"What was that about, Jason?"
"Shut up, Lych, I’m trying to think!"
"F-ck!"
"Shut up!"
I need to think.
It was stupid of me to imagine that I could just disappear and these idiots would figure themselves out.
This is such a headache.
"Jason! Jason, what the h-ll are we going to do now?"
"You can just go, Lych. Take half the money and go. It’s not fair for you to meddle in all this."
"The f-ck it’s not! This is the most fun I’ve had in ages!"
Right.
This guy is a maniac.
Either way, he lived on the streets for half his life so he might know a thing or two.
Better to have a guide.
"Do you know any rat holes where we can lay low?"
"Nah. With your pretty face? You’d be eaten up as dessert, babe."
"Great."
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
Calm down.
I have the police on my track, a bounty on my head and Lucrezia chasing me like she’s Chucky. Nightmare fuel.
Yet strangely fitting for her.
Three months.
Three months than what?
Do I turn myself in?
It’s going to be a big change?
I have no information to presume on.
"My uncle had a cabin. My sister comes there on vacation, but she’s been sick so I think she will skip this summer. It’s in the woods and it doesn’t have documents."
"That’s illegal."
"Who are you to talk, babe?"
"I meant that if it has no documents, it’s untraceable."
"Cool. We can play house."
"Only if you’re the wife."
"Oh, man. I’d be looking good in a white wedding dress. But you gotta hold my hand constantly. My waist is so snatched, I might fly away if the wind gets too strong."
I couldn’t help, but chuckle.
Lych might be an idiot, but at least he eases my mind.
Fading the memory of Emiliano slowly, but constantly.
Good.
Constancy is good.
"How much money do we have?"
"About ten thousand."
"That’s about three thousand a month. Good. Good."
"Hey, it’s a wifely duty to manage the money, babe."
"You’re just going to spend it all on a spree."
"You’re the meanest husband in the world!"
We kept our heads down.
Hoods up, faces half-turned, sunglasses on even though it was cloudy. We didn’t talk. Didn’t need to. Every word felt like a siren.
Lych walked a few paces behind me, trying to look like we weren’t together, but sticking close enough in case something went wrong.
The station was the riskiest part.
Cameras, patrols, eyes everywhere. We slipped into the crowd.
I kept my hands in my pockets, shoulders tight. Lych chewed gum like this was a casual Tuesday.
His hair didn’t help.
Pink.
Neon.
Loud as h-ll.
He should’ve been tackled five blocks ago, but somehow he always walked like he owned the place.
We didn’t buy tickets.
Too risky.
Stolen passcards got us through the gates. I held my breath when mine blinked red, then green.
Lych grinned when his worked first try. He winked over his shoulder and I wanted to hit him.
We moved.
The platform smelled like body fluids and metal. I stood behind a pillar, scanning. One guy in uniform. Talking on his radio. Not looking at us. Not yet.
Train arrived. Doors opened.
In.
Crowded. Hot. Loud.
I grabbed the pole, kept my head low.
Lych leaned against the opposite door, hands in his coat, legs crossed. He looked bored. A woman next to me sneezed. I flinched like it was a gunshot.
Two stops. That’s all we needed.
I counted the seconds in my head.
One.
Two.
Three—
A kid pointed at Lych’s hair.
"Cool color!"
Lych winked again. He couldn’t help himself.
Doors opened. We slipped out.
No one followed.
So far, so good.
We walked six blocks to a cheap rental lot. Lych "knew a guy." Of course he did. The guy gave us a car without papers, without questions. Dusty, dented, smelled like oil and wet socks. But it worked.
I drove.
Lych had the map. Old school, on paper. No phones.
City turned into outskirts.
Outskirts into forest roads.
Every bump in the road rattled the car. I didn’t talk.
Lych did.
Not words.
Just sounds.
Humming. Whistling. Tapping his fingers on the glove box like he was playing drums. I wanted to tell him to shut up, but I didn’t. It was better than silence. Silence gave my thoughts too much room to crawl back in.
Emiliano.
The mess.
The police.
The bounty.
I tightened my grip on the wheel.
We stopped twice.
Once for gas.
Lych paid in cash, kept his head down, called me "boss" like we were some discount mafia.
"You know what? You’re right! The wife should be the boss. My mistake, Jason sweet-cheeks!"
The second time for food. Drive-thru. Two sad burgers and cold fries. We ate in the car. He gave me his extra pickles. I didn’t ask why.
It didn’t stop him from giving me a long, unrequited explanation about how his digestive system rejected pickles.
Real graphic stuff.
Back on the road.
The forest thickened. Roads narrowed.
I slowed down. My chest felt tight again. If they caught us now, in the middle of nowhere, there’d be no running.
"No one followed us,"
He wasn’t joking. He was watching the mirrors. Serious. For once.
I nodded. Kept driving.
A dirt road forked left. Hidden behind trees.
We took it.
Another ten minutes.
Then—
The cabin.
Small, tucked between trees. But not the shack I expected. Wood-paneled, two stories. Porch. Big windows with blackout curtains. Satellite dish on the roof. Fenced-in back. Solar panels.
Not bad at all.
We parked behind a shed.
Still no one.
Inside, the place smelled like cedar and dust. Clean, though. Real clean. There was a fireplace, a stocked kitchen, even a rain shower. A loft bedroom up top with thick blankets and polished floors. I didn’t ask how his uncle had this place. I didn’t care.
I locked the doors. Checked the windows.
We were clear.
Lych dropped onto the couch. Kicked his boots off.
"Nice, huh?"
I didn’t answer. I was too busy checking every inch, opening cabinets, making sure we weren’t being watched. He let me. Just sat there, eyes closed, breathing.
When I was done, I sat too. Across from him.
We didn’t speak for a while.
Finally, he opened one eye.
"You’re not gonna cry, are you?"
I shook my head.
"Good. I don’t have tissues."
Then he tossed me the remote.
"Wanna see if we get TV?"