The Advocate - 02 - The Advocate's Betrayal (28 page)

“I don’t know. I don’t have all the pieces yet, but it doesn’t take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep.” JP heard Bob chuckle. “You just keep an eye on Sabre. She may be in danger.”

“I can’t reach her. Her phone seems to be shut off.”

“Well look, I’ve lost my money, my phone, and my credit cards, and I need you to wire me some money so I can get out of here.”

“Done.” Bob paused. “Where do I send it?”

JP pulled the phone down under his chin. “Chuck, is there a Western Union in this town?”

“No, sorry, man. There may be one in Saginaw, but I know for sure there’s one in Bay City.”

“How far is that?” JP asked.

“Too far to walk. I’d take you, but I’ve got to get back to the dairy.”

“Is there a bus or taxi? Never mind, I don’t have any money. I’ll hitchhike,” JP said.

“I…I need to go into town as soon as the old man gets h…here. Y…you c…can ride with m…me.”

“Thanks, Roger.” JP spoke into the phone again. “Wire the money to the Western Union in Bay City. If there’s more than one, send it to the one with the street name earliest in the alphabet. Once I leave Elsie, I may not be able to call you again until I get the money.”

“Got it. What else?”

“I need you to get me a flight out of Bay City, Michigan. If you make it for mid-afternoon I should be able to get everything done and make the flight.”

“But you don’t have any ID. How are you going to fly?”

“I’ll figure that out. Just make the reservation.”

“I’ll take care of it right away.” Bob cleared his throat. “So, JP, what happened? Does it have anything to do with Luke or Betty?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he said, slapping his hand on the desk, “but I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

“What else do you need?” Bob asked.

“I need you to reach Sabre. Luke’s cheating on her or up to something else, but at the very least he’s lying to her. Just protect her until I get there.”

34

Roger didn’t talk much on the ride into Bay City, a refreshing break from the ride with Chuck. They passed fields, mostly green, that had either been harvested already or weren’t yet planted, JP didn’t know for sure. Many appeared to have once been corn. Beautiful two-story homes and old buildings needing paint dotted the landscape amid the green woods and fields. So many shades of green, a virtual green sea in such contrast to the southern California brown hills JP was accustomed to. Each town they passed through, no matter how small, had its own water tower proudly displaying its name. The rain dropped lightly on the windshield, providing an even homier feel to the landscape as it passed by.

Bay City offered freshly built bridges spanning beautiful rivers and many new buildings without the hustle and bustle of big cities. JP observed that the economy had affected much of Michigan, as evidenced by the empty businesses they saw along the way, but the changes weren’t as obvious in Bay City.

JP had looked up the Western Union and called it from Elsie, so they found the place without too much difficulty. The small, old wooden building with its flat shingled roof and a brick façade front looked like a convenience store, not exactly what JP had expected. On one side of the entrance sat a propane cubicle. On the other side, an ice dispenser stood next to a yellow and black wall sign that read “Western Union.” Signs selling lottery tickets, cigarettes, worms, and ice cream dotted the windows. JP walked to the back of the store where he filled out some paperwork, used the phone provided, and obtained his money while Roger waited in the car.

The local Target was different. It sat at one end of a large, relatively new, inside mall. As Roger stopped the car in the parking lot to let JP out, he asked, “Y..you going to be okay?”

“Yes, thank you so much for all your help.” JP handed Roger a fifty-dollar bill.

“No n…need f…for that.” He tried to hand it back.    

“Please. You probably saved me a whole day. It’ll pay for your gas and you can take Chuck out for a drink or something.”

“I…I d…don’t dr…dr..drink anymore.”

“Then take him out for lunch. Thanks again.” JP walked away.

He went into Target, bought a complete change of clothes, a razor, a trial-sized deodorant and toothpaste, a toothbrush, and a comb. Then he walked to the AT&T store they had passed earlier. After a good twenty minutes of cajoling, answering password questions, and speaking with different managers, he was able to buy a phone. He walked out of the store and immediately called Bob.

“Any word on Sabre?” JP asked.

“No, I still can’t reach her.”

“Dang.” JP pulled at the neck of his t-shirt as if to loosen it. “And the airline ticket?”

“You fly out of Bay City at three-forty this afternoon and you get into San Diego at nine o’clock. I’ll be there to pick you up. But, JP, I don’t think you can get on an airline without ID.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure out a way. Give me Sabre’s number. I’ll try to call her too, but please let me know if you hear from her. I’d feel a lot better if she weren’t with Luke.”

“Do you think she’s in danger?”

“I don’t really know enough to guess what’s going on. I need to get home and regroup.”

The rain had stopped by the time JP hailed a cab. “Is there a Holiday Inn Express near here?”

“Just up the street a few miles.” The cab driver popped the trunk open and moved toward the back door to open it for JP, but his passenger had already opened it for himself. “Do you want to put your bag in the trunk?” The driver looked at JP’s one plastic Target bag.

“No, thanks.”

“Are you vacationing?” the cabbie asked, as they pulled away from the curb.

“Yeah.” JP didn’t feel like making idle chit chat.

“How long are you here for?”

“Not long.”

Two miles later, the cab pulled over to the curb in front of the Holiday Inn Express. JP handed him his fare plus a five-dollar tip. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just tired.”

“No problem.” He looked at the tip and smiled. “Thanks.”

JP walked into the hotel. It looked like every other Holiday Inn Express, not fancy but clean and fresh. He checked in, took a cup of coffee off the counter, and went to his room. He immediately shed his clothes and took a long shower, brushing his teeth before he got out. He slipped into his new boxer shorts and made a phone call to his reclusive friend, Billy, in Idaho. He knew Billy from community college at Mount San Jacinto, where they had shared police courses together. They became roommates and best friends for several years, raising hell together in their young adult lives. Billy hailed from a long line of cops and his father encouraged him to follow in their footsteps. Billy attended the police courses, along with philosophy and constitutional law classes in which he excelled. He never made it to the Academy, though. Instead he became a student of the law and used his knowledge to fight the system. JP and Billy had remained friends for all these years, bonded by their past while separated not by just a half a country but also their basic approach to life.

“JP! What’s up, brother?”

“I need to know how to get on a flight without any ID. I remember you saying something about flying without showing them your ID and it worked for you, right?”

“Yeah, but do you want to refuse to show them, or you don’t have any with you?”

“I’m in Michigan and I lost my wallet. I need to get back to San Diego, stat.”

“The best way is to just tell them you lost your wallet and you need to fly as a selectee. It used to be you could just refuse to show ID and they had to let you on as long as you submitted to a secondary search. But they changed that a year or so ago. Now TSA has a policy that if you “willfully refuse” they don’t have to let you on the plane. We’re contesting that, of course. They have no right to require Americans to carry ID to travel. It violates our constitutional rights. I’m working on a…hey, you don’t need to hear all that right now. Just tell them what happened. Not any more than you have to, since it’s not really any of their business, but talk nice to those yahoos and they should let you on.”

“Thanks, Billy. You’ve been a big help.”

“Peace, brother.”

The clock read ten-forty-eight. JP set the alarm on the clock in the room and on his phone for twelve-forty-five p.m., double checking the alarms. If he slept for two hours he could arrive at the airport with a couple of hours for check-in. He slumped down on the bed, then sat back up and called the desk for a wake-up call. He was determined to not miss his flight.

When the radio blared a rendition of
Pretty Woman
, JP sat upright in the bed and reached for the button to shut it off. His phone alarm sounded, and before he could silence either of them, the phone rang with his wake-up call. Assuming it was automated, he picked up the receiver and set it back down without answering. He finally found the button to shut off the radio and opened his phone to stop the beep. He was groggy and his head hurt from not enough sleep, but he didn’t waste any time. He called the desk for a cab and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth again.

His few belongings left behind, he went to the office to check out. The cab was waiting. The cabbie drove him the twenty minutes to the airport with almost no conversation. JP wondered if he spoke English, but was pleased he didn’t have to talk. He picked up his phone and dialed Sabre. No answer.

At the airport, JP went directly to the kiosk and printed his boarding pass; he then took a deep breath and entered the first line through security. He was greeted by a young man who was no more than twenty and looked more like twelve; the man’s nose and eyebrow rings were removed, as evidenced by the holes. “ID, please.” He said nonchalantly.

“I don’t have an ID. I lost it.”

“Sorry, you can’t fly without ID,” he said, with more authority in his voice.

“I need to get home. I lost my ID. I need to fly as a selectee.”

“A what?” The left side of the guard’s lip turned up, exposing another hole where jewelry had once been.

“A selectee,” JP said. “It’s what you do when you lose your ID.”

A blond man, who was about six-three, weighed two-hundred-fifty pounds, and stood about three passengers behind JP, said, “Come on, man. Let’s go.”

The TSA novice stood up taller and attempted to sound knowledgeable. “You can’t fly without ID. That’s the law.”

JP spoke softly. “People fly everyday without ID when they lose it. They’ll just put me through an extra search.”

“Sorry, no can do.”

The big man behind JP moved forward around the other passengers. “Does he look like a damn terrorist? Let the man on and let’s go.”

“Sir, you need to stay in line.”

JP was wishing the big guy wouldn’t try to help. He didn’t want to call any more attention to himself than he needed to. Billy had told him to keep it low key.

The big man walked past security and started up the escalator.

“Hey,” the TSA novice yelled. “Come back here.”

Seven security guards appeared before the big guy was half way up. Two more guards were standing at the top. The big guy fought to keep their hands off of him, flailing his arms with such force he knocked one guard down the steps. More guards seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Leave me alone. I just want to get on the damn plane.” He reached the top of the escalator and the two guards each grabbed one arm. Another guard behind him pushed forward, and they threw him to the ground and handcuffed him. The man was still yelling obscenities as they stood him up and took him away.

So much for low key
. JP turned to the TSA novice. “Look, I’m sorry this has caused so much commotion, but I was robbed and I’ve been through hell the past couple of days. I know there’s a procedure for this. Please help me out here.”

A TSA supervisor walked up just as JP was trying to explain. “Come with me, sir,” the supervisor said.

They walked into a cubicle with just a desk and two chairs. Another security guard walked in with them. They had JP empty his pockets and remove his shoes, and they ran the portable scanner over his body. Gesturing for JP to be seated, the supervisor took a seat across from JP while the second man stood behind him.“My name is David,” the supervisor said, without extending his hand. “What’s your name?”

“John Phillip Torn. I go by JP.”

“Tell me what went down here, John.”

JP explained he had to catch a flight but didn’t have an ID because he’d been robbed and beaten, pulling back his shirt to show his bruises.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“What friend?” But JP knew who they were referring to. “You mean that big, crazy guy?”

“Yeah, your friend who caused the commotion so you could get on the plane.”

35

Sabre’s body hung from the man’s arms. She wanted to fight, but little strength remained; besides, it felt good to be carried.  She scanned the area looking for help, but it was too dark to see much and everyone had left the edge of the canyon. As they entered the parking lot, a security guard stepped out from behind a nearby tree. For an instant, Sabre could see his face and attempted to scream. The word “help” barely came from her mouth, but it was enough to draw attention.

“Is she okay?” he asked, looking at Sabre.

Her captor had turned her feet toward the guard so Sabre could no longer see his face.

“She’s fine. Too much to drink and too much sun. I’m taking her home.”

The guard took a step closer, leaning in toward Sabre. In the loudest voice she could muster, she cried out, “Help!”

Suddenly her feet hit the ground as her captor dropped one arm to draw his gun.   A shot rang out, and the guard fell against the man, clutching his shirt in his hands.  Seizing the moment, Sabre bit down hard on her captor’s other arm. He pulled back in pain, pushing the guard off of him at the same time. Sabre and the guard both fell to the ground in a heap.

There was a van parked next to them. Struggling, Sabre tried to gain enough momentum to roll under it, but she didn’t have the strength to move fast enough. She was part way under when the tall man reached down and grabbed her leg and yanked her out. “Stop,” a second guard yelled from the walkway. Sabre heard the loud bang of a gun and the sound of a bullet on metal, hitting a car. She saw her captor duck, and felt her leg drop. He ran off, the guard chasing him, bullets flying in both directions. The relief she felt from being out of his clutches was diminished by a greater fear of the flying bullets. She could no longer see her captor when she saw the guard fall. Sabre could hear the footsteps of people running towards them and the tires of a car screeching as it sped away.