Nowhere to Run - Chapter 30

It was time.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” James asked as he put the finishing touches on her bag lady costume. “I can take your place.”

“I’ve made it this far.” Evie said. “I can do this.”

James shook his head. “You know where I’ll be. Any hint of trouble and you back off. If these guys are as bad as you say, we may be out of our league.”

“This is live, right? The broadcast?”

“Cameras already in place.” He stood back and looked at her. “We’re ready to go.”

James dropped her off around the corner from a soup kitchen down on Hudson Street.

“You sure you want to start here? I could drop you off a couple streets down, they won’t know.”

Evie shook her head, “You have no idea what these guys could know. Its better I come from here. It looks more authentic.”

“Whatever you think.” James said, and squeezed her hand. “Be careful. I don’t want your death on my hands. Its bad enough I lost the maid.”

“We’re going to do this.” She said with more conviction then she felt and got out of the car.

“God Speed, Mary.”

Evie waved him away and headed into the soup kitchen. Throwing The Team off her trail wasn’t the only reason she wanted to be dropped off here. She needed an edge, something to use in case it all went wrong. This was just the place to find it.

The place was clean and bright and had an assortment of all kinds of people. There were old people and teens and mothers with young children.  Most were eating, but some were just sitting and resting. A few had their heads down on the table and looked like they were asleep. Carefully she watched the people come and go until she found the one she was looking for.

The woman looked at least sixty with slate gray hair that stuck out at odd angles from beneath the battered fedora she wore on her head.  Her coat was stained and ripped along one sleeve. Evie thought she was perfect.  After waiting for her to finish eating Evie followed her out.

"Excuse me?" she called as the woman pulled a shopping cart from the side of the building. "Ma'am? Can I talk to you a minute?"

"I didn't do nothing," the woman said as she pushed her cart down the back alley. "Leave me alone!"

"No, wait, Please!"

"No, no, no, you leave me be! I don’t want no trouble."  The woman moved faster.

Finally, with no other option left Evie called out, "I have money for you."

That stopped her. Slowly the old woman turned to face Evie. Eyeing her suspiciously, but came back a few paces.

"Why would you have money for me?" she asked, inching forward another foot.

"I need your cart, I'll give you $50 for it."

The old woman looked Evie over from head to toe. "If you have fifty dollars why don't you go buy your own?"

Evie shrugged, "I guess, I like yours."

"It ain't for sale." She said, but didn't move.

Evie reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the money George Webber had given her. She held two fifties up to the old woman. "Here. I have one hundred dollars."

The woman's eye's just about popped out of her head.  She dragged the cart over to where Evie was standing. Grabbing the money, the woman fled down the alley.

Alone in the alley, Evie pulled the little bottle of gun powder out of the pockets of her jeans. She attached a wick made of the string she soaked in James Nelson’s whiskey and nestled it in the junk in the cart, letting the wick hang down in the back.

“Please, let this work.” She prayed. It was almost time. Ready or not.

She had her 49er’s sweatshirt on under the trench coat, just for luck and she was already sweltering in it from the heat. She had stuffed the oversize sweatshirt with newspaper to make her look dumpy and the paper was sticking to the sweat on her stomach and chest. With dirt smeared over her face and matted in her hair, she looked every bit the bag lady. She was itchy and uncomfortable, but determined to see this through.

     The Broadway was a block away.  She took her shopping cart and limped slowly down to the next corner, stopping along the way to snatch up 1/2 a bagel someone had thrown in the trash.  She sniffed it appreciatively and stuffed it into her pocket.  She knew they were watching and she was playing this to the hilt. Her life depended on it. Michael's life depended on it. She tried to scan the street without anyone seeing her. The hat was pulled down low over her eyes and she wished bag ladies wore sunglasses. Unfortunately, she really hadn’t seen that as part of their attire. It would have made it much easier to look for them.  She knew they were there, somewhere.

     As she approached the news stand, she realized the man behind it looked a little too clean cut. Down to the next corner, checking out each trashcan as she went, keeping up the illusion.  There was a man on a bench, reading a copy of the NY Times. She sat down just a little too close to him. She knew she reeked. The odor from the coat was just too overwhelming.  She leaned in close and tried to read over his shoulder.  It was only a minute before he threw the paper down next to her and walked off in disgust.  Evie bit her lip to stifle a laugh and picked up the paper.  Refolding it back to the first page, she found what she was looking for, and smiled.

     COVERT OPERATIONS TEAM’S DIRTY DEEDS SANCTIONED BY PRESIDENT By James Nelson.

The headline blared out from the front page. She barely had time to register the impact of that headline before a black sedan rounded the opposite corner. It was show time.

     Evie got up slowly, placing a hand on her back as if she were stiff and arthritic.  She stuffed the paper into her shopping cart and ambled down the street.

     Janerone got out of the car first, he examined the street with a wary eye and turned back to the car. He had to give them credit. It was a crowded street.  The perfect spot for an exchange. Plenty of witnesses.  But it didn’t matter. No one is going to leave this street of their own power. He had men all over this place. It was sealed up so tight, he was sure this time he would finally put an end to the Dimitri Michaels file. And if it all came off all right, he would save his career, too. He looked around again then down at his watch. Three minutes to noon.

     Evie parked her cart about 20 feet from the car. She scrunched down with her back against the wall and dug the bagel out of her pocket and pretended to be interested in it.  As disgusted as she was at eating garbage, she bit into the bagel and chewed noisily. Pretending to enjoy her prize.

Then she spotted Michael as Janerone reached in and pulled him from the car.

     “Michael,” She whispered, “Oh God, Michael.”

     His face was almost unrecognizable, swollen and bruised. Her heart broke just looking at him.  It was all she could do to keep from calling out to him.  Tears burned hot and bright behind her eyes, she ducked her head and blinked to get control of herself. ‘Don’t fall apart now, Evie,’ she told herself. ‘He needs you. Stay together. You can do this.’

     Her one hand slipped into her pocket to touch the gun she had hidden there. It was the gun Michael had given her before he had gone up on the roof. As much as she hated guns, this one felt strangely comforting.

     Janerone kept Michael at his side, pacing him back and forth along the sidewalk. Gun pressed into his side pushing against the bruised ribs. It broke Evie's heart just to watch as he limped along. His feet were bare and she could see what looked like blood dried on them. Oh God, what they must have done to him. She cursed Janerone and his men a hundred, thousand times for what they had done to her Michael. She couldn't wait to repay him for his crimes. It would be her pleasure to watch Janerone go up in flames.

Impatiently, Janerone spoke into the wire he was wearing in his lapel. "Any sign of her?"

The agent down the street at the newsstand

shook his head. So, he waited. Pacing his prize back and forth along the sidewalk. He was watching and waiting for the blond and whomever she was working with to show himself. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. She was the one who had been causing him all these problems. He finally had Dimitri after all these years and now this blond bimbo was screwing everything up for him. She made him look like a fool in front of his men, got the director breathing down his neck and almost cost him his career. 

“First I’m going to take care of you.” Janerone said. “So your little bitch can watch you die. Then it will be her turn.”

“You touch her and I’ll kill you.” Michael ground out from between clenched teeth. “Take these damn handcuffs off me and I’ll kill you now.”

“Too bad Black Bart isn’t still around. I know he’d like a piece of that sweet little ass, too.”

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

Normally, Janerone didn’t like killing women, but in her case, he was ready to make an exception. He couldn’t wait to ring her skinny little neck with his bare hands.

     Evie watched them pace, waiting for the perfect moment.  She prayed to keep the element of surprise so she wouldn't have to use the gun.  Her hands were sweating so bad she didn't think she would be able to hold it.

 Timing it so Janerone and Michael were just turning away, she pulled a piece of twine down from the top of the cart and lit it with the bic lighter. The fuse was lit. Then grabbing the newspaper out of the cart, she shoved it hard. Rolling it toward Janerone and Michael as Evie started screaming in a shrill unnatural voice.

     “My cart! My Cart!” She limped after it.

     Janerone turned and pointed the gun at the cart. When he realized it was just some clumsy old bag lady, he lowered his weapon. Evie took that minute to bolt. She raced forward, shoving the cart with all her might into Janerone and grabbing Michael by the arm.

     “Run, Michael, Run!”

     Recognizing the voice if not the person Michael ran with her.  Wrists still handcuffed, he pressed his arm against his broken ribs to try and still the jarring motions.  His feet were on fire as he dragged along beside her. Behind them something exploded and Michael stopped and turned.

     “Run!” Evie ordered again, “don’t look back.”

     The cart hit Janerone square in the gut then tumbled with him to the ground. He was just regaining his feet when the cart exploded. Cans and garbage flew everywhere.  The impact knocked him back to the ground.

     Michael held on to Evie’s hand and let her pull him along.  His sight was limited by his swollen eyes while his side screamed with pain. Unable to tell which part of his feet were hitting the ground, he just kept putting one in front of the other.  Rounding another corner Evie stopped.  It was a long narrow alley filled with garbage.  She could see the men down at the next block chasing after them with guns drawn. She figured the only reason they hadn’t been shot was the crowd on the street. Everyone was screaming and yelling now. The smoke from the small explosive and burning garbage that had blocked their getaway was dissipating.

     “Let’s go!” Michael panted, trying to catch his breath but knowing they better not stop. “We gotta go!”

     “Wait!” Evie stripped off the trench coast and pulled a small charge out of her pocket. Then she pulled the newspaper out of her shirt.  Rolling it around the charge like a ball. Then she lit the fuse.

Michael stared in amazement as she tossed the ball of rags to the front of the alley, grabbed his hand and yelled “Run.”

     At the other end of the long alley they heard the explosion and then the screams. They ran to the opposite end of the alley. Evie and Michael emerged just as a red Taurus pulled up to the curb. James Nelson rolled down the window and leaned across the passenger seat.

     "Yo," he called out, "You call a cab?"

     "Did we ever!" Evie helped Michael into the car and James hit the gas.

     "James Nelson, meet Michael Conners."

James reached his hand over the seat, "Very pleased to meet you Mr. Conner's. Evie has told me some incredible things about you."

     Michael looked at Evie, "You told him everything?"

     "Oh yes, James is from the New York Times. He helped me do this."

     "Lady, you are wonderful." Michael tried to smile but his swollen lips wouldn't cooperate.

     And they were on the road again.

     Michael reclined on his seat, trying to ease the pressure on his throbbing ribs.  His breath hissed out as he adjusted himself in the seat.

     “Oh Michael!” Evie cried, “What have they done to you? We have to get you to a Hospital.”

     “No, too dangerous.”

     “Not anymore.” Evie passed him the copy of the New York Times she had been carrying with her.

     Taking the paper from her and unfolding it Michael stared in amazement at the headlines.

     “My God! You did it!” Michael sagged with relief. It felt like a boulder had been lifted from his shoulders. Years of running that had weighed him down were suddenly disappearing.

     “That's why I wanted to do the trade today. I was hoping Janerone hadn’t seen the paper yet.”

     “Trade?”

     “Yeah, I was trading the discs for you.”

     Michael laughed and grabbed his ribs as agony gripped him again. He reached out a hand to caress her cheek, wishing he wasn’t in so much pain so he could pull her into his arms.

     She laughed too.  Happily and with an abandon she hadn’t felt since this whole nightmare began.  They were free! Finally free. They laughed again. Michael held onto his side to brace his cracked ribs and Evie wiped at the tears running down her face. Tears of happiness. The held each other gently, taking Michael’s wounds into account.

     “Lets get you too a hospital.” She said.

     "Once we get you patched up lets not forget about the interview." James reminded her from the front seat.

     “Yes, I promised James he’d get an exclusive interview.” Evie smiled. "He's been remarkable. It was him and George who came up with this plan."

     "George?” Michael lifted one brow, wondering what she was talking about.

     “George Webber,” She lifted the newspaper, “He's the editor for the Times. I told him we’d talk to them exclusively.”

     “You seem to have it all worked out,” Michael relaxed back. “I guess I’ll put myself in your competent hands.”