A Pair of Second Chances (Ben Jensen Series Book 1) (3 page)

As promised, the wait for the cab was, though still agonizing, less than five minutes. When asked by the Bosnian driver, where she wanted to go so early in the morning, she responded, with her voice very nearly a shriek; “Just Go! Right now, just GO!”

“Yes Ma’am” replied the driver as he faced back forward and rolled his eyes… Thinking to himself; “These Americans… They all must be crazy! Always shrieking and upset!”

In a couple of blocks he again asked; “Lady? I need to know where to take you!”

“To the Greyhound Station… just take me to the Bus Station! And Please, hurry, we’re late… The bus we’re on leaves in fifteen minutes!”

“Don’t you worry lady, I’ll get you there.” he accelerated down the deserted street as he spoke.

Less than ten minutes later the cabby slid his car up to the curb in front of the sign with the illuminated greyhound. He hurried around to open the door for the crazy blond American woman who’d pleaded for the last five minutes to; “Hurry or I’m going to miss our bus!”

She pushed a small wad of bills into his hand and started to go, but stopped and turned back to him; a pleading look in her eyes.

“When they ask you, where you took me, please… Please! Tell them somewhere else… tell them the airport, the train station… Please! Anywhere but here!” and she pushed another small wad of bills into his hand.

The fear in her eyes shook the cabby. That was saying a lot. The man had survived the massacres back in the ‘old’ country.

“Don’t you worry lady… I’m a good liar… I’ll tell a good story.”

Something about the look in her eyes, and the tears as she hugged that little boy, before she turned and ran inside made him repeat to himself as he watched her run off; “Don’t you worry one little bit… I’ll tell a God Damn good story!”

As she climbed the steps into the warmth of the bus cabin, on that cool, late summer morning the driver asked; “That little bag all you have?”

She looked from it and back to the driver; “It's all I have… It’ll do.” And then she proceeded back into the rear of the almost empty bus.

Finding a seat several rows back from the driver, with no other riders adjacent, she slid in and laid the boy in the window seat, while she took the aisle. The blue duffle she placed between them. Sliding the zipper pulls apart and partially spreading the sides, she looked in at the bundles of bills that filled the bag. “It’ll do” she repeated, closing the bag again and kissing her small son on his sleeping forehead. Reclining her seat back, she slowly exhaled, and some of the tension seemed to leave her frame… Her left hand on her son’s hip, her arm through the handle straps of the blue duffle… she slowly relaxed into the seat, with one… tiny… almost imperceptible shudder.

She’d been working this night out, for the past two years. It was her last chance, her son’s only chance. If they didn’t make it this time… if she didn’t escape this time… he’d kill her. Her son would be without his only protection and he’d become one of them. She couldn’t let that happen. She had to get him away. They had to … disappear.

Where she’d failed before, this time she couldn’t. Failure this time would mean her death and a life of misery for her son. Tyrone had promised that, at least the part about her death. Though he did say, even that wouldn’t be quick. The man was an animal, a beast. To call him a man was to insult the worst of men.

The bus, an express, rolled out of Chicago and continued west on through the early morning hours. It crossed the state line into Iowa, arriving in Des Moines at quarter to ten in the morning, after several quick stops at small towns along the way.

Once they were off the bus and away from the terminal, the young, blonde, mother seemed to relax a bit more. Though, if you watched her, her eyes never seemed to really stop their constant movement… their apparent, constant vigilance.

“What if he knew? What if he’d found out, and was just toying with me, letting me think we’d gotten away… so he can just roll up and crush us… one more time? It’s the kind of sick torment he’d enjoy! Oh God! Please… Help us!” The panic of her thoughts nearly became too heavy to carry and she slumped, back to the wall, against a store front, several blocks away from the bus station. Her heart was pounding as though it would explode in her chest.

“What’s wrong Momma?” little Timmy asked, worry in eyes too old for a four year old boy.

“Nothing Timmy… Nothing… I’m… just hungry I guess… are you? Wanna get some pancakes?” She smiled down at the love of her life… tousling his hair.

Two more blocks down the street they found an IHOP that filled the bill, and settled into a seat in a booth, way in a back corner of the dining room. When the waitress asked what she could get for them Timmy laughed at her; “Momma said I can have pancakes… and Chocolate milk!”

“We have a car Timmy, it’s in a garage, just down the street. We’re going to go get it when we’re finished with breakfast, and then we’re going to Montana!”

“What’s mahtahna?”

“It’s Mon - ta - na, and it’s not a what… it’s a place… now hush up and eat!” Her eyes warmed as they looked down at that small, dark haired boy, busily shoveling pancakes beside her.

A short walk down the street was a self storage yard with many individual compartments. The Blonde and her son entered the code in the automatic gate and waited for a few seconds as it rolled open before slipping in. They passed two shed rows of storage rooms before turning down a driveway and walking halfway down to one of the larger, garage doors in the aisle. The girl took a key out of her purse and removed the padlock from the hasp, and with a grunt, lifted the overhead door. A little, red Saturn sedan was revealed, sitting in the otherwise empty storage garage.

She pulled the boy inside, back past the car door on the passenger side before turning back to open the car. A child’s car seat was already secured in the rear seat on the passenger side. Timmy was quickly helped in and strapped in place.

‘Momma’ hurried around to the driver's side. She opened the door and found the keys on the floor, right where she’d paid for them to be placed. Climbing in she put her hands on the wheel… took a deep breath… held it… and, ever so slowly… exhaled.

With a look back at Timmy, in his car seat she asked; “Ready?”

“Yes Momma! Let’s go to Mon – ta – na!”

A turn of the key brought the engine to life… The fuel tank read full, just as she’d instructed. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she jumped out to run to the back of the car to peer at the license plate… "The tags are current… good… he did everything I asked him to… money well spent… so far" she mumbled to herself.

With a squeal of tires on concrete the little red car peeled out of the storage garage, zipped around the end of the building, stopping only for the few seconds it took for the gate sensor to open the gate for them… and they were off for Mon – ta – na!

The Mother and her son rolled through the Iowa sunshine, laughing and playing games they thought up as they drove. She sang to her son… tried to teach him songs… they laughed… and for the first time, since the boy was born… she knew a few hours when the fear receded to where it was almost gone. Almost, but not quite.

She’d tried to escape before. Before Timmy.

Somehow, they always found her. His ‘bwoys’ always showed up, within a few days, and took her back. How she wasn't sure. She knew from watching television that the FBI could track a cell phone from the cell towers. But she wasn't running from the FBI. Her problem was with a Jamaican Drug Dealer. They had no such power to tap into the telephone company. Not that she was aware of. Luckily for her the phone was off, if only to save the battery. She wanted it charged up should she have a need for the phone. The thought again floated through her mind to remember to replace the forgotten charger when they stopped.

Worldly and streetwise as she might be, she was no geek. She was among the many who couldn't do much with either a computer or a DVR; and she had no knowledge of GPS systems and their applications in cell phones.

She thought it must have been some foolish use of a credit card, a careless word, or some other simple thing, that had left a trail. A trail they had always followed. They never told her how they'd found her. They just, always, found her.

This time, she'd been more careful. She carried no plastic and she'd pay their expenses, only in cash, and only in small bills, so as not to attract undue attention. Considering the bundles of $20's in her gym bag, she'd have no shortage of those.

The girl was working as hard as she could manage, to leave no connection to her location. But still, whispering in the back of her mind, was that fearful question; "How have they always found me?"

Tyrone always beat her when they’d dump her at his feet. “Fucking Ho!” he’d holler as he kicked her. “Who da fuck you think you are? You leave when I tell you leave! And Ho? Yo ass ain’t goin’ no where! Yo ass belongs to me!”

She knew, this time, it would go beyond a beating. This time, she'd not taken only herself. She'd taken his son, and a large sack of cash, along with the, 'ho', that he considered his property.

If, she was caught this time, her son would be left without a mother. His last chance at any sort of a normal, decent, life would be finished.

The last beating had left her in a condition that required they take her to the hospital. A broken rib had punctured a lung… She told the doctor and nurse, working on her, she’d tripped and tumbled down the stairs… She remembered they’d just looked at each other… a knowing look.

He’d beaten her again when he got the bill for the hospital. “Yo ass ain’t made me that much in a year! Worthless Skettle!”… and another kick.

They might recede, but the thoughts were never… gone. Always, in the back of her mind, she expected a dark windowed Yukon to pull up behind her on the highway. Always, she couldn’t shake that nagging fear that they were coming… and her glance would go to the rear view mirror.

Watching him in the rear view mirror… and glancing back down the road at the same time… the dark thoughts returned, and her eyes started to fill.

“No! I won’t let that bastard win. NO!... Not this time…” She shook her head, working to regain control. Slowly the panic receded and calmness returned. They’d not find her today. They wouldn’t find her and her son. She had time to find a way. Somehow, they would... vanish. They had to.

How she didn’t know. Getting the car secretly bought and cached for her, biding her time until she had the opportunity to grab enough cash to give them a chance, was as far as her thinking had taken her, and at that, she'd done well.

Now, it was all by the seat of her pants. At 26, she’d never really been out on her own. She'd only been on the street a couple of weeks when Tyrone had taken the nearly 18 year old homeless girl off the street. Taken her off the street, to put her, right back on the street. The shame and humiliation still ate at her, deep inside.