Iturned to find a very tanned, white-haired lady behind the wheel of a white Lincoln big enough to have its own area code. In the passenger seat sat another old woman with enormous glasses and blue hair pulled back in a bun so tight she looked like she was forced to smile whether she was happy or not. Blue-Hair waved excitedly at me.
“Where you headed, young man?” White-Hair asked, leaning over Blue to speak to me.
I smiled, relieved to see that they were old. And that neither woman had a hook. Scary hitchhiking stories always start with a hook.
“Albuquerque,” I answered, putting on my best smile in hopes of covering up the I-just-ran-away-from-home-to-rescue-my-mother look. It must have worked because Blue leaned back and unlocked the door behind her.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Hop in before the po-po see you!”
I got in, heaved the door closed, and settled into the velvety backseat. It then struck me that what she had just said was pretty strange. Po-po? I’d heard Will use that word before. Was she talking about the police?
And in a place where it never rained, the sky opened up and it poured.
“Good thing we have the cover of this storm,” said White. Blue grunted in agreement and I raised an eyebrow. Without looking, White pulled the boat of a car out onto the highway, causing a smaller oncoming car to slam on its brakes to avoid hitting us. Neither Blue nor White seemed to notice.
“You never know when they’ll come around the corner and nab you,” White muttered while Blue nodded in agreement.
“Who?” I asked, hastily putting on my seat belt.
“What?” asked Blue.
“Who?” I repeated.
“Who what?” asked White, looking at me in the rearview mirror.
I shut my mouth, wishing Blue had left her window down because the entire car smelled horribly of vanilla air freshener. Five yellow trees dangled from the rearview mirror alone. More hung above the back doors. I held out as long as I could, but after a silent minute, I cracked the window so I wouldn’t suffocate.
“You roll that window back up, young man,” White said sharply and, because I didn’t know what else to do, I did. I tried to hold my breath.
“Dangerous,” said Blue, shaking her head.
“I was asking who would sneak around the corner and nab me?” I asked finally.
“The pigs! The fuzz! The po-po! The law! The constabulary! The ol’ black-and-white!” White croaked, her voice growing louder with each word.
“Police,” chimed in Blue.
I wasn’t sure what the “constabulary” was, but I thought I was getting the idea. Blue turned around in her seat to peer at me. I could only see her eyes over the headrest, her giant, thick glasses making her dark eyes look at least ten times their normal size.
“Why would the police care about me?” I asked nervously.
“You tell me,” said White. “You break out of the clink?”
Blue’s eyes just blinked at me.
“What?” I asked. This was getting weird.
“Bust out of the slammer? Skip bail? Fly the coop?”
“Fugitive,” Blue whispered and I just stared at her.
The red arrow of my Mistake-o-Meter started to creep upward as the car drifted all over the road, cutting off cars and running red lights, windshield wipers at full speed: thwakita-thwakita-thwakita.
“I wasn’t in jail,” I managed between gasps of vanilla-scented air. I closed my eyes tight as White narrowly avoided hitting a van.
“Just as I thought!” beamed White. “On the lam!”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, gripping the handle above my door, the air freshener flapping against my arm. I was about to tell them I’d rather walk to Albuquerque when White’s eyes narrowed in the mirror.
“Are you packing a biscuit?” she asked coldly.
“A what?”
That’s when we swerved into oncoming traffic to go around a car slowing for an exit.
I truly believed it was my last moment alive.
Somehow, through a commotion of red brake lights, horns, and skidding tires, we avoided unavoidable death.
“Hippies!” White cursed, shaking a veiny fist at the traffic in general.
Blue either didn’t notice or didn’t care that we’d nearly been flattened like a pop can.
I was starting to think that this was more than just a three on my Mistake-o-Meter—it was starting to look like a four or a five. A Flashing, Red, Bad Idea.
“A biscuit! You know, a slug-thrower. A six-shooter.” White was all but shouting, gesturing with her pale, wrinkly hand. “A rod! A gat!”
“Gun,” Blue whispered.
Hailey had been right. You can’t trust anyone.
“Are you carrying? Strapped up? Packing heat?” White finished.
“No!” I exclaimed. “Of course not! I’m only twelve,” I added for good measure.
I need to get out of this car, I need to get out of this car, I chanted to myself, desperately trying to figure out an escape.
Through the windshield, the rain was coming down hard. The road in front of us was just a blur. There was no way these old ladies could see where they were going.
“Ask him his name,” White said to Blue. But before she could, White changed her mind. “No, no, never mind. I don’t think we should know it.”
“My name is Ryan,” I said. These crazy bats wouldn’t remember what I told them anyway.
“I can’t hear you!” said White, putting her fingers in her ears and letting the steering wheel spin on its own. The Lincoln immediately veered to the right.
“Steer!” screeched Blue, grabbing the wheel. She pulled too hard and we went flying toward the shoulder. I thought we were going to crash, but a curb stopped us, the hubcaps singing against the concrete. My heart thudded so hard in my throat I thought I was going to choke.
“Gimme the wheel!” White squawked, wrenching the car back to the left. “You know you can’t drive,” she admonished Blue before turning back to me. “She lost her license, poor thing.”
“Yes,” agreed Blue somewhat wistfully.
White looked at me again in the mirror. “So Randy—”
“Ryan.”
“Right. Brian. We’re supposed to believe you don’t have a gun?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding my hands up. “I’m just a kid. I just need to get to Albuquerque. I’m not a criminal or…whatever it is you think I am. Really.” I swallowed loudly.
“Sure,” said White, squinting at me. “He’s in disguise,” she whispered to Blue out of the corner of her mouth.
“Really?” Blue mumbled back, turning to face me again, her big bug-eyes blinking.
Reality must have taken the day off.
“Check his bag,” White said, and before I knew it, Blue, a creaky old lady nearing a hundred had grabbed my suitcase from my lap as easily as Will snagging my cupcake.
“Give it back!” I leaned forward, but my seatbelt locked and tightened across my lap as White slammed on the brakes.
“Chill, Rambo,” she said coolly, looking over her shoulder at me.
“Please, please, just look at the road,” I pleaded, covering my eyes.
And just when I thought things had spiraled completely out of control, they got worse. I uncovered my eyes to see Blue pull a pistol out of the glove compartment.
“Oh—!” I choked on my words and my blood turned to ice as Blue fiddled with the honest-to-god, reach-for-the-sky gun. “Lady, please!” I cried, pushing myself back into the velvet seat.
Drivers honked and swore at us silently from behind closed windows as the Lincoln hurtled past them, running some off the road. We slowed for a sharp corner and I reached for the door handle, but Blue shook her head. White glared at me in the mirror. Her voice turned quiet and sweet, as though she were offering me a cookie.
“Don’t make us mad, Rufus,” she said. We kept driving. How was I going to get away?
I decided to panic.
My mouth began sputtering anything and everything, and before I knew it, I was telling them I had to get out so I could save my mom and had to give Will his money back and make my dad proud. Telling them things I didn’t even know I felt until the words came tumbling out. The only reason my lips stopped flapping was because there wasn’t anything left to say.
That, and Blue slapped me. The big ruby ring she wore cut my cheek and when I reached to touch it, my hand came back with a smear of blood.
“Hush,” she said sternly.
“Cool it, Ralph,” White added.
Blue then proceeded to go through everything in my suitcase. She showed my rescue plan to White who made a tsk-ing noise. Blue then stuffed everything back in, except for the scarab, which I saw fall onto the seat.
“Spy,” Blue concluded, chucking my suitcase back at me.
“What?” I squawked.
“Quiet,” she growled in her tiny voice.
We left the city limits and began picking up speed, blasting down the highway at what had to be a hundred miles an hour. White threaded the car in and out of traffic like a needle.
I thought about knocking White over the head with my flashlight, but I couldn’t hit someone’s grandma, gun or not. I mean, they might have kidnapped me but, well…they were old. What can you do when they’re old? Besides, if I hit her, we’d crash for sure.
“I’m not a spy,” I said. I was trying to be calm, but my voice shook.
“What’s with the camo paint then?” countered White. “And the disappearing ink? The—” she squinted her eyes. “Top Secret Escape Plan?”
“I’m a runaway!” I yelled, shocking both women and myself. “I have to hide and escape sometimes, don’t I?” I wriggled a bit to the left, out of the direct sightline of the gun bouncing in Blue’s hand as the big white Lincoln clipped a smaller car. While her finger wasn’t on the trigger, Blue didn’t seem fully in control of the thing and I worried it might just go off if we were jounced the wrong way.
“What should we do with him?” White asked Blue. Blue shrugged.
“You can let me out here,” I said, leaning forward. “I won’t say a single word about—” About what? What was this anyway? “Well, any of this. I promise,” I finished.
“You’ve seen too much,” said White.
“Yep,” said Blue.
“No, I haven’t!”
“You know everything,” said White.
“Everything,” repeated Blue.
“No, I don’t! I don’t know anything!” It was well beyond the time to panic. Hailey would have been so disappointed.
“You’ve heard all our plans.”
“Plans,” echoed Blue.
“What plans? I didn’t hear any plans!” My face broke out in a cold sweat, making the cut on my cheek sting. Suddenly, I had an idea.
“Look out, it’s the po-po!” I screamed, pointing out the windshield.
“Where?” they both shouted at once. White slammed on the brakes and the car skidded across the wet pavement. Cars screeched (and no doubt crashed) around us, but I knew what I had to do.
I threw myself and my bags out the door.
I was aiming for a cool tuck-and-roll, like something from a James Bond movie. But I probably looked more like a kid accidentally falling out of Grandma’s car. I clutched my suitcase to my chest and rolled away from the Lincoln in an awkward tangle of limbs. The wet blacktop bit into my knuckles and knees, but I was free.
“No!” White wailed.
I sat for a moment in disbelief, only to be brought back to earth by a pickup swerving around me and landing in the ditch with a crunch. White and Blue appeared to argue in the car for a moment before giving up on me. They took off, tires squealing, and made a sudden right turn…
Right into a cop car.
Holy. Crapola.
I peeled myself off the road and broke into a limping sprint. Holding my backpack and suitcase, I jumped down into the ditch and tried to scramble up the other side. My fingers dug into the wet dirt, but the edge was too steep to climb.
“Easy there, boy,” boomed a voice above me. I turned around to see a huge silhouette looming above me. I could just make out the police badge on his chest through the pouring rain. I closed my eyes and slumped down into the ditch.
I was done.
I was sitting in an air-conditioned office at a police station somewhere in New Mexico, waiting for the police officer to come back and ask me some questions about the old ladies. The last I’d seen of Blue and White, the police had been gently handcuffing them and nudging them into the cop car. White had actually tried to spit in a cop’s face, but she was too short.
Insane.
I could tell the police officers didn’t know who I was. Maybe it was the dirt on my face (I’d seen my reflection and barely recognized myself) or the fake name and address I’d given them. Maybe it was the fact that they had their hands full with two little old ladies who’d created the worst traffic pile-up in state history.
For whatever reason, everyone had been really nice to me so far, but I knew I had to get out of there. I was in an office down the hall from the main lobby of the police station, which wasn’t very big. There were three desks and a bunch of office equipment in the room with me, but not much in the way of escape routes—which makes sense for a police station, I guess. There was a locked door that led to the rest of the building, and a window with vertical bars on the outside. I guess they were used to keeping suspects in the room. Or at least suspicious-looking kids.
I was alone for now, but somebody was going to come back soon. They’d offer me a damp towel to clean my face, and then they’d see my freckle and—I didn’t want to think about it. Not when I was this close. Plus, my bags were at my feet and I knew it was only a matter of time before they asked to search them. It just seemed like something police did.
As I waited, I eyed Mom’s gold scarab, sealed in a plastic evidence bag and lying on the desk in front of me. An attached sticky note read:
Recovered at scene. Run past FBI? Interpol?
Check against known art-theft list.
It was just a silly piece of jewelry, but it was special to me and I wanted it back. I sat on my hands to keep from grabbing it. Not just yet. I’d get it on my way out—if I could find a way out. I looked around the office again. There was a chance I could squeeze through the bars in the window, but the window was painted shut. What about the air-conditioning vents? I saw one next to the window, but it was only a foot across. How did people always get away through vents in the movies?
That’s when I saw the bulletin board covered with posters of the FBI’s Most Wanted. And guess whose face was front and center? Lloyd—Dan—Lloeke’s.
Extremely dangerous.
The letters were big enough that I could read them from across the room. I went over and looked at his face again. Honestly, he hadn’t looked that terrifying in real life. He stared out of the poster with gleaming eyes and a twisted mouth. He looked so angry, you had to wonder if he’d tried to kill the camera guy right after he took his picture. I shivered, remembering how close I had been to him.
I wondered again if I should tell the cops about Lloyd, but then I remembered what Hailey said. If I did, they probably wouldn’t let me out of their sight. I pushed the thought away and instead tried to memorize the faces of the other people on the list, just in case Eli sent another one to pick me up. Hailey would probably think that was a smart idea.
The guy in the poster beside Lloyd’s was wanted for armed robbery, murder, and extortion. Compared to Lloyd, he looked completely boring and normal. He had neat, short hair and a polite little smile. You would never have thought he was a murderer. Like Hailey said, you couldn’t tell with people. Better to mistrust them first just to be on the safe side.
The last paper on the wall was this fuzzy, black-and-white picture that must have been taken with a security camera. It showed a two-story, square-shaped adobe building at night, lit up by a few bright streetlights. I could see a man’s silhouette on the roof. He had his hands on his hips and his head turned to the side and facing up, kind of like a pose you’d see a superhero make. Under the picture was written, Georgia O’Keeffe Museum Robbery, Santa Fe. It was dated the night before.
Georgia O’Keeffe must have been a painter. There were small, color copies of maybe seven paintings that were missing—bright close-ups of flowers and trees. And one of them had a price scrawled beneath it, circled vigorously. $14 mil.
Mil? As in, fourteen million?
Wow.
I didn’t know people actually robbed museums. I thought stuff like that only happened in the movies. Then I thought about Lloyd. And Blue and White. They weren’t exactly the normal, every-day types either.
I went back to looking around the office for a way out, but came up with nothing. There was no way out. I sent a silent apology to Mom. I had failed her. The cops were going to know I gave a fake name. I was trapped.
I sat down and felt something poke me through the lining of my jeans pocket. It was the note from Lloyd. Unfolding it, I couldn’t help but feel confused. How could such a nice, kind person be a murderer? He’d been so understanding—and helpful. Maybe there’d been some sort of mistake…?
I read the quotation again:
Maybe there is no peace in this world for anyone, but I do know as long as we live, we must be true to ourselves.
I looked at my name at the top of the page. Spartacus. Funny how Lloyd had tried to make me feel better about my name. And what was the other thing he’d said about the movie? Freedom is worth fighting for—even if you die trying?
I couldn’t give up now. Not after having come this far. And suddenly, my real name seemed more appropriate than ever.
Think, Spartacus, think.
I looked at the barred-up window and had an idea.
“So, you say one of them pulled the gun on you?” The cop was gripping the stub of a pencil in his hand, taking down my story. His nametag said Garcia. No officer, no rank, just Garcia.
“Yeah. The blue-haired one had the gun.”
The officer jotted this down. Just then the phone on his desk rang and he picked it up, swiveling around in his chair.
“Garcia here.”
I leaned forward, trying to read what he had been writing, but I couldn’t make anything out.
“Yes? Yes. Really? I see…” He swiveled his chair back to look at me. “I’ll call you back.”
“So, Jeff,” Garcia said, hanging up his phone. “Where are your parents? We tried the number you gave us and it’s been disconnected.”
I looked down at my hands. All right. It’s time for the plan.
That’s when I started with the waterworks.
I know, I know, it’s not particularly brave, but it was always a useful skill when I was younger and Will was about to pulverize me. And if I’d figured right, it was going to come in handy here, too.
“Hey,” said Garcia, looking at me with concern. “Don’t do that. What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that…” I stopped and heaved a huge sob that made my shoulders shake.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Garcia said, uncomfortably, patting my shoulder. “Hey! Do you want a soda or something?”
“Yessir,” I sniffled, looking up at him with what I hoped were grateful yet watery eyes.
“All right. Just hold on one second.” Garcia left the room and I almost felt guilty. He was an all-right guy.
But that didn’t stop me from using his telephone to break the window.
With one swing of the ancient desk phone, the window exploded into giant, glass shards that rained down around me, tinkling off the metal bars on the outside of it. The crash was deafening—and would bring anyone within earshot running down the hall.
Knowing I only had a moment to act, I ripped off my shirt and hurled it out the broken window. It landed where could easily be seen from inside. Then I snatched Mom’s scarab off Garcia’s desk. For the final part of my plan, I wedged myself into the small space between the huge copy machine and the wall. There was hardly room for a cat, let alone me, but I kept letting out my breath and scrunching my way down even further. Somehow I got myself squeezed in there. If I could just get them to leave the station to look for me, I’d be able to sneak out in another direction all together.
A few seconds later, Garcia barged in. When he saw the window, he dropped the can of soda and it rolled under the desk. “Jeff!” he shouted through the bars of the window. Then he said a curse word, then, “How the heck did he…?” followed by another curse word. I was beginning to feel lightheaded from lack of air.
Garcia rushed out the door, shouting, “Renner! Renner!”
“Yep?” came a female voice from down the hall.
“Jeff bolted.”
“He what?”
And that’s when Garcia, Renner, and the person at the front desk—the only officers on duty—should have left the station.
But they didn’t.
My vision was going dark around the edges from not breathing when Garcia, Renner, and a third officer came back into the office.
“He couldn’t have fit. It’s impossible—” Renner was saying. Just then I fell out from behind the copier.
“What the heck is going on here, Jeff?” Garcia exclaimed, seeing me shirtless on the floor. In two seconds, I was pinned to the ground with my face pressed against the white tile. And then I was handcuffed.
Really. Spartacus Ryan Zander, the kid who’d never been in any kind of trouble (apart from inadvertently exposing himself to his whole hometown) was officially a criminal. Might as well put my face up there next to Lloyd’s and call it a day.
“Well, there goes the case against the two ladies!” Renner exclaimed. “No one will believe this witness now.”
“Look, Jeff,” Garcia said, hefting me to my feet and holding me by my cuffed hands. I hung there ashamed, like a cat held up by the nape of its neck. “I don’t know what that was all about, but you’ve just drastically changed the nature of this investigation.”
Renner snagged my suitcase from the recycling bin where I’d tried to hide it under the shredded papers. She followed Garcia and me down the hallway. The other officer peeled off to return to the front desk while the three of us continued down the hall, passing a whole row of closed doors and a restroom. We arrived at a room with a little plastic plaque that read Prisoner Processing. Renner opened the door for us.
And inside?
It was Blue and White.
I felt like I’d eaten a bucket of ice cream, all cold and urpy.
The two women were sitting on a bench and were—get this—shackled together at the ankles. A metal contraption connected them at their feet, and each had a hand handcuffed to the end of the bench. They seemed completely helpless, sitting there murmuring to each other like they were discussing quilt patterns.
I shivered as Garcia pulled me into the room.
“Hello, ladies!” said Garcia.
“It’s Randy!” White hissed to Blue, leaning down and fiddling with her restraint, trying to get herself free.
Free to strangle me, no doubt.
“Impossible,” said Blue, shaking her head at me.
“Jeff here is going to keep you ladies company while we handle some business. Then we’ll figure out what we’re going to do with the three of you.”
Garcia sat me down on a bench across from Blue and White. He removed my handcuffs and handed me a shirt from my backpack to put on. He then zip-tied my wrist to the arm of the bench. At least I wasn’t handcuffed anymore.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” I started to plead but Garcia held up his hand.
“You’re starting down a dangerous path, kid,” he said before dropping his hand to my shoulder. “And if I were to let you go now, you’d stay on it. You’ll thank me someday.”
I was getting ready to cry. Real tears this time, not the act. But I held it back. Not now. Not in front of these crazy old women.
And with that, Garcia and Renner left, shutting the heavy door behind them. I heard them say goodbye to the officer at the front desk, and then their voices trailed off. This was bad. I noticed my bag and suitcase beside the door, just out of reach. Renner must have set them there.
I brought my free hand up and felt the scab on my cheek where Blue had slapped me with her ring during the car ride. I looked up to see Blue and White staring at me intensely. I flinched, waiting for their wrath.
“You have to get us out of here,” White whispered.
She looked desperate and caught me off guard. They didn’t want to kill me?
“I can’t go back to prison. I just can’t,” said White.
“Can’t,” Blue commiserated, her eyes huge and watery and cartoonish behind her glasses. They both held their spindly, cuffed hands out to me, as though I had the key, as though I were there to save them or something. I caught a whiff of that vanilla-tree scent still lingering on them.
“Wait. Wait. I really can’t help—” I stammered, but White interrupted me.
“You don’t know what they do to old women like us in prison, Brandon. Poor Clementine would be shivved at Bingo by nightfall.”
“Shanked,” Blue corrected her.
“I—I don’t have the key,” I said. “And I’m basically cuffed, too!”
Not to mention the door that was undoubtedly locked.
White looked at Blue and then nodded her head. Then, to my complete disgust, Blue took out her top dentures and held them out for me.
“What are those for?” I asked, leaning back.
“Use them for your zip-tie,” said White. “One of the pointy teeth has a serrated edge for stuff like this.” She turned to Blue and said quietly, “You took the cyanide pill out of them, didn’t you?” Blue nodded.
“What? No!” I was so grossed out at the thought that I had to close my eyes. When I opened them, White had taken them from Blue and was drying them on her sweater.
“Look, see, now they’re nice and clean.”
“Sparkling,” Blue encouraged.
I looked from the teeth in White’s hand to the plastic tie attaching my wrist to the chair. It was only part of a solution. Even if I got out of the restraint, I’d still be locked in. But I had to try, didn’t I? If I had even the smallest chance, I had to try. Anyway, I was already in so much trouble, what did one more thing matter?
“Let me…just let me try for a second before I use the…the teeth, okay?” Blue smirked and leaned back, watching me with a toothless, amused look as I stretched and pulled and picked at the plastic tie. It did nothing but make my wrist raw.
I didn’t have much time.
“Gimme the teeth,” I sighed. White smiled and handed them over.
I won’t go into detail about the teeth. Let’s just say I gagged and leave it at that. But I sawed at the plastic with the sharp incisor and, in a few minutes, I was able to snap the zip-tie off.
“Genius!” I said, rubbing my wrist. I handed the teeth back to Blue.
“Yep,” she said, popping them back in without wiping them off or anything. Ugh.
“Right,” said White. “Now us.”
My stomach sank. I’d already forgotten that part of the deal.
“Still don’t have the keys,” I said.
“Start yelling. When the Capo comes in, you knock her out,” White said, eyes shining.
“Capo?” I asked.
“Copper,” Blue said.
“When she comes in, you grab her gun,” White continued. “Or, wait, you can use the leg of this bench, here.” White began kicking at the wooden bench leg with her one free foot.
“Stop!” I said, putting my hand out and on her bony shoulder. “Shh! You want her to hear us? Besides, I can’t do that. I’m not hitting any cops.”
“What? We scratch your back and you don’t scratch ours?” White’s eyes flashed at me with a hint of the fire I’d seen earlier that day. “You want hush money or something?” I took a step back, shaking my head.
“I will not club a police officer,” I said. “I’m grateful you helped me get free, but—”
“You a coward?”
“Yellow,” muttered Blue. “Chicken.” She said it in that fake quiet way people say things when they’re acting like they don’t want you to hear, but really they do.
“You heard her,” said White, her face hardening. “You don’t have the cojones to spring a goomba?”
“A what?” I asked, incredulous.
“Wingman! Esé! Comrade!” Blue supplied.
Apparently Blue could now say more than one word at a time.
“You don’t care about your friends, is what you’re telling us,” said White.
“No, it’s just that—” I had to figure out how to get out of there, not waste time talking to them. And they were being so loud.
Wait. What had they said about attracting the officer with noise?
“Ah, so you are a coward.” White sat back with a triumphant smirk. It was like something Will would say.
My face went hot—she knew she’d hit a nerve.
“Milquetoast. Pantywaist,” taunted Blue.
“Pantywaist?” I repeated and Blue nodded, sneering.
“You couldn’t take the heat,” White said, that slight, creepy smile on her face. “So you went belly up and turned snitch.”
That’s when it hit me. I knew how to get out of there—without clubbing anyone.
“You know what?” I said, leaning forward. “I am a snitch. I’m the bad guy.”
“You!”
I didn’t expect White to be so fast—her free hand shot out at me like an eel, her grip strong and cold on my throat, her thumb pressing into my Adam’s apple.
“The heavy!” roared Blue. “The black hat!”
“Get…off…me,” I choked, knocking her hand away. I backed away as they wrestled with their handcuffs. They were going crazy, despite being cuffed to the bench.
“I knew it! I knew it!” White sputtered.
“I told them everything,” I bellowed back. Then I sat back down and arranged my arm like I was still zip-tied to the bench.
“Defector! Snitch!” bellowed Blue. “Stoolie!”
“You old bags are going to be in the clink a long time,” I said smugly.
At this, they went berserk, jerking at the bench so hard the wood started to splinter. They yelled curse words at the top of their lungs, including some I’d never heard before.
“So help me, Brian, I will use your skull to hold my yarn balls!” White screamed.
Yep; she actually said that.
“Hey! What’s going on?” It was the front desk officer, opening the door. “Keep it down in here!” She went straight over to Blue and White, not even throwing a glance my way.
Before the door could close, I sprang to my feet, grabbed my bags, and dashed into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind me, interrupting the officer’s startled shout.
I could hear her fumbling with her keys, but I didn’t hesitate. I shot down the hall toward the exit.
“You’re gonna pay for this, Brian!” I heard White crowing. “Mark my words!”
Maybe she was right. Maybe I would pay for it someday.
But not today.