Chapter Nine

Leandra

The tide seemed to have actually turned in my favor for once.  Yes, we did have to make an unscheduled detour back to Samuel’s storage unit in New York City, thereby taking a few risks on the slim chance we might be recognized.  Imagine my total shock at finding a dusty old pickup truck with Kansas license plates just waiting for us like an oasis in the desert.

Of course he refused to tell me where he’d found such a treasure, and even more frustrating was the lack of identifying paperwork in the glove box.  I guess it really didn’t matter.  I was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’m not flying past every single state at warp speed you know,” I insisted while pouting over the fact that it was already three in the afternoon and he refused to make any tourist stops.  “What if I need to see the world’s largest ball of twine in Iowa or something?  The whole purpose of a road trip is to see the sights along the way, not drive til the point of exhaustion.”

“You’re just pissed because my lunch was better than yours.  Who orders a hot dog at a burger joint drive thru?  It’s your own damn fault.”

Even though we were bickering like an old married couple, I couldn’t help but be pleased with the situation.  Nothing relaxed me like a nice car ride, even if I had no clue where we were going.  I would definitely agree with the ‘getting there is half the fun’ adage, but I still needed a destination.

“This phone sucks,” I complained, lamenting my cheap technology.  “I understand that burner phones do not have the same capabilities as my iphone, but it would sure as hell be nice to have a GPS of some sort.”

“Who told you use up the data plan downloading music instead of saving it for something more important?”

“Leandra Donahue has unlimited gigabytes!  I do not suffer with data limits!  Besides, I needed a roadtrip playlist.  Would you deny me the basic necessities of life?”

“Food, water, and shelter are needed for survival,” he replied.  “Metallica and Joan Jett are not critical to your continued existence on planet Earth.”

I turned my head to stare out the window and hide my wicked smirk.  Samuel was less than thrilled when I blasted, “Do you wanna touch me?” as high as the radio would let me without blowing the speakers.  It’s certainly not my fault that I prefer badass rocker chicks with an affinity for sexy lyrics.

“Would you rather listen to country?” I asked, flinching as though I’d just stepped in dog shit.  “I mean, really, it’s not even music.  You can’t dance to it, the lyrics are one giant sob story after the next, and they have to sing in the most whiny voice imaginable with an extra dollop of Southern twang!”

“Whiniest.”

“What?”

“It’s the ‘whiniest voice’ and not the ‘most whiny.’  If you’re going to bitch, at least use proper grammar.”

Wonderful.  I’m stuck in a decaying pick-up truck with my freshman year English professor.  Although Mr. Barnaby never looked nearly as delectable as my current companion.  If he had, I might have paid more attention and gotten a better grade.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, since this radio barely works and picks up nothing but static.  Where did you find this truck?”

Yes, I was hoping he might slip and give me some much needed information.

“I didn’t find it, since it was never lost.”

I sighed in frustration and began to grow claustrophobic.

“Don’t you have anything that might occupy your attention in there?” Samuel questioned while glancing down at the backpack carefully stowed between us. 

“That’s sort of a sore subject right now,” I admitted with a hint of regret.

“Do tell.  I’d like to know what we’re working with.”

“Fine.  Ever since my dad got arrested and was forced to flee the country, I decided it would be a wise idea to have my own bug-out-bag.  When the heat is on, it pays to have a backup plan.”

“That makes sense.  How come you don’t seem too happy then?”

“Let’s just say that the items I packed don’t seem as useful now that the situation has actually presented itself.”

His lip twitched as though trying desperately not to show any emotion such as amusement or curiosity.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” I began, forming a strategy to get him to open up a little. 

“I have my wallet with two hundred dollars, the black American Express card you gave me with your name on it, and a condom that is most likely no good due to age and condition.  That’s all, Leandra.  Nothing to show.  I’m working with far less than you are.”

“Liar.  You have a 9mm handgun and some form of identification.”  I decided to avoid mentioning the condom entirely.  If the thing is old and mangled, it means he hasn’t had the opportunity to use it.  Either he likes it bareback or he hasn’t fucked in quite some time.  I’ll pretend we’re dealing with option number two.

“Nope.  I don’t carry a driver’s license on the off chance you’ll subdue me and search my pockets.”

Is he fucking serious right now?

“How in the hell am I going to subdue you?  Did I wake up with some magical ability to perform hypnosis?  You’re paranoid.”

Actually, I respected the shit out of him.  Obviously Samuel had a horrific past and wanted no one to find out about it.  It didn’t take a genius to notice the lack of a New York City accent, the way he constantly looked over his shoulder, or the lengths he took in order to avoid answering any personal questions.  Every time one of the other guys asked him something, he always turned the topic back to them or their lives.  Since people are basically narcissistic in nature and love talking about themselves, it hadn’t been an issue.  Until now.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.  I’m going to tell you the entire contents of my two bags, and then it’s your turn to open up about something.”

“I’m not agreeing to that.”

Completely ignoring him, I grabbed the black backpack and unzipped one of the compartments.

“In bag number one, we have eighty thousand cash in the form of hundred dollar bills, a switchblade, a twenty-two caliber handgun, three spare ammo cartridges, a worthless burner phone that I might as well throw out the window, a fake New Jersey driver’s license, and a box of condoms that are brand new and in perfectly usable condition.”

He rolled his eyes at the last item, but made no comment.

“My current outfit was also in there, but I changed in the bank restroom as soon I had the chance.  It’s impossible to go incognito when wearing a sparkly gold party dress.”

“What about the duffel bag?”

“I had originally intended for the backpack to be critical and the duffel to be secondary.  It’s not very useful at the moment,” I admitted, pulling it up from the floor and taking inventory.

“I’m not running from any kind of criminal past.”

Wait, what?  Back it up.  How did we go from discussing my heinous packing skills to him actually divulging something personal?

“Hmm?” I mumbled, eager to hear more but not wanting to pry.

“I shared,” he replied.  “Now I’m done.  What’s in the bigger bag?”

It doesn’t matter!  Let’s talk about important details!  Namely, why the fuck did I find him scraping by at an underground MMA fight and desperate to make a quick buck if he wasn’t a fugitive of justice?  Any time I decided to meditate and let my mind wander, it always ended up trying to piece together the mystery of Samuel’s origin.  Nine times out of ten, my imagination had him framed for an accidental murder that was not his fault due to self-defense reasons.  The other explanations ranged from the plausible (he was in the witness protection program after stumbling upon a crime in progress) to the completely absurd (aliens abducted Samuel and fried his brain, thereby giving him a complex case of amnesia). 

Deciding not to question him further, I gave up and began pulling items out of my duffel.

“This bag was intended to get me through a longer period of time on the run.  I have a jar of my face cream, a tiny bottle of perfume, spare undergarments including three pairs of underwear and two bras, a t-shirt, this crazy family photo taken on the best Christmas I ever had, an unopened container of peanut butter, a bottle of vodka, and a notebook with two pens.  I also packed a giant beach towel and bathing suit.  Evidently I must have thought I was running away to Cancun on spring break or something.”

“You mentioned face cream and perfume though, right?” he asked with a weird expression as though he were relieved.

“Yeah.  But it was kind of stupid to pack that shit, since I could probably buy it at any high end department store.  I should have brought more precious mementos of my past,” I commented, holding up the photo and smiling at the memory.

“Ian looks so young and innocent here.  I think he was six and I must have been about twelve.  There were a pile of presents under the giant tree, but that didn’t matter at all.  What made it really stick out in my mind, was the time we all spent together before everyone else came over.  Dad made a huge breakfast for just the four of us and we actually seemed normal for a brief second.  Then a ton of relatives arrived along with all my father’s associates and henchmen and hangers on.  I preferred it when there wasn’t such mass chaos all the time.”

“I had a few nice holidays, too,” Samuel mused, face taking on an unreadable expression as he remembered days gone by.

“Do you have a big family?”

“No.”

“Would you like to tell me your last name?”

“No.”

Asshole.  Yes, it was true.  Leandra Donahue, current leader of one of the most ruthless Irish Mafia clans in all of New York City had no clue regarding the true identity of her most trusted bodyguard.  Shameful, really. 

“Do you have any idea how much shit I had to put up with from the other guys because you refused to let me do a background check on your stubborn ass?  Shorty had a field day giving me the third degree and asking why I was such a dumb fuck as to trust a newbie with my life.  I finally gave in and lied to them, pretending you told me your last name.  Ian is still convinced you’re undercover DEA.  The gossip died down a little after you took a bullet for me within the first few weeks of your employment, but some of the men are still distrustful.”

Samuel shrugged with indifference, eyes firmly fixed on the road as mile after boring Pennsylvania mile passed by in a blur.  I stared out the window as I recalled that fateful day in February.  It should have been a simple visit to collect a debt from an old friend of my father.  The gambling addict never had a problem paying his loans when dad was in charge, but the second I took over everything changed.  The jackass suddenly thought he could run wild and do whatever the hell he wanted.  Fuck that.  I took Samuel and Shorty along for the ride with the intention of teaching Mr. Deadbeat a lesson.  Instead, he came out guns blazing and started shooting at us with a Mossberg Rifle.  Samuel shoved me in the SUV and screamed at Shorty to get us the fuck out of there, but we didn’t make a clean escape without some collateral damage.  My newest employee got a thigh full of buckshot.  Thank God the dirtbag was shooting at us from across the street, or things might have been much, much worse.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened to the guy who shot at us?” Samuel asked slowly and deliberately as though not really wanting to know the true answer.

“Nope,” I replied.  My bodyguard wasn’t the only one capable of keeping a secret.  I could tell that he wasn’t afraid to resort to violence when necessary, but I knew he didn’t enjoy it. Some of the other guys were the complete opposite and bragged about their brutal activities.  Let’s just say that I felt it best not to tell Samuel that his assailant was currently decomposing in the East River. 

I yawned in exhaustion and fought to keep my eyes open.  We’d been awake for over twenty-four hours and I was in desperate need of sleep.

“What if we got a hotel room and just took a quick nap?” I suggested, struggling to get comfortable in the pickup truck.  This pile of rust was a standard cab and had no backseat for me to stretch out.

“We can go a little while longer before we stop.  Just close your eyes and let the motion of the road lull you to dreamland.”

“You’re not a robot…we can’t keep driving all night.”

“I know.  We’ll stop in Columbus.”

“Ohio?”

“Yeah, Ohio.  We’ll get a cheap hotel, find a pizza place, and crash.  Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“Why?  Are we going to Chicago?  I think we should stop there and check out the sights.  Oprah lives there, doesn’t she?  There must be decent shopping and restaurants.  This is a vacation!”

Too tired to put up a fight, I leaned my head back against the window and instantly fell asleep.  I guess all the excitement of the night before had finally caught up to me.