Chapter 7
Chubs
I leave Denver in the middle of the night, taking very little with me. I ride one direction, then another, until I’m positive I’m not being followed. Once I hit the highway, I twist the throttle. Finding the car exactly where I wanted it, I park my bike, smash my cell phone, and stow the handgun I usually carry in the saddlebags. Retrieving the car keys, I carefully place my Devil’s Angels cut into the trunk next to the items that were left in it for me. Working quickly, I close the trunk, move the car onto the pavement before brushing away its tire tracks. To give myself the best head start, I leave a confusing scene on purpose. Was I taken by the Feds, or did I leave on my own? I know they’ll launch a search, and Rex won’t rest until he gets answers, so every minute counts. As I drive off, I can’t help but look in the mirror at my bike left on a lonely highway. The need, desire to turn back hits hard, but I ignore it.
I drive west for several hours before pulling into a deserted rest stop. I grab the backpack sitting on the seat next to me and exit the car. The sun’s not up yet as I make my way inside the building. Setting the backpack on the countertop, I pull the items I need from it.
I glance up and am almost startled by the man I see in the mirror. Tired, blank eyes stare back at me as I plug in the clippers. Getting to work, I shave my curls off, leaving my hair a scant inch in length. Lately, I had let my scruff grow into a short but messy beard. That gets shaved off next, leaving my face completely bare for the first time in a long time. Cleaning up the mess I made, I splash cold water on my face.
It takes a few attempts, but eventually, I get the blue contacts placed in my eyes, which are now burning like hell. Blinking rapidly, I nearly make myself dizzy, waiting for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I change my clothes. Instead of blue jeans, t-shirt, and a cut, I’m nearly unrecognizable in a polo shirt, slacks, and nice shoes. I miss my boots instantly. Cussing under my breath, I pack everything away again and walk out.
Placing a pair of sunglasses on my face, I note the sun is breaking free of the horizon. Tossing the backpack into the backseat, I notice a cooler behind the driver’s seat. I almost smile, knowing that it’s going to contain my favorite thing. Next to the cooler sits a duffle bag. Opening it, I’m shocked but pleased to find several useful items. A road atlas, binoculars, extra ammo, a couple different types of knives, a small toolbox with a few basic tools, an envelope of cash totaling $500, all in small bills, candy bars, licorice, and bags of gummi bears. All useful and appreciated gifts.
Pulling out of the rest area, I open the cooler one-handed. I pull out a Coke, then a sandwich, as I push down on the accelerator. A few more hours, and I turn north.
I continue my drive, trying to keep my mind off what I left behind and instead focusing on what I’m heading toward. I stop only when necessary and keep as separated from people as possible. When I get too tired to continue, I find another rest area and park near the back of the lot. I recline the seat as best as I can, pull a jacket over myself, and try to sleep.
When I wake, I instantly realize my mistake. I will never forget to remove those contacts again as I’m desperately trying to open my eyes that seem to have been glued shut. Rubbing my eyes only makes the situation worse. Tears running down my face, I finally get my eyes open and find a face pressed against my car window. Instinctively, I slam my body backward and shout in surprise.
The face disappears at the same time I realize it’s not a threat to me but a young boy. His face reappears, this time with a wide smile that’s missing a few teeth.
“Peek-a-boo!” he shouts, then giggles at himself before ducking down out of sight again.
Body relaxing, I wait for him to reappear. I turn the key far enough to slide the window down and place my face so it’s close to the moving glass. When he pops back up, I shout, “Boo!”
Not expecting our faces to be nose to nose, he squeals and bounces back a step, wide-eyed.
“You scared me,” he accuses.
“You scared me,” I return.
“Why are you crying?” he asks.
“Not crying. Sore eyes. Do you have parents here with you?” I ask while looking around the area where I’m parked.
“Yeah, my mom. She’s inside changing my brother’s diaper. He pooped.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be with her?”
“Yeah, but he stinks, so I came outside.”
“You shouldn’t have left your mom,” I tell him in a stern voice. “What if she needs help? You should stay with her to help and protect her if she needs it. And you should never talk to strangers when she’s not there.”
I watch as he fidgets and thinks over my words.
“I better go check on her,” he states before breaking into a trot toward the restrooms.
Starting the car, I drive slowly through the parking lot so I can keep the boy in sight. When he enters the building, I pull off to the side and wait. A few minutes pass before a young woman exits the building, carrying a diaper bag over her shoulder, an infant seat in one hand, and the other hand gripping that of the young boy. He smiles and waves when he spots me, but the mom doesn’t notice. Once they’re all safely in their car and pulling out, I park and use the facilities before hitting the road again. The boy reminded me of Craig and Luke, and a pain hits my chest at all I’m going to miss out on.
At the end of another long day of driving, I stop at a convenience store. Wearing my sunglasses and avoiding eye contact, I buy food, drinks, and a burner cellphone. I drive for another few hours before finding a run-down, off-the-beaten-path hotel. Gathering my things, I rent a room and make my way to it.
I take a shower, eat, and then pull out the phone. Once I have it powered up, I make a call. When I hear the voice on the other end, time freezes. It takes me a few seconds to speak, knowing the bomb that’s about to get dropped.
“Brother,” I say in a low gravelly tone due to the emotion gripping my body.
“What? Who is this?” my younger brother, Alessandro, barks after a short pause.
“It’s me. Are you alone, and can you talk?” I ask quickly, worrying he might hang up on me, thinking this is a prank call.
I wait, not saying anything further, and the silence drags on. Finally, he answers.
“No. I’ll call when I can.”
The call ends abruptly, and I breathe deeply for a few minutes. I haven’t heard that voice in many years, and I wasn’t well enough prepared for how it would affect me. I can only imagine how he must be feeling about hearing mine as well. It’s not often a dead man calls his brother several years after he died.