into the doorway and onto the wooden floor.

The whole shack wasn't more than twelve feet square, about the size of an average bedroom. There was a shelf on the south wall and a footlocker with a padlock on the floor below it. Next to the trunk there was a shovel leaning against the wall. Two wooden chairs sat opposite the wall with the shelf and against the wall opposite the door I found a small table with a box of matches sitting on it.

I lit one of the matches and looked around me. This was no place to be cornered if and when Frankie got my heap started again. This is the first place he'd look and I didn't want to be here when he got here.

I closed the door again and headed in the direction of the road I'd seen from the car. It took me more than an hour to finally reach the shoulder of the road. Tumbleweeds lined the culvert on either side of the road and an occasional hawk could be heard screeching in the distance.

I had no idea which way was north but I knew that's the direction I needed to go. The night sky was of no help. I couldn't see any stars that I recognized and the ones I could see were almost covered by the clouds. Now I wish I hadn't skipped out of so many Boy Scout meetings as a kid.

I finally realized that this had to be the road I'd seen in the distance from the car. It ran north and south and if I turned to my right, I'd be heading north. I stayed on the road surface as much as possible. Walking was easier on it and I figured I could better see any approaching vehicles from there and it was easy enough to scramble for the ditch if need be.

I walked for several minutes, constantly turning around to scan my surroundings. I was alone in the vast darkness that surrounded me. Twenty minutes into my trek I stopped and sat on a large rock at the side of the road. I was grateful that it was nighttime and that the temperature was at a comfortable sixty or so. Had this been high noon, I'd have fried to a crisp by now.

The city lay some fifteen miles ahead of me. My feet were killing me, but not quite in the same manner that Lou and Frankie had in mind, so I guess I couldn't complain too much. I shook sand out of my shoes and slipped back into them. Something shone in the distance a mile north of me. It was a pair of headlights.

I hurried off into the underbrush and waited behind a clump of tumbleweeds. The car's headlights dipped below the horizon but reappeared again in a few seconds. The lights got bigger and the sound of the engine got louder. In a few seconds the car whizzed by me, its exhaust white and smelling like oily smoke. I recognized the taillights. It was Lou and Frankie prowling the area for me. I had to lay low, all the while trying to make my way back to the city. I was going to run, but I needed running money and it was back at my place.

As I saw it they had two options. They could either return empty handed and tell Antonio that they had succeeded in killing me and hope I died here in the desert. Or they could scour the area trying to find me to finish what they were sent to do. Either way, if these two options didn't pan out, Antonio would be sending another pair of operatives to take Lou and Frankie for a ride and finish what they'd started.

I managed to evade Frankie and before the sun came up I found myself on the edge of town. In the half-hour or so before dawn, I managed to creep through the alleys and streets back to my place. Everyone involved must have figured I was coyote chow by now and no one was watching my place. Lou and Frankie wouldn't have told anyone of their failure yet and they were probably still out driving the back roads through the desert looking for me.

I silently stepped to the rear of my place, lifting the flowerpot and snatching up the extra key I left there for just such an occasion. The house was dark and silent as I made my way to the bedroom. I left the lights out and slid the closet door open. I selected a fresh suit and laid it on the bed while I stepped out of my clothes.

There was no time for a shower. I quickly ran a washcloth over my face and hands and armpits. I briskly rubbed the washcloth over my head and slicked my hair back with a comb. It would have to do until I got away from here. The fresh shirt felt good as I sat on the edge of the bed slipping into a new pair of socks and shoes.

I slipped into my suit jacket and walked the dozen steps to the kitchen where I found a large green plastic trash bag. I returned to the bedroom and opened the bag and dropped the wet washcloth into it. Back in the bedroom, I dropped my old clothes and shoes into the bag and tied it shut.

I brushed off the bed where I'd sat and straightened everything up as it was before I got here. I didn't want to leave any trace that I'd even been here. Behind a picture in the living room I kept a wall safe. It held a dozen stacks of wrapped bills and a few documents that, if used properly, could pass for a life insurance policy. I had a brown bi-fold wallet with several ID cards, three or four drivers' licenses, half a dozen credit cards and two passports. I dropped the bills into several suit pockets, dropped the wallet into my pants pocket and stuffed the other papers in with some of the bills, closing the safe and putting the picture back before I left.

I went out the way I'd come, returning the key to its place under the flowerpot. The sun was peeking up over the rooftops and I could still get out of town before anyone thought to look for me. I carried the plastic trash bag with me through the alleys, looking for a large dumpster. I didn't have to look long. I found one behind a house that was being remodeled and deposited my trash back in it.

I'd walked two blocks before I spotted the cab. I held one finger up over my head and the cab pulled up next to me. I climbed into the back seat and said, “Seventh and Michigan .”

The cabby jotted this down on his clipboard, slipped the pencil behind his ear, lifted the flag and stepped on the gas.

“Seventh and Michigan ,” the cabby said. “You goin' to the Greyhound terminal or the car rental place?”

I thought about this for a second, wondering what this cabby would say if questioned later. “Did I say Seventh?” I said. I meant Fifth. Corner house.”

“Fifth it is,” he said, not bothering to turn around.

We drove on for a few minutes before he pulled over to the curb at the corner. The meter read $7.50. I slid out the back door and handed the driver a ten. “Keep the change,” I said. No need giving this guy any reason to remember me with too big or too small a tip.

He pulled away in search of other fares and I walked the remaining two blocks to the car rental agency. The guy behind the counter was on the phone when I stepped up. In a few seconds he hung up and turned his attentions to me.

“Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”

“I need a car for one day,” I said. “Any size will do. I just need to get around town this afternoon.”

The counter guy punched a few keys on his computer and found a compact that was available. “I have a Toyota Corolla for twenty-five a day.”

“I'll take it,” I said, pulling out one of the drivers' licenses I'd kept in the safe.

The clerk punched the information into the computer and printed a rental agreement. I signed the agreement, handed him a credit card that matched the phony license and waited. He handed me the card and the keys to the Toyota and said, “we'll see you tomorrow at noon, Mr…” He looked back down at the rental agreement and then back up at me, “…Mr. Johnson.”

A lot boy was pulling the car up to the front door as I exited the office with my rental papers. The boy slid out from behind the wheel and I slid in, trying not to look at him as I left.

I pulled out of the lot and headed south on Seventh. I drove to the south side of town, parked the rental car in the Wal-Mart parking lot and caught the shuttle bus that stopped at the front door. I rode the bus downtown and transferred at Sixteenth and Superior . I rode the cross-town bus to Fortieth and Elm and waited a few minutes until another cab came along. I flagged him down and slid in the back.

“Airport,” I said and sat back to enjoy the ride. The airport was on the other side of town and we made it there in twenty minutes. I gave the driver another ten and walked away, not bothering to say, “keep the change.” As far as that cabby knew, I was just another guy in a hurry to catch a plane.

I looked at the arrival and departure board and learned that there was a plane leaving for Sacramento in fifteen minutes. I bought my ticket, boarded the plane and found my seat halfway down the aisle on the window. I pulled my pillow down from the overhead compartment, slid into the seat, and closed my eyes. I didn't want to talk to anyone, or have anyone talk to me and the sooner I got out of this town, the better I'd like it.

By noon we'd landed in Sacramento and I got off without incident. I caught the shuttle bus in front of the terminal and sat in the back seat, away from everyone else. I pulled the overhead cable, signaling the driver to stop and got off downtown where I repeated the rental car routine. Just before one o'clock I drove away from the rental agency in a Ford Taurus.

I drove the Taurus to within three blocks of the Greyhound station and parked it on the street. I didn't put any money in the meter, knowing the car would eventually be towed and out of sight. I bought my ticket for Phoenix and climbed onboard where I blended in with the crowd and tried not to attract attention to myself.

At Phoenix , I caught another bus to the west end of town and walked a block or so before hailing another cab. The cab took me to the edge of town and dropped me on the corner near a tavern. The on ramp to the highway lay less than a block away and I found that pretty handy. After a quick beer I could hit the road and hitchhike to the next town. If anyone was trying to track my whereabouts, I think I succeeded in making it damned near impossible.

I stepped into the dark building and found my way to the bar. The bartender was wiping a glass with a grimy rag and I knew I didn't want anything that required a glass. “Bottle of Miller,” I said, laying a five-dollar bill on the bar.

The bartender set the bottle in front of me, which I always thought was better than a frontal lobotomy, and gave me my change. I upended the bottle and finished it in four or five swallows and set the empty back on the bar. “Where's the men's room?” I said.

The bartender was wiping another glass and gestured with both hands, the towel and the glass, toward the back of the room. The door to the men's room was down a dark, narrow corridor. The overhead light was off and I could just make out Men on the door.

I pushed the door open and stepped in. I flipped the light switch on and a single lightbulb on a string lit up the filthy facilities. A second after the light came on I could make out the figure of a man standing in the corner of the room, facing me. He held a gun up waist high in a casual manner. I strained to get a closer look. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped when I recognized Frankie.

“What the…How did…” I was at a total loss for words as Frankie stepped forward out of the shadows.

“Hi Eddie,” he said. He snickered and moved closer. “This ain't like the old days,” Frankie said. “Everything's changed. Now it's the new technology that'll keep us on top of things. Hell, you know that from the money we took off the top of the casino rackets. Electronic gadgets and this and that. You know, Eddie. You helped set them all up. The surveillance equipment over the crap tables and the bugs in the hotel room phones and the tracking devices in the cars.”

I thought for a moment about all the devices available to the mob these days. “Yeah,” I said almost automatically. “Some of that stuff was so small you could hide it in…”

“…In a wallet,” Frankie said, smiling broadly. “Good thing you stopped home before taking off. We might never have found you.”

I plucked the wallet out of my back pocket and opened it. Under the inside flap I found a small homing device no bigger than a shirt button and a lot flatter. I looked up at Frankie and forced a half-hearted smile.

“You led us on one hell of a chase,” Frankie said, almost chuckling. “That was pretty cleaver, I have to admit. Cab, bus, plane, bus, cab. Too bad for you we were one step ahead of you all the time. Sorry, Eddie.”

I dropped the wallet and stepped back. “Now wait a minute, Frankie,” I said. “We can talk about this.”

Frankie reached into his left pocket and withdrew a silencer and proceeded to screw it on to the end of his gun.