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The darkness seems even darker and impenetrable by the time I enter the sleepy town of Catskill. When I spot a hardware store that’s still open, I pull into the lot, and park just outside the front door.
“What are you doing?” Joanne asks. “Why aren’t we calling the hospital and checking on Junior?”
“Because it’s too risky,” I say. “We’re wanted fugitives. They’re gonna wanna know who’s calling and they’re going to see our caller ID.”
“Yeah, buddy,” Sean says from the back seat. “What the hell are you doing? Maybe it’s not a great idea to show your face in a store that’s got CCTV.”
“I’ll be okay,” I say. “I’ll leave the engine running. And do not call the hospital.”
My debit card is pretty spent after buying the new Jeep. But I have a little cash in my pocket, so there’s no reason to retrieve any cash from the money bag or from the shoeboxes. Besides, what I’m buying isn’t expensive. Opening the door, I get out and head into the store. An older man is standing behind the counter. He smiles at me as the bells connected to the door jingle all the way.
I take a quick look around the store. It’s more a general store than a hardware store. It’s got all sorts of tools and gadgets, but he also sells hunting boots, knives, rifles, and shotguns. Even AR15s. A small section is devoted to muzzle loaders. There’s a big drawing of a bear over the muzzle loaders. It reads, “Bear Season is Coming Soon!” I’m standing in the heart of the Catskills. It’s the mountain country where Bears are prevalent.
“Excuse me,” I say, “where do you keep the duct tape?”
“Aisle three,” the old man says. “You’re lucky you caught me in time. I was just about to lock up for the night.”
I make a quick check for CCTV cameras. Much as I hate to admit it, Sean’s right. The last thing we need right now is for me to be videotaped. I don’t see any. It doesn’t mean they’re not there, but I get the feeling the old man hasn’t quite gotten around to installing a modern-day security system.
“I’ll be quick,” I say.
I head to aisle three, grab a roll of the thick gray tape and bring it back with me to the counter.
“Four fifty,” he says.
I pull out a five. There’s a TV sitting on a small table behind the counter, but it’s not tuned into the news, thank God. I’m sure pictures of Joanne’s and my face are all over the place by now. Maybe even across the entire U.S. Still, he’s giving me this look with his bloodshot, brown eyes like he somehow recognizes me.
“Need a bag, Mister?” he asks.
“That would be great.”
Maybe it’s me, but he’s moving very slow. He licks the tips of his fingers, then grabs a plastic bag off a stack set under the counter. He places the roll of duct tape inside the bag. He then picks up the five-dollar bill, opens the register, makes change, and hands it to me. There’s a Feed the Children plastic bucket set on the counter, and I tell him to put the change in there.
“That’s very generous, Mister,” he says.
I grab the bag, turn, and head for the door.
“Say, Mister,” he says.
Here it comes...
“Yeah,” I say, looking not directly at him, but over my shoulder.
“I know you from somewhere?”
“Lots of people say I look like George Clooney in his younger days,” I lie.
He chuckles.
“That must be it,” he says.
I leave.
Getting back into the car, I can tell Joanne and Sean have been talking about their, let’s call it relationship. I know this because she’s crying again, and they immediately stop what they were saying when I open the door and slip back behind the wheel. To say the silence is as thick as it is awkward is putting it, well, mildly.
I set the bag of tape onto my wife’s lap.
“What’s this?” she says.
“Something I’m gonna need later,” I say.
With that, I back up and continue south in search of a safe house.