Chapter Twenty
Twenty
Less Than Five Minutes Earlier
She looked left then right. The alleyway looked deserted – there was no sign of gangster-suit man.
Mary veered right, took three steps in that direction and then paused, her brain half disagreeing with her move.
The alleyway wasn’t exactly a long one. It ran parallel to the Broadway, behind that particular row of shops, bars and restaurants – ten in total.
The Whiskey Bent Saloon was the third building from the right, but the seventh from the left, which meant that the run to the side street was much shorter for Mary if she went right instead of left.
The problem was, it would also be a considerably shorter run for the stranger coming from across the road from The Whiskey, which Mary had no doubt he would do, as soon as he figured out that she must’ve fled through a back door – and the last thing that Mary wanted was to bump into gangster-suit man as she got to the side street.
Run against the tide, the voice in her head told her. Do the unexpected.
Mary turned left and ran as fast as her cowboy boots would allow her.
As she got to the side street – 4th Avenue North – she paused again.
Turning left would take her back to The Broadway – opposite end of the block from where The Whiskey was – turning right would take her north, past the AT&T building, with several intersecting streets crossing the long avenue, giving her a lot more escape options. That was clearly the obvious choice.
Run against the tide. Do the unexpected.
Mary turned left and quickly made her way back to The Broadway, but before doing so, she opened her handbag, reached for her cellphone, and dropped it inside the dumpster to her right – just in case, somehow, the stranger was using the GPS on her cellphone to track her.
Despite being a Monday night, there was still a considerable number of people walking up and down that stretch of the boulevard – too many for Mary to be able to spot gangster-suit man – and if Mary couldn’t spot the stranger, then he wouldn’t be able to spot her either.
But luck also seemed to be on Mary’s side that evening.
After quickly checking The Broadway, she turned right, moving away from The Whiskey.
She had only taken a couple of steps when she saw a cab pull up by the sidewalk to drop a passenger.
She quickly walked up to the passenger’s window and gave it a quick knuckle knock.
‘Are you ending for the night,’ she asked, as the driver rolled down the window. ‘Or can you take one more fare?’
‘I’ve actually just started, ma’am,’ the cab driver replied. He was a slim man with kind eyes, wearing a cowboy hat and sporting a thick, peppery horseshoe mustache. ‘I’ll be going until morning. Hop in.’
Mary quickly got into the back seat.
‘Where to?’
‘Greyhound bus station please.’
‘Sure.’ The driver switched on the taximeter, indicated left and pulled out onto The Broadway, heading southwest. According to his ID information displayed on the dashboard, his name was Travis Anderson.
As the cab pulled away, Mary saw a man wearing what looked like a marching-band military jacket, walking along The Broadway. That was when she had a brand-new idea.
When the estate realtor showed her the first few properties around Nashville, he mentioned a few touristic attractions not only in Nashville, but in some of the nearby towns as well.
One of his top recommendations was the city of Franklin, a mere twenty miles away.
Franklin, the realtor had explained, had been a key site of the American Civil War, and all throughout the year, with its antebellum plantation homes and civil war-era wooden houses, the city attracted a diverse multitude of tourists.
Mary sat back on her seat and began pondering an alternative.
She hadn’t really had time to check which buses she would be able catch from the Greyhound station at that time of night.
And the one thing that she didn’t want to do was hang around the station for too long, waiting for the next bus.
However small, there was always the possibility that gangster-suit man could come looking.
‘Excuse me,’ Mary said, leaning forward on her seat. ‘How long would it take for you to drive me to Franklin instead?’
The driver looked at Mary through the rear-view mirror before checking the dashboard clock. ‘At this time at night, ma’am, not long at all. Less than half an hour, for sure.’
Mary took another second to think about it.
She didn’t need to ask about the fare price.
She had almost seven hundred dollars in cash in her wallet – more than enough to cover the trip and a one-night stay at any hotel in Franklin.
The advantage was that in the morning, she wouldn’t have to rush.
She could take her time and pick a better city to travel to, without having to worry about the stranger tracking her down again.
‘Is it easy to find a hotel there? Do you know?’
‘In Franklin?’ The driver, once again, checked Mary through the rear-view mirror. ‘Oh yeah, for sure, ma’am. Franklin is almost as touristic as Nashville itself. It’s a great little town. You can even get a room in an old-style plantation house, if you want.’
‘Do you know any good ones… hotels, I mean. Not plantation houses.’
The driver smiled at Mary. ‘I sure do, ma’am.
I know a couple of great little boutique hotels, but the choice is plenty.
The I-65 cuts right through Franklin, and honestly, that’s like a hotel boulevard.
You look left… you look right… all you see are hotels, ma’am – from cheap ones to living in high cotton. ’
Mary nodded at the driver’s eyes on the mirror. ‘Do you mind driving me there instead of the bus station. I can pay cash.’
‘I’ll drive you wherever you’d like me to, ma’am.’ He touched the tip of his hat, as he gave Mary a cowboy nod. ‘It’s my job.’
The driver was right. The ride from The Broadway all the way to Franklin, just south of Nashville, took him no longer than twenty-five minutes. Once there, Mary decided to go for a simple three-star hotel – The Comfort Inn – just off the I-65, like the cab driver had told her.
It was true that the Covid pandemic changed the world in many ways, including how customers paid for goods and services all around the planet.
Credit cards and phone pays have become the norm, with many establishments accepting no other form of payment, but in the USA, you could still find plenty of places where cash was king, especially in the Deep South.
At The Comfort Inn, Mary had no problems getting the female desk clerk to accept cash instead of a credit card.
There was no need to create a digital trail.
‘I need to ask you for a huge favor,’ Mary said, as she handed the clerk her ID card. Her voice was sad and pleading. ‘Could you please register me under a different name.’
The clerk, an older lady with curly blonde hair and a gentle smile, paused and looked back at Mary curiously.
‘I know that artists do that sometimes,’ Mary explained. ‘To avoid fan calls, journalists… things like that, you know?’
‘Oh,’ the clerk’s eyes narrowed at Mary, as if trying to place her. ‘Are you…’
‘No,’ Mary responded with a shake of the head.
‘I’m not an artist. I’m not famous or anything like that either.
’ The sadness in her tone became a little more prominent.
‘But I finally got the courage to run away from a very abusive and toxic relationship. I’m doing this all by myself and to be honest, I’m terrified.
I’m not really sure what I’m doing… I don’t really know where I’m going.
I didn’t even get a chance to pack a bag or anything.
’ She lifted her hands to indicate that all she had with her was her handbag.
‘But I know that he and his buddies will be searching for me.’ Mary shook her head, as tears glassed her eyes.
‘I can’t go back, you know? I just can’t. ’
‘Heavens to Betsy, honey,’ the clerk said, her tone tender.
‘Bless your heart, and good for you that you decided to finally leave.’ She gave Mary a kind and understanding smile.
‘And of course I can put you down in the books under a different name. No one will find you here, honey. Don’t you worry about that, you hear?
’ She handed Mary back her ID card. ‘Do you have a name in mind?’
‘Oh, thank you so much.’ Mary’s tone was sincere. ‘Right now, I need all the help I can get, you know?’
‘Of course, honey.’
Mary took a second. ‘How about Vicky…’ She thought about giving Vicky the surname ‘Grit’, but Vicky Grit sounded like too odd of a name. She decided that it would be better to go with something more traditional. That was when the cab driver’s name came back to her. ‘How about Vicky Anderson?’
The clerk nodded, as she typed the name into her computer.
‘Vicky Anderson it is.’ She gave Mary a renewed smile.
‘And I’ll tell you what – I think you’ve been through enough for one night, so I’m going to upgrade you to one of our suites, for no extra cost.’ She carried on typing into her computer.
‘It’s a larger and more comfortable room, with a separate living area, a balcony and a super king-sized bed.
I’m sure that you must be worn slap out.
And the room comes with a complimentary bottle of white wine, which you’ll find in the minibar. ’
‘Aw, thank you so much. That’s so very kind of you.’ Mary’s eyes glassed over again. ‘And you’re right, I really am exhausted.’
‘I’m sure you are, honey.’ The clerk handed Mary a keycard. ‘Room 410, on the top floor. The lifts are just over there.’ She indicated just ahead and to the right of the reception counter.
Mary took the card and thanked the clerk once again.
‘Miss Anderson?’ the clerk called, just as Mary got to the lifts. ‘I hope everything turns out just fine for you. You deserve better, honey. You’re doing the right thing.’
Up on the fourth floor, it was only when Mary touched the keycard against the lock pad on the door that she realized how much she was shaking. Inside the large and nicely decorated suite, as the door finally closed behind her, Mary dropped to her knees and broke down in desperate sobs.