4
EZRA
I was no stranger to getting caught.
Phoenix was the worst. Four wallets and two clutch-purses stolen, a hell of a day's take, and I got greedy. Just one more pinch. One more and then I'd be done, I'd go home and count my winnings, and that would be that. But the seventh mark's wife caught me, and some Boy Scout bystander grabbed my arm, and before I could do anything security was patting me down. That had been a rough six months until my parole.
And of course the Midway disaster. I'd been in Chicago a whopping eight minutes before getting made on my first attempt. It was almost a good thing it happened so quickly, before I had a coat full of evidence. Thank God I'd been able to convince the security guard it was all a misunderstanding.
But I didn't want to get caught here. Not today. I had bigger plans for Denver.
The mark I'd taken the figurine from followed silently. That was strange by itself: all he had to do was scream about a thief and security would descend on the area like a tornado. But it made sense the more I thought about it. Whatever this figurine was, it was probably stolen. Smuggled into the country. Of course the mark couldn't shout for security.
Shit, who had I stolen this from? I wondered what kind of mafia presence Denver had.
I walked speedily down the concourse, fast but not alarmingly so. Trying to play it cool and not attract any attention. I could probably lead the guy to some secluded place and just give it back. If I was right, he'd take it and go without turning me in. He didn't have a weapon, not if he'd just gotten off a plane, and I had the switch blade in my pocket in case anything got crazy. That was a scenario that I had control over.
But good God, this sapphire.
When I was nineteen, I'd helped my cousin rob a liquor store in St. Louis. He went inside while I manned the getaway vehicle, a beat up Ford Taurus with two busted headlights. But the liquor store must have had a side-business selling drugs or something, because instead of returning with a few hundred bucks my cousin came out with a bag full of hundreds, rubber-banded together in thick rolls. We later learned it was $45,000, after getting pulled over and arrested. More money than I'd ever had in my life, even though it was only in our possession for half an hour before we got caught. But I remembered the power I felt while it was in my hands. That bag opened a world of possibilities I'd never considered. It was intoxicating.
The sapphire in my pocket felt like that, dialed up to 11.
How much did someone need to retire? That was an applicable question with the sapphire in my pocket. If it was worth a quarter of a mil, or even half a mil, I'd be set for a long time. Long enough to figure out a better way to live my life. A way to go straight.
I couldn't just give this shit back. It pulled at me, heavy in my pocket. A presence I couldn't ignore.
I looked back again, and saw that the mark was gaining on me.
Throwing aside all caution, I sprinted the rest of the way to the outer door.
Frigid Colorado air buffeted me, tiny pinpricks on my cheeks and hands. I took in the surroundings at a glance: people lined the street waiting for their rides, and four lanes of traffic were crammed with cars trying to find a place to double-park as close to the exit. I'd walked farther than I thought while escaping the mark: my car was to the left, three garages over and two floors up. A good thief always had an eye on the getaway. Stupid me.
Knowing he was just behind me, I jogged out into traffic.
Car horns blared as I cut off a minivan, then bumped into the sedan in the next lane. The security guard who was watching the crosswalk blew on her whistle and stepped into the road, yelling something after me but then shifting her attention to the cars, arguing about right-of-way. And then I was in the first car garage, pushing open the glass door and disappearing inside.
Not taking the time to glance back, I made a U-turn into the stairwell, taking it down instead of up. Once on the next floor down I kept a steady jog, moving parallel to the terminal back toward the garage where my car was parked. I darted down the fourth row of cars, strode another fifty feet, then ducked behind a giant truck.
I crouched there between the vehicles, listening.
Three seconds passed, then four, before I heard his footsteps reach this floor. There was no way he could have known where I'd gone. All I had to do was wait for him to search in one of the other directions, then slip away toward the garage with my car.
But instead of stopping to choose a direction, his footsteps never slowed. They echoed through the garage as he steadily neared, growing closer, coming in this direction! I heard him turn down the row of cars I'd chosen, and then he appeared in the gap where I was, already turning toward me.
"Wait!" he yelled, but I was already running back in the opposite direction.
As I cut through the cars in a random direction, I shook my head. It didn't make any sense. He should have walked hesitantly, peering down each row before giving up. But he'd come right to me like he knew exactly where I was.
Maybe I was dealing with a pro. If the sapphire was as valuable as I thought...
I was sprinting then, away from the airport terminal and then left, heading north toward my own garage. I was small and fast, and quickly put some distance between me and the mark. He still never called out for security, or the police, or to announce that I was a thief. That was the only thing saving me right then.
If I could get to my car, I could escape.
The separate garages were connected by spiral ramps, which was quicker than running all the way to the front loading area and then back around. I sprinted into the closest ramp, running up to get to my car's level. The twist in the ramp gave me a glance at the dude, maybe ten seconds behind me. I needed to put more distance between--
The screeching of tires was my only warning as a car came around the corner. I jumped and hit the hood, head cracking into the windshield, then rolled off the right. A woman inside the car screamed, but I was already scrambling to my feet and continuing up the ramp, ignoring the disoriented feeling and blurred vision lingering in my eyes.
"Hey!" the driver yelled, opening his door and blocking my pursuer. "Dude you see her..."
"Out of the way!" the mark yelled.
I made it to the next level and left the ramp, not wanting to get hit again. I was in a full-out sprint now as I ran across the second garage. My head pounded, and as I touched my temple it came away with a smear of red.
A wave of nausea came over me, and I almost stumbled and fell. I wasn't a blood person. To be more accurate: I hated blood. Even the tiny dot of red covering my fingerprint now was almost enough to make me pass out. If not for the adrenaline of the chase I probably would have.
Don't think about it, Ezra. Just get to your car before this psycho can do worse to you.
I reached the end of the second garage and turned left, taking the time to go all the way to the pedestrian walkway instead of possibly getting hit by another car. I took the stairs two at a time, reached my floor on the final garage, and retraced my steps from earlier today: six rows down, fourteen cars in. The rusted Volvo I'd borrowed from Terrance sat exactly where I'd left it. I shoved the key in the lock, fell inside, and started the engine.
The sapphire felt hot inside my coat, pressed against my breast. It was probably my imagination going crazy. I needed to get safe.
I backed out of the spot, and saw a blur to my left. The mark was sprinting directly at me, tattooed arms pumping wildly. I shifted into drive as he slammed into the side of the car, fingers fumbling for the door handle. I jerked my palm down on the manual lock just in time.
He banged on the window. "Hey! Hey wait, please!"
Tires squealed as I peeled away. The man followed for a few steps before falling to the ground, and then he was a quickly receding shape in my side mirror.
I didn't sigh with relief until I'd circled the ramp to the ground floor, exited the airport, and was on the open freeway leading back to the city.
*
Even after making the 30-minute drive from the airport to Denver, the tension remained in my chest. The fear of holding something insanely valuable, that I would lose it if I weren't careful. It was paralyzing if I thought about it too long.
And that wasn't even worrying about my own safety. That was an entirely different concern.
Focus, Ezra. Don't be fucking stupid.
Figurine aside, I had another wallet and an extra cell phone in my pocket--the latter of which was constantly vibrating. A good take for a quick trip to the airport. I owed Terrance ten percent of what I got, the fee for borrowing his Volvo, but even after that it would have been a good haul. I could get out of the slum Terrance called an apartment and rent a hotel for a few nights. A little bit of luxury would be well deserved.
And some food. I was going to order everything on the McDonalds menu as soon as I got safe.
Don't be stupid. I realized what I was forgetting: I pulled the stolen phone out of my pocket and then powered it down so they couldn't track it if they had one of those GPS "Find My Phone" apps.
Traffic was a bitch, even though we had a few hours before the real rush hour. I exited the highway and took some back roads into the city, heading south through Aurora before turning west. I knew the roads like the back of my hand; I hadn't had much else to do before coming here aside from study Google Maps. Knowing where you were, and how to get around, was as important as anything else in my business.
Business. I let my mind drift towards legitimacy. I'd skipped college, but I was still only 24. Young enough to start over. Once I'd sold the sapphire I'd have enough to go back to school, pay for tuition. That degree in Modern Art I'd always dreamed about. Four years of that, then a job in a museum somewhere. Taking care of priceless objects rather than trying to steal them.
Yeah. That sounded nice.
But I wasn't even sure where to fence something as valuable as this. Bobby back in Chicago had some contacts, although I'd need to be careful with what I told him. Hey, I've got a half-million dollar gem to sell wasn't exactly the sort of thing you bragged to someone on the phone. Or in person. Or at all.
Shit. I'd need to figure out what to do here. Maybe search out some fresh contacts of my own.
I was changing lanes in front of a strip mall when I noticed the car following me.
A black Mustang with a blue stripe down the side changed lanes with me, maybe seven cars back. I'd noticed him exit the interstate too, but now I was concerned.
There was no way that tattooed dude at the airport could have followed me. Right?
Alright, be cool Ezra. You've played this game before.
I made a last-second turn at a stop light, tires squealing as I took it as fast as I dared. I sped up and watched my mirrors, waiting...
Bam. The Mustang turned down the road to follow.
Shit.
I took a few seconds to orient myself in the city, and pulled the figurine out of my pocket for inspection. I didn't see any tracking devices on it, although I didn't know what to look for. Maybe it was on the inside. For a second I considered smashing the figurine to be certain--the sapphire was all that mattered--but something stopped me.
Well duh. My mark slammed into the car as I exited the garage. If I were being followed with a tracking device, that was almost certainly when he'd stuck it onto my car. That thought would have been too paranoid for me an hour ago: tracking devices and Denver mafia.
There was no time to get out and inspect the car now.
It was time to play the game.
I came to a four-way stop sign and speed through it, sliding sideways in a left turn and then flooring the accelerator. I could see the main road ahead in the distance, so I ran two more stop signs to get to it, going about 30 over the speed limit. There was a school on the right, which probably meant cops, so I slowed down enough to swerve down a side street, avoiding it by two blocks before returning to my original route.
Behind me, the Mustang rumbled as it followed.
I reached the main road and slowed just long enough to make sure I wouldn't hit anyone, then merged on and cut across three lanes. Horns blared, and then I was flooring the car again, getting ahead of an eighteen-wheeler and then one lane over, slowing down to let the massive vehicle shield me. I stayed like that, going 55 along with the rest of traffic, for four blocks. I began to think I'd gotten away.
But then I saw the Mustang in my mirror, flying across traffic like he'd been thrown by a giant.
Shit. Abandoning my cover, I accelerated and began passing cars, 70 miles an hour, then 80, then 90. A flurry of tail lights ahead meant congestion, so I slid back across three lanes of traffic to take the next exit, nearly side-swiping a motorcycle in the process.
I was still ten blocks from where I needed to go. Ten blocks to lose him.
I was on a frontage road, with slow-as-fuck cars merging on to get near the interstate. I weaved in and out of them while cursing at the top of my lungs as if they could hear me. The poor Volvo's engine whined loudly, doing its best to get away, but it was no match for a Mustang on these straightaways.
Picturing the city map in my head again, I swung right at the next road.
We were in an industrial district, full of eighteen-wheelers backed up to warehouses. I zig-zagged around warehouses four times, left, right, left, right, but the loud rumble of the Mustang followed, always barely within view in my mirror. I was hoping a truck would suddenly back out, something I could swerve around and use as a blockage, but I had no such luck this day.
And worse, the Mustang was gaining on me.
"Why me?" I said, the sound of my own voice preferable to the rumbling engine growing louder. "Why couldn't I rob a Texas Hold'Em shark with a wad of hundreds? Why'd it have to be something worth killing for?"
We came to an open parking lot area, and I made another left turn, then another. Now I could see the Mustang much closer from across the block as he followed, though the windows were tinted.
As I rounded the corner and backtracked, I reconsidered my options. Surrender seemed a lot more appealing now, although they'd probably just kill me. Especially out here in nobody-would-see-a-thingville. A better idea: I could just throw the figurine out the window. He'd have to stop to get it, and once he had it he'd leave me alone. Or, at the very least, it'd buy me enough time to get away. Right?
Right. The desperate, cowardly part of my brain insisted that was the case.
But even though my brain tried to tell my body to grab the figurine from my pocket, I couldn't do it. It wouldn't let me.
It. Like the fucking figurine had a mind of its own, and was controlling me. Jesus Christ, I was losing my shit.
Toss it, Ezra. No tiny fleck of blue is worth dying over.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!
I needed to do something crazy.
Taking mental stock of where I was in the city, I hung a hard right turn. My goal was a good seven or eight blocks away, but it was fine if the Mustang gained on me before then.
In fact, I was counting on it.
Stop lights and four-way intersections were mere suggestions as I wound through the city, narrowly avoiding a few T-bone wrecks. The Mustang was a steady presence in my rear-view mirror. Always there. Constantly following. And growing larger.
Two blocks away. My goal was just ahead. I eased up on the accelerator, allowing the Mustang to get a really good whiff of me.
What would he do? Pull out a gun and fill my car full of bullets? Try to shoot my tires out like this was an action movie? I thought about all the gruesome scenarios as the Mustang changed lanes and accelerated. In maybe ten seconds he'd be alongside me. But I allowed my car to coast, bleeding speed like the engine was dead.
My goal appeared ahead, this time on the left instead of right.
I couldn't have timed it any better. By the time I reached the school, the same one I'd avoided earlier, I was going a mere 35--which was still 15 over the speed limit with the lights flashing for the school zone. But the Mustang realized what was happening too late, and roared into the school zone at a loud 55.
I passed a cop sitting on the side street behind the school, and his lights blared to life.
Praying that it worked, I continued decelerating and turned right at the next cross-street. The cop may have had his sights on me at first, but there was no way to know because the moment he saw the Mustang rumbling through he changed his mind. The cop car cut across the traffic, pulling behind the Mustang and blaring its siren.
I circled the block and backtracked, catching sight of the cop's lights in my mirror. The Mustang had pulled over.
"Thank fuck."
Resting my head back against the seat, I cruised home through the city at exactly the speed limit.