Christian
Running hadn’t been part of his plan when he left the station house. Christian wouldn’t even classify going below the grid as that. He was simply taking time to think about where to go from here. His father’s refusal to post bail made him desperate.
After dragging him before a judge, the police had been only too happy to lock him up again when he couldn’t make bail. Anoushka’s crazy accusation that he’d raped her was the unbearable topping on an already bizarre situation. The only good thing was that his father didn’t believe her.
He hadn’t slept that night as his thoughts ping-ponged in his head. In the morning, he’d asked for a phone call and dialed his mother’s cell, after racking his brain to shake the number loose. Her voice was as calm and soothing as he remembered, when she asked, “Christian? Why are you calling me from the city jail?”
“Mom?” He winced, because the word sounded weird coming from his mouth. He rushed in with, “I have a situation, and Dad kicked me out of the house. He won’t help.”
He’d given her a quick explanation but didn’t admit any guilt. In the silence, his heel bounced on the concrete floor as he waited for her answer. Over his shoulder, he checked to be sure no one was waiting, so he wouldn’t have to cut the call before he was finished.
Bernadette Ebanks had been pitched out on her ear for cheating on Radcliff, who ensured he gained full custody of ten-year-old Christian. Christian’s only contact with her was a card at Christmas, and that hadn’t changed in years. She’d remarried and had two children. The way Christian figured it, she had her hands full, and he’d managed fine without her.
Five years ago, she sent him her number along with a hundred-dollar bill, and he’d called to thank her. Since then, they spoke once or twice each year. Of course, Christian never mentioned her, or their conversations, to Dad.
“I-I’m desperate. I won’t ask for anything else if you get me out of here.”
He waited for her response, unsure of what it would be. If she said no, he didn’t know what he’d do.
“Give me a couple of hours,” was all she said.
Weak with relief, Christian sagged against the wall. “Thank you,” he whispered. He couldn’t move his mind beyond getting out of jail. When that happened, he’d take the next step.
Bernadette was as good as her word and arrived two-and-a-half hours later. When they stood next to her car, she hugged him. The second she stepped away, Christian knew he was on his own. Then, her gaze went to his hand, which was cradled to his side. “What happened to your face and fingers?”
He explained and watched her cringe. When his story ended, she opened her handbag, pulled out her wallet, and stuffed some bills into his hand. “Do what you need to do.”
“Can you at least give me a ride?” he asked, hefting the backpack onto his shoulder.
He thought she’d say no, but she said, “Sure. Where d’you need me to take you?”
That stumped him and he stared at his Nikes, then said the first place that came to mind and was close to her hometown of Westchester. “South Miami.”
“Get in the car.”
She was a small woman with an air of authority, like a school teacher. He tried to remember what she did for a living but pulled a blank. It didn’t matter anyway. From the corners of his eyes, he studied her. He had her complexion and the shape of her face. Other than that, he was his father.
He soon realized his mother was a speed demon, or she couldn’t wait to get rid of him. After several questions about his life and what he was accused of doing, she went silent. When they pulled up outside a small hotel property, he sat up. “What is this place?”
She faced him, then quickly angled her body toward the windscreen. “Look, it’s clear you don’t have anywhere to go, and I can’t just leave you on the side of the road. Your father is a harsh man, but he may change his mind about helping you. In the meantime, let’s get you checked into this place.”
Before he could ask how she knew the bed and breakfast, she said, “Hotel bookings are part of what I do for a living.”
Within minutes, she checked him in for three nights. He couldn’t help noticing that she pulled out a credit card, then opted to pay cash. After a sweep of her heels, suit, and handbag, he figured she wasn’t struggling.
Through the plate glass, he watched her get into the Subaru. Their eyes met, and she forced a smile. The weight of his problem hit him again, and he didn’t see a way out. Not without his father’s help.
Two days later, Christian was sure he was going mad. That first evening, he’d gone to the emergency room, where they had given him several shots, put a splint on his two middle fingers, and told him to get pain killers. He still couldn’t believe Dad had done him like that. But what was there not to believe? Years ago, he’d heard him ranting when he kicked Mom out of their home. Christian also knew she left with only the clothes she wore, no matter how much she begged to be let back inside to pack a few things.
He stared at the ceiling, wanting to get up but not seeing the point.
The room was small but clean, the cable service crappy, and the Wi-Fi iffy. So far, he had only ventured downstairs to walk around the pool area. Not even the water was appealing. While he’d never been someone who needed much company, he was lonely. Also, though he never had any deep conversations with Sancia, he missed her ditziness.
Worry was killing him slowly. After his three nights at the hotel were up, he’d be out on the street. He stood on the balcony and let loose with several curse words. If he had ignored Sancia, none of this would have happened.
Alexia had been the newbie on the scene, and while he was attracted to her, he hadn’t done anything about it. Several times, Sancia had teased him about the way he looked at Alexia, but he still hadn’t put any thought behind doing anything more. He much preferred that the girls Sancia selected knew, or at least suspected, what games they’d be playing.
One bad decision had ruined his life.
When his mother bailed him out, he hadn’t been thinking about leaving town, but she had provided the perfect opportunity. If only he could really disappear…but that would take some doing.
He rushed inside the room and emptied all the pockets of his backpack, plus his wallet. A grand total of one hundred and fifty dollars, plus a credit card, lay scattered on the bed. So far, Dad hadn’t canceled the card, but it wouldn’t be long before he remembered and called the bank.
Christian put everything away, and from the bed, he scrolled through the television channels, which was pretty much all he’d done in the last couple of days while avoiding reality. Other than that, he stared at the city through the plate-glass doors. He stayed off the laptop a good deal of the time. That, and the cell phone, were tracking devices. Just in case he decided not to go back to Coral Gables, he wouldn’t be trapped by technology.
His face appeared on the television screen, and he jack-knifed into a sitting position. With clumsy fingers, he scrambled to turn up the volume on the evening news and stared in disbelief while the news anchor read a story about him violating the terms of his bail by leaving Coral Gables. But how did the authorities know he’d left? He hadn’t told anyone, which was easy. Even the people in his circle who were known freaks had stopped talking to him.
“Oh, shit.” He scooted to the end of the bed, placed both feet on the floor, and dropped his head into his hands while the woman reading the news moved to another story. How could he have been so stupid? And his mother was just as bad. She had to know they could lock him up again for leaving the city limits. Maybe he could turn himself in, if he could make it back safely. If he met any police on the way who recognized him, they might shoot him on sight. Sweat broke out everywhere. Too many Black men had been killed just for being born in the skin God had given them. Plus, the thought of being locked up for days on end just about killed him.
He ordered pizza, then threw the phone aside to stare at the television. His eyes closed, and when he opened them again, someone was pounding at the door. Must be the delivery guy—although he’d had to go downstairs for previous orders. They had probably been calling the room while he was asleep. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and yelled, “Coming. No need to tear the door down.”
He turned the handle, and the door hit him in the shoulder, numbing it instantly. “Hey! What the—”
Two men, one Black, one White, stood on the dingy carpet in the corridor. King Kong didn’t have anything on them. If they had a mind, they could snap him like a toothpick. Their arm muscles bulged under their shirts, and they weren’t even moving.
Christian dried his forehead with his sweater, trying to push the door closed.
“Are you Christian Skyers?” the man pressing against the panel asked.
Stepping back, Christian bluffed. “Who wants to know?”
“Hotel security,” the bald one said with a smirk.
“Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
He tried to slam the door, but the taller of the two shoved his foot into the space.
The skinny man who’d been working reception when Christian checked in walked up to them and peered inside the room. He nodded to the other guy, who stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops.
His gaze never left Christian when he asked, “Are you sure that’s him?”
“Yes, this is the guy that registered under that name.”
Before Christian could say a word, the dude wearing what looked like combat gear flung him against the door and twisted both arms behind his back.
“This is bullshit! You’re hurting my hand.”
The man planted the back of his arm below Christian’s neck and pinned him to the wood.
“Who are you guys?” Christian sagged as his feet threatened to give way, but the man’s rough hold kept him upright.
“That’s not important.” His hot, garlic-and-cigarette breath made Christian want to puke.
His continued protests didn’t move either of them while they tossed the room, and when they got ready to leave, Christian asked them to bring his backpack.
Ten minutes later, he sat in the back of a metal-gray Honda truck wearing handcuffs and balancing the box of pizza that arrived in the middle of him being scooped up by the pair of Neanderthals.
No matter which way he spun it, he couldn’t understand why they came for him. No one was supposed to know where he was, and they refused to answer anything he asked, so he eventually shut up. Then it occurred to him that although they had radio contact with a “base,” they were not policemen. For a mission like this, officers would have been in uniforms.
His next thought almost made him wet the seat. Someone had paid them to hunt him down.