54 – A distraction?
"Well isn't that just grand," Dan spat as they
crowded back into the van, Mike, Marie, Lance, and himself. Billy had split
saying the van was too easy a target for the local heat. But Billy meant
nothing to Dan now; he needed a way out of this, a place where he could hide
his head until his own private heat forgot him. Another town, maybe? Or a place
like one Mike sought, where no one ever heard of American drug companies,
Federal narcs, or a bad, bad dude named Buckingham.
Maybe he and Mike
could build a raft and let themselves loose. If they were lucky, they would
drown before the coast guard caught them, or some rude current deposited them
back on American soil.
"It wasn't our
fault," Lance said. "Even if we'd stayed and watched for him, the
Tinkertons would have cornered us."
"I know. I
know," Dan mumbled, and started the engine. "I guess I should have
expected as much. But just how did the Tinkertons get wind of the apartment
anyway?"
"It wouldn't
have been hard to find out where Lance lived," Mike said. "The
pacifist has a reputation as a rich hippie."
"Maybe,"
Dan said. "Or maybe they were told-- as part of a distraction-- to get
everyone away from the apartment."
"For what?"
"For the dope,
of course. Buckingham didn't deposit it among our stuff as a Christmas present.
He only wanted us to get it into town for him."
"Of
course!" Mike exploded. "Which would explain the invitation. I'll bet
you had one, too. Sitting a Free Press Bob's.,"
"Or forgotten to
get delivered by the same idiot who forgot the earlier messages." Dan
said. "Only Buckingham miscalculated. He figured to get in and out after
the Tinkertons. And there in the middle of it all was Bobo."
"Maybe
Buckingham figured none of us would be back," Mike said. "Things got
confused in the fog. He might have been surprised at the betrayal and the
sudden appearance of Billy's boy."
"I don't care
about him, I just want Bobo. People saw him. He was carrying shopping bags.
That's what you said, Lance, right?"
"That's what
people told me," Lance said. "They said he looked scared."
"Of what I
wonder," Mike said. "Us? Or Buckingham?"
"He's got
instinct," Dan said. "He'd know if Buckingham was stalking him."
"Maybe,"
Mike mumbled. "But if he doesn't, then he's already dead."
Dan pictured Bobo's
head exploding like the stranger on the pier. He shivered and twisted the wheel
of the van, pulling away from the curb again and into traffic. The machine
struggled under the weight, like it had in the mountains. A real trooper for a
machine ten years old.
"One more pass,
okay?" he asked.
"Why not,"
Mike mumbled. "Then we've got to figure out what to do after that. Where
to dump this stuff and a place to hide ourselves."
Dan looked over his
shoulder at Lance, who was perched on the seat behind him, just barely fitting
into the tangle of apartment furniture, the pale face and drawn mouth saying
everything about what went on in his head. First Sarah, now the apartment. It
must have seemed as if the world was collapsing under him. But then, it was
partly the boy's own fault for hooking up with a bitch like Sarah.
"Cheer up,"
Dan said to him. "We'll get all this straightened up, I promise."
But how? The dope had
been his last ace, and now there was nothing. He might as well go back to
Phoenix and wait for the drug company people to hunt him down, or die of old
age, or go to New York where alimony and smog could kill him slowly.
Then someone waved at
them from the sidewalk, a frantic two-armed plea for them to stop.
"It's him!"
Mike howled.
Dan slammed on the
brakes, the whole van shuddering with shifting furniture and suitcases. Mike
threw open the door and dragged Bobo in.
"Quick!
Go!" Bobo shouted. "He's behind me"
Dan didn't hear the
shot, but the bullet ripped through the metal like an angry bee, wedging itself
somewhere in the furniture. He shifted gears and tried to build up momentum
again, but it was like being on the mountain back near Denver, engine chugging
ever so slowly, bucking as another bullet struck.
"Where's it
coming from?" Dan screamed.
"The shadows of
a doorway half way up the block," Mike said, squinting back through the
tangle of Lance's possessions. "Get around the corner and I'll jump out.
Maybe we can pin the bastard down."
"Before the cops
get us?" Dan asked, but complied with Mike's request, stopping the van
beyond the yellow curb.
Both leaped from
their respective doors, followed by a more cautious Bobo.
"Take the street
side," Mike said. "Behind the cars. I'll go down the sidewalk."
"But..."
"Just do
it."
Dan nodded and leaped
out from the side of the building to the street where the cover of cars kept
him from direct line of fire. A few people wandered the sidewalks, drug-hazed
hippies whose perception of reality did not recognize the danger. Too mellow to
care, or perhaps deeper down in their consciousness seeking to step in front of
a stray bullet or truck. Once on the street, Dan turned and ran at a stoop
along the cars, his pistol pushed out in front of him like a shield.
Mike moved along the
shadows, in one doorway at a time, scooting forward like a frightened rat,
closer and closer to the place from which the shots had come.
No more shots came--
even when Dan pulled up parallel to the door. Mike came more slowly, motioning
for Dan to move to the other side. Dan nodded and rolled along two more cars
till a space opened between their bumpers. Then with one deep breath, he dove
towards the sidewalk.
Still no shot.
Dan rose stiffly, his
face grim as he came to the edge of the glass, his and Mike's reflections
shimmering in the distorted and dusty window display, like items long out of
date and yellowed by the sun, growing older and more unwanted with the passing
of days. They looked like weathered bookends.
Mike moved first,
rolling across the mouth of the doorway with his pistol pointed in. Then, he
sagged.
"Empty," he
said.
Bobo came up behind
Dan. "That's where the fucker was, I swear it."
"He must have
guessed what we would do," Mike mumbled and slowly rose to his feet,
fitting the gun back into his belt. "It's like fighting someone who can
read my mind. Well, I guess that settles the matter of whether Bobo is
Buckingham or not."
"Maybe,"
Dan said, thrusting his own pistol into his jacket. "But I have other
matters to discuss."
"Look,
Dan..." Bobo said, slowly backing away.
"Where's my
dope," Dan asked, advancing as the man retreated. Bobo made to run, but
Dan grabbed him by the collar and propelled him against the hood of a car.
"Dope?"
Bobo grunted. "You mean the stuff I got in Denver? I told you that's all
gone."
"We're talking
about it all, pal," Dan said, jabbing his fingers into the man's ribs.
"The stuff from Denver and the stuff you stole out of Lance's
refrigerator."
Bobo twisted his head
around, his expression one of total confusion. "I'm afraid you've lost me
there, Danny-boy!"
"Bullshit! I've
got witnesses. You're not going to wiggle out of it this time."
Bobo sagged a little,
his forehead falling gently against the car hood. He shifted, his gaze
searching either side of him like a man looking for answers in the air.
"I wasn't trying
wiggle out of anything," he mumbled unenthusiastically. "I just don't
think this is the time or place to discuss such matters. Do you?"
"He's right,
Dan," Mike said. "The shooting's attracted attention." He
motioned down the street where cops leaped into their cars from hassling
bikers. "I think maybe we should split."
"What about my
dope?" Dan asked.
"It's
Buckingham's dope," Mike said, tugging on Dan's arm. "And if this
clown's got it stashed, the better for all of us. What are we going to do with
it, carry around with us? We look a
little too obvious for that, don't you think?"
It made sense. Which
peeved Dan off all the more. Yet, he let Bobo up from the car. "So what do
we do now?"
"We
regroup," Mike said. "Come on."
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