Chapter Fifteen
Nathan
The maroon sedan had breaks that squeaked and an odd smell when the heat was turned on, but I couldn't be picky. The high mileage meant it was cheap, and I knew it would run. In an emergency, I was even sure I could still identify enough under the hood to get it back on the road. Plus, it had a huge gas tank, and I'd be able to get hundreds of miles away before stopping for gas.
"Say the word and I can speed up the paperwork for you," the used car dealer said. He leaned on the hood of the maroon sedan and thought he had my number.
"Cash," I said.
He stood up and held out a hand for me to shake. "Done."
I held back my hand. "Comes with a full tank of gas, right?"
"Got somewhere you need to be?" The used car dealer squinted his eyes at me.
I knew I was acting suspicious and, as soon as he got a glimpse of the cash rolls, he'd be sure to mention me if anyone came asking.
It didn't matter because I would already be gone.
When he finally handed over the keys, I got in and turned the ignition. The car rumbled to life but I had no idea where to go. I drove across the dealership lot and chose a parking spot in the shade by the exit.
I needed a plan.
It didn't help that any time I thought about the best move, it was interrupted by thoughts of heading straight to Topeka. I needed to know that Bree was all right.
Finding Bree again wasn't the smartest move, so I forced myself to push her from my thoughts. Instead, I pulled out the postcard and stared at the picture.
Why would I stash a postcard from El Paso in with bricks of cocaine and cash?
The cash almost made sense. If I had stolen it, that would explain why the gunmen were after me. But why wouldn't they just shoot me and take it back? So, I either won it or earned it. Both those possibilities made me uncomfortable.
I adjusted the sedan's driver seat and gripped the steering wheel. Gambling had always been a problem for me, it was one of the reasons I made a great pilot, but I didn't remember getting into a poker game that deep.
I still didn't remember anything. And I certainly didn't remember why I would have two bricks of cocaine. Gambling was a heavy vice but I had never gotten into drugs.
As I fiddled with the radio station pre-sets, I wondered about the cocaine I had left hidden in the motel. I hadn't kept it for personal use so the only other possibilities were that I was trying to sell it to cover a gambling debt, I had stolen it to use as leverage, or it was evidence.
My last idea made the most sense. I had kept the cocaine as evidence, and that would explain why the gunmen were after me but not trying to kill me. They had to make sure I hadn't already spoken to the authorities.
I shifted the sedan into drive and eased out of the used car dealership. It occurred to me that the cocaine could also be a useful way of disguising what I had really smuggled out as evidence. I needed to get back to the motel and check inside the bricks. Maybe the key to the El Paso postcard and the little girl's haunted expression was inside the cocaine I had hidden in the vent.
It was risky but there was nothing else I could do. I couldn't head back to base because I would be facing a court martial, and I didn't want to endanger my buddies' careers. And, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't go to Topeka and get Bree any more entangled in my problems than I already had.
I figured the gunmen wouldn't be looking for me in a maroon sedan, so I drove straight toward the motel. At first, I circled around it, looking for suspicious cars, but I didn't see anything. Then I spotted two men at the far end of the motel parking lot.
They leaned against their shiny black car, smoking and taking occasional sips from coffee to-go cups. It looked like they had been there a long while. As I cruised by, I recognized one of the men from outside the bank and my fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
The good news was if they were trailing me, then Bree had probably gotten past them. The bad news was their parking spot had a perfect view of my motel room.
I pulled into a parking spot at the opposite end of the small motel lot and wondered if I could wait them out. Just then the taller man, the one I hadn't seen before, stood up and tossed his coffee cup into the bushes. He stubbed out his cigarette, clearly fed up, and marched across the parking lot.
If there had been any doubt in my mind, it was cleared when he marched right up to my motel room and tried to peer in the windows. Clearly the motel clerk had caved and told the men where someone of my description had been staying.
Another shiny black car pulled into the motel parking lot, and I sunk down low in my driver's seat. They were looking for me and had no idea how close I actually was.
I knew it was only a few minutes until they picked the cheap lock on my motel room door and found those bricks of cocaine.
That evidence was important to me, and I had clearly gone to great lengths to keep it from them. I couldn't just sit in my used car and watch them take it back. I had to do something.
There were no good options.
I could peel out of the parking lot and tempt them into a car chase, but my rusted-out sedan was no match for their import luxury cars. I could confront them, try to draw them away from the motel room, but my presence there would tip them off to the fact I still had important things inside. Or I could open fire with my Glock 49 and hope I caused enough confusion that witnesses wouldn't make my maroon sedan.
Maybe I could call the cops and give them an anonymous tip about the gunmen. The man I recognized had already run from the police and showed no signs of worry, so I figured that would be a useless exercise.
The best option was to just lay low and try to get out without being seen. If I knew they were waiting at the motel, I had an open road. The idea of tucking tail and running burned in my chest, but I slumped down in the driver's seat and shifted the car into reverse.
I might have made it, doing my best impression of an old man driver, except the bored gunmen were quick to do a double-take. They called to the man I recognized from the bank, and he raced across the parking lot to confirm it was me.
I yanked the gear shift into drive and the maroon sedan gave out a horrific groan. I pumped the gas to keep it from stalling, but it was already too late. There was no way I could get away clean now. The men were fanning out to surround me, and the used car's license plate number had already been memorized.
Still, I gunned the engine in the hopes it would send them running back for their car. It was then I realized how large of an organization I was up against. The men didn't even falter, they knew they had other teams on the road and all they needed to do was call. One of the men was already shouting details into his cell phone.
I saw the net they were forming tighten around my end of the parking lot. If I wasn't going to make it out of there clean, then at least I could give them a hard time.
I shifted back into reverse and rammed down on the gas pedal. The maroon sedan bucked and peeled backward across the parking lot, heading straight for the man who had been peeking in my motel room windows. He jumped away even though all I did was crash into the curb before I slammed on the brakes.
There was no way I could run them over. It wouldn't have done anything but add more weight to my already sinking conscience. But, I could make them run.
I slammed the sedan into drive and lurched forward at the two men approaching me. They scattered and reached into their suits for their guns.
Now was the time for me to speed out of the motel parking lot and take my chances on the road, but the man I recognized stood calmly in the center of the parking lot exit. He didn't even flinch when I revved the engine at him.
It was desperate times, and I reached into my belt for the Glock 49. One casualty, my retaliation for when he shot at Bree. I thought I could live with that. So, I rolled down my window and leveled the gun at him, balancing it on my side view mirror.
The man smiled down the barrel of my gun.
He'd called my bluff, and I couldn't bring myself to run him down. He smiled at me as if he knew me, and I was certain he knew what I had done during my missing days. The man was, in fact, the only solid tie I had to my disappeared memories.
I hesitated long enough for his grin to widen. The man held out his hands, low at his sides, and started to walk toward my open window. One look and he made the other encroaching men back off. Then he strolled up to my window and smiled down at me.
"Nathan. I'm glad you came to your senses," he said.
"At least one of us has." I waved the gun at him. "If you had any sense, you'd tell me what this is all about right now."
"Come on, Nathan. You can't have forgotten the deal that quickly."
The road in front of me was clear and I could have taken a chance, but his smile bothered me. He had to have something over me, some leverage, that would make him so confident.
"The deal's changed," I said.
The man smiled again. "We'll see about that. How about I take it up with your lady friend and see what she says?"
"My lady friend?" My words were as leaden as my mind.
"Pretty little waitress. Found her uniform in the back of her car. I wouldn't mind her serving me from time to time," he said.
I wanted to knock that leer clean off his face with the butt of my gun, but I was frozen. "If you've done anything to harm her," I growled.
He chuckled and put a hand on my car door handle. "Enough chitchat, Nathan. I think it's about time you listen, don't you?"
"And if I don't?" I got out of the car and faced him, toe-to-toe.
"Then I'll go have a little chat with your girl. See if I can't emphasize my point," he said.
"She has nothing to do with this. She doesn't know anything," I said.
He shook his head and smiled. "It's a little thing called leverage. You know all about leverage, don't you, Nathan? Trouble is, it's a slippery thing."
I dropped the Glock 49 to the ground and put my hands behind my head. It didn't matter what happened to me anymore. They had Bree, and I had to get her out safe or give up my life trying.