Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
The music inside The Whiskey went from country rock to country ballad. Some of the crowd began dispersing from the dance floor, but the majority stayed, pairing themselves up into couples.
Mary’s eyes, once again, moved past Luke to refocus on the door.
Nothing. No sign of the man from outside.
Her gaze moved to the crowd, in case he had managed to slip into The Whiskey without her noticing it.
Still nothing. She couldn’t see him anywhere. What she did see were the G.R.I.T.S, including Vicky and Pam, making their way back to the bar, and they were all staring death at Mary.
‘OK, now you have no excuse,’ Luke said, bringing Mary’s attention back to him, as he once again offered her his hand. ‘We’ve gotta go dance.’
‘To a slow song?’ Mary’s chin dipped, as she asked the question.
‘Why not?’
‘I’ll dance with you.’ The comment came from Vicky, who had finally reached the bar, along with the other G.R.I.T.S. She then turned to address Mary. ‘You’re still here? I thought you were leaving.’
‘Do you know each other?’ Luke asked.
‘We met in the bathroom earlier,’ Vicky explained. ‘She said that she was just leaving. Did you get lost, honey?’
Mary could feel a barbed reply lodging itself right at the back of her throat, but she took a second and swallowed it back down.
The last thing she needed right then was to pick a silly fight with a local.
What she needed to do was think and come up with a plan of action, which was hard to do with loud music blasting in her ears and bitching women surrounding her.
Mary quickly checked the door and the crowd one last time – still no sign from gangster-suit man.
She reached for the CD that Luke had signed for her and placed it inside her handbag.
‘I need the bathroom again,’ she said, indicating the dance floor. ‘You guys should go dance.’
‘Oh, we will,’ Vicky said, grabbing Luke’s hand and dragging him over to the floor with her. ‘Don’t you get lost again, you hear?’
Mary zigzagged through some of the dancing couples, and returned to the bathroom, where she quickly locked herself into one of the cubicles.
Think, Mary, think, she urged herself, shaking her arms by her side to try to relax.
How the fuck did that guy find you here?
As soon as she asked herself that question, a second voice inside her head immediately shut the door on it.
Who cares how he found you? The fact is that he did.
You can think of how, or where you went wrong later.
Right now, you need to think of what to do so he doesn’t get to you.
Mary opened her handbag and checked its contents – house keys, her purse, sunglasses, two cellphones – her main one and a burner phone – Luke’s CD, a mini perfume bottle and a small makeup bag.
She unzipped her purse to check what was inside it – a futile exercise, done just to calm her nerves, because she knew exactly what she had in that purse – cash, four different credit cards, four different bankcards, her ID card, and her Medicaid photo card.
From her very first day as Mary Smith, she had stuck to her plan like white on rice.
Her first and most important rule was – wherever she went, her purse went with her.
If she ever found herself in trouble, the kind of trouble that required her to drop everything at the blink of an eye and disappear, her purse contained everything she needed to do exactly that.
The suggestion had, once again, come from George Oakfield, but Mary had seen it before in several spy movies.
They called it a ‘go-bag’ – a bag or suitcase that was usually tucked away at a secure location and it would contain whatever the spy deemed necessary to escape a dangerous situation with minimum or no time to spare.
Mary had created her own watered-down version of the go-bag, which she kept with her at all times.
Sure, she knew that in America, there was always the risk of her purse being snatched, and that was why her passport, together with a second driver’s license, another burner phone, and ten thousand dollars in cash were tucked away in a safety deposit box in a bank far away from Nashville.
The box was identified only by a number – no names – and it was only opened by the use of double thumbprint – no keys.
But in all honesty, never in her wildest dreams did Mary truly believe that her ‘spy’ plan would need to be put into action.
She had been extremely careful in her choice of identity, looks and temporary location, and she had told absolutely no one about any of it.
After confirming that she had everything she needed inside her handbag and purse, Mary sat down on the toilet and took a second or two to try to calm the rapid beating of her heart, waiting patiently until she could feel the rate settle, slowly.
You can’t go home, the voice told her. If that guy found you here, in Nashville, then chances are that he has your address, and that’s probably why he never came into The Whiskey after you spotted him outside.
He probably figured out that his best chance would be to wait for you back at your place. ’
‘Fuck!’ Mary whispered, as she leaned forward, rested her elbows onto her knees and buried her head in her hands.
She was just starting to really like Nashville, but because she had followed her plan step-by-step, with no deviations whatsoever, she could get up, walk straight out of The Whiskey, and simply disappear without even needing to go back home.
Other than the go-bag and the safety deposit box in a completely different city, Mary had also rented a small, furnished, one-bedroom apartment, which she had paid for in cash and six months in advance.
When it came to earthly possessions, especially her wardrobe, Mary had made the biggest sacrifice of them all, filling it with just a few basic pieces that she could leave behind at any time without worrying about any of it.
Truth be told – going from over two hundred designer pieces in her fourteen-feet by fourteen-feet walk-in wardrobe back in Woburn, to just a few budget ones in a closet the size of a cupboard, was to Mary what going ‘cold turkey’ was to a heroin junkie – it took her an effort of will not go on some mad shopping sprees.
‘So, what do we do now?’ Mary murmured, engaging herself in another internal monologue.
Well, we don’t have that many options, do we, her mental voice replied. Going back home is too much of a risk.
So, where the fuck do we go? We’ve got to go somewhere. We can’t be sitting in here all night.
She checked her watch. It was just coming up to eleven-thirty. The place would probably be closing soon.
Well, for tonight we could go home with Mr. ‘soon-to-be-a-country-music-star, sexy-tattooed-cowboy’ Luke Jenkins. We get to avoid going back home, which is the main idea, and as a bonus, we’ll get laid… something that hasn’t happened for a while, I might add.
Mary sat up straight, her eyes widening at her own thoughts.
‘You have got to be fucking kidding, right?’ she argued with herself.
‘Like I fucking need that kind of headache right about now. Not to mention the G.R.I.T.S. If they find out that I went home with Luke, they’ll probably camp outside his house and shoot me in the head when they see me leaving in the morning. I bet they all carry guns.’
Mary shook her head at nothing, taking a moment to think.
She didn’t really have to stay the night in Nashville and get out in the morning.
She had everything she needed, and the Greyhound bus station was just a few blocks away, with buses leaving every fifteen to thirty minutes.
The train station was about the same distance.
She’d need a cab to get to the airport, but at this hour, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to make any flights.
Mary took a deep breath. Maybe getting the fuck out of Nashville even before sunrise really was the right call. Anywhere would do for tonight, as long as it wasn’t here. She could think of a better temporary location tomorrow.
To Mary, that did sound like a much better option than going home with Luke… probably a better option than getting a room in some seedy hotel somewhere in town too. Knowing that gangster-suit man was still in Nashville while she was already somewhere else would at least make her sleep better.
Decision made.
The only problem now was getting out of The Whiskey, because what if she was wrong?
What if gangster-suit man hadn’t gone anywhere?
What if he was just waiting across the road, like before?
In fact, that would’ve made more sense than him waiting for Mary somewhere outside her apartment – if he did know where she lived.
Well, this is a drinking den with a kitchen, the voice inside her head reminded her. They will have a back door… a kitchen door… a fire exit door… something.
The fire exit door was out of the question – Mary had clocked it earlier – alarmed and located on the main floor, at the opposite end of the bar from where she’d been standing with Luke, but she had walked past the entrance to the kitchen on her way to the bathroom – it was completely out of sight from the main floor.
Down the corridor, past the restrooms, there was no other door, so the back door had to be through the kitchen.
She stood up, slung her handbag over her right shoulder, took a deep breath, and finally exited the bathroom.
Just before the door that would lead her back to the main floor at The Whiskey, Mary turned right and entered the kitchen.
It looked like she’d been right in her assumption – at least the kitchen at The Whiskey looked to be already closing.
At that time, there were only two people in the kitchen – the chef and the porter.
The chef was dressed in a typical white chef’s uniform, and the porter was dressed in normal clothes, with a long waterproof apron slung over his neck and tied around at his waist. They were both busy cleaning surfaces, stacking pans and pots back on shelves, and emptying and reloading the industrial dishwasher at the far end of a double sink.
‘If you’re looking for the bathroom,’ the chef said, indicating the door. His southern drawl was heavy. ‘Keep on going down the corridor and turn left. It will be the second door on your right.’
From where she was standing, Mary spotted the back door, right at the far end of the kitchen, just past the two large chest freezers by the east wall.
‘I’m actually looking for the rear exit,’ she replied, as she pointed at the door.
The chef and the porter exchanged a curious look.
‘Is someone out there bothering you, miss?’ the chef asked. He was a large man who, judging by the size of his waist, clearly enjoyed the food he cooked. ‘If you show me who he is, I can go and have a word. We don’t allow that kind of behavior in here.’
Mary smiled back at the chef. ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you to offer, but it really isn’t necessary.
I know him from work. He’s an OK guy, but sometimes, when he’s had a few too many, he can get a little too insistent, you know what I mean?
I find it easier to just avoid it. He probably won’t remember any of it tomorrow.
’ She indicated the door again. ‘Do you mind if I leave through the back?’
The large chef shrugged. ‘Sure. Be my guest, but don’t make a habit of it, OK?’
‘I won’t,’ Mary said, as she crossed the kitchen in fast strides. ‘You’re a lifesaver. Thank you again.’ She pushed the door open and finally stepped out into the night.