Audie watches Sandy Valdez through the large glass windows into the fitness center where she’s running on a treadmill, her hair bouncing on her shoulders.
Sometime later she emerges, showered, wearing white golfing shorts and an expensive-looking sleeveless top that fits loose, yet shows off her breasts. Her tanned legs stretch from sockless sneakers. She picks up a coffee to go. Window-shops. Tries on a shirt.
Audie glances up from a newspaper, watching her move through the brightly lit atrium and ascend on the escalator. They’re under a clear dome of the shopping mall where water streams down a glass wall into a pool that’s supposed to represent a rain forest. She waves to a friend on the down escalator. They signal each other. Phone. Coffee. Catch-up. Later.
In another shop, Sandy chooses a skirt and blouse and goes into the changing room. She emerges a few minutes later and goes back to the rack, looking for a different size.
Audie has survived without luck for so long that he hardly recognizes when it arrives. Sandy has left her gym bag in the changing room. Slipping inside the cubicle, he unzips the bag and takes her cell phone.
An assistant walks past. “Can I help you?”
“My wife needs her phone,” he says, motioning to Sandy, who is studying a label. At that moment she turns and starts walking toward the changing room. Another shopper has attracted the assistant’s attention. Audie lowers his head and passes within a foot of Sandy, expecting a shout of alarm or someone yelling for the police. Fifteen…twenty…thirty feet…he’s outside the shop…on the escalator…across the concourse.
Minutes later he’s sitting behind the wheel of the Camry, scrolling through Sandy’s text messages until he finds one from the boy. He hits the reply option and types:
Change of plan. We want you home. I’ll pick you up from school in fifteen minutes. Mom xx.
He presses “send” and waits. The phone vibrates with a new message:
What’s up?
I’ll explain later. Meet you in the parking lot.
Audie searches the contacts list again and punches in a new number. A woman answers. Bright. Breezy.
“Oak Ridge High School.”
“This is Sheriff Ryan Valdez,” says Audie, lengthening his vowels.
“How can I help you, Sheriff?”
“My son Max is a junior. He needs to come home. I’m picking him up in a few minutes.”
“Did he hand in a permission slip?”
“No. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Your wife told us there was a security issue.”
“That’s why it’s important we pick him up. I’m calling on my wife’s cell phone.”
The secretary checks the number. “Very good. I’ll get Max out of class.”
Audie hangs up and drops the phone in his lap. Pausing at the next stoplight, he reaches behind him and pulls the sawn-off shotgun from under his backpack on the seat. He has three shells. Rolling them in his palm, he feels the coolness of the curved metal edges.
Pulling into a parking spot near the school gates, he lets the engine idle and watches the main doors. The sky is the purest blue, not cobalt or vapor laden or discolored by smog.
His cell phone chimes. Max texts: Where are you?
Walk to the exit.
You have to sign something.
Tell them I’ll do it later. We have to hurry.
Moments later he sees Max push through the heavy glass doors and jog down the steps. He’s wearing a baseball cap low over his ears and is moving with gangly teenage awkwardness, searching for his mother’s car.
Audie triggers the hazard lights. Max moves closer. He crouches to look through the tinted glass. The window glides down.
“Get in the car.”
The boy blinks at him. His eyes drift down to the shotgun on Audie’s lap. For a fleeting moment he seems to consider running.
“I have your mom,” says Audie. “How else could I set this up?”
Max hesitates. Audie shows him Sandy’s phone. “Get in the car, I’ll take you to her.”
The boy looks over his shoulder. Uncertain. Scared. He climbs into the passenger seat. Audie slides the shotgun onto the floor next to his left hand and pulls away from the curb. The doors centrally lock. Max tries the handle.
“I want to talk to Mom.”
“Soon.”
They’re driving north along I-45, keeping to the center lane. Audie checks the mirrors, occasionally slowing or accelerating, making sure they’re not being followed.
“Where is she?”
Audie doesn’t answer.
“What have you done to her?”
“She’s fine.”
Audie moves to the outer lane. “Give me your cell.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Max hands it over. Audie winds down the window. He tosses Sandy’s and then Max’s phones onto the hard shoulder of the freeway where the devices shatter and the pieces bounce and skip across the asphalt.
“Hey! That was my cell!” cries Max, looking out the back window.
“I’ll buy you another one.”
Max looks at him murderously. “You’re not taking me to Mom, are you?”
Silence.
Max pulls at the door handle and begins yelling. He hammers on the window, screaming at passing vehicles. The drivers ignore him, locked in their own little worlds. He lunges for the steering wheel. The Camry slews across two lanes and almost swipes the safety rail. Vehicles swerve out of the way. Horns blare. Max is still gripping the wheel. Audie elbows him in the face and the boy falls back into his seat, holding his nose, blood running through his fingers.
“You could’ve killed us,” yells Audie.
“You’re gonna kill me anyway,” Max hiccups.
“What?”
“You’re gonna kill me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Revenge.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Max lowers his hands. “What do you call this?”
Audie’s heart is still racing. “I’m sorry I hit you. You frightened me.” He pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to Max. The teenager holds it on his nose.
“Tilt your head back,” says Audie.
“I know what to do,” Max replies angrily. They drive in silence. Audie checks the mirrors again, wondering if the near-accident was caught on any camera or reported by another driver.
Max’s nose has stopped bleeding. He touches it gingerly. “My daddy says you stole a lot of money. That’s why he shot you. He’s going to catch you again. This time he’ll kill you proper.”
“I’m sure he wants to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your daddy wants me dead.”
“So do I!”
He slouches, dropping his chin to his chest, staring at the passing fields and farmhouses.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.”