Baxter and Josh on the Run
Chapter 2
“I see you've learned a new game, Paco,” Lisa said in a voice that suddenly lost all the midwestern tones and gained a hard latin ghetto edge. “Here's your money, give me my boy.”
The mountain's partner, the one she called Paco, pulled Josh around in front of him and used the kid like a shield. Josh was pale and shaking, wide-eyed and pulling away from Paco's restraining hand trying to get to his mother. The idea of this huge man using cute little Josh as a shield was nearly comical except for the very unfunny guns being pointed at people in my living room.
Suddenly Paco began to laugh, seeming to be almost as surprised by his own laughter as I was to hear it come in such a situation. Then he abruptly stopped and looked very coldly at Lisa. “Oh, the boss is going to be happy with me today. We've been looking for you for years with orders to kill you on sight. But, since that doesn't butter my beans, I tell you what I'm going to do; you get me the money your puta husband stole, and I want all of it, bitch. You do that, your boy lives. You too, maybe.”
Lisa looked him up and down, and then looked closely at his partner who had moved closer to me once Paco began his laughter. I took that as a hint, though I had no idea what the hint was going to be. “The money was a lie, Paco. There was never any money stolen from the Family – well, nothing like what you've been told. When John and I ran, we had less than $100-grand. All I have left is $50 and change. You assholes managed to kill the only man I ever loved, and now you hold my boy and threaten him? Nope. This ends today. Here is all that is left. You can take that and get gone, or we can dance.”
Paco stood still, obviously weighing his choices. I had hopes of this actually going the way Lisa painted, until that ape who preceded Paco through the door into my little drama filled living room of nightmares looked over to Paco and mumbled something that sounded like ‘orders’. Paco sighed and nodded his head, suddenly shoving Josh at Lisa and bringing his gun up in the same motion. I would like to say I was brave and fought the two men for the fair maiden, but I found myself just standing there with my mouth hanging open as the shooting went three ways. Why I didn't get hit I have no idea. Managing to close my jaw and get my mind to work again I found man mountain down on my living-room carpeting with a third eye drilled dead center of his forehead and Paco heading down the driveway, dragging a leg and his left arm hanging oddly. I could just barely hear Josh screaming through the roaring in my ears, but it was enough to bring my attention back to Lisa. She was down with two in the upper chest and Josh was kneeling in the blood, wailing. I went over to her, but whatever that guy was using left really big holes even through what I could now see was some sort of ‘bullet-proof’ vest visible through her shattered clothing.
“Hold on Lisa, I'll call an ambulance.”
“No,” she croaked. “They can't do anything and it will just get Joshy killed. I knew my past would catch up with me, and it has today. That was Miguel Sanchez, otherwise known as Paco. He did business with my late husband. I don't know how he found us, but Josh has to disappear again or they will kill him, or worse. Paco knows what Josh looks like now, and he knows your face, too.”
The blood seeping from her mouth was frothing as she slurred her words, something I think meant that her lungs were hit. Her eyes seemed so intense, so vibrant, so angry, and completely out of place on a quickly failing body. “I don't have much time, so listen,” she coughed out, twisting her fist in the collar of my shirt. “There is a suitcase in my car. It has roughly $100,000 in it. Take this, too, and go. Don't let them find you or my boy is dead. And know this, I will haunt you for the rest of your life and torture you forever after if you get found by these men, you son of a bitch. In a pocket of my purse is a notebook with names and other information. Read it, and don't let any of those men in it find you. Last, there is a card with a bank and account listed. The password is Josh's full name spelled backwards. It has a little over 22-million in it. Don't blow it on junk.” Then she turned her head back to her son, finally releasing my shirt so I could breath and tenderly stroked the soft hair of her son who was crying into her neck. “Forgive me baby, I tried so … hard...” and the light in her eyes just seemed to go out.
I stood there, how long I don't know, listening to Josh scream over his mother. I picked up the phone and almost had 911 punched in when that little voice in my head stopped me. “You know this will put you back in prison. There's a dead lady on your floor, with a gun, money, and a boy in your living room. There's a gorilla with a hole in his head, dead on your carpet. Yep, you'll never get your ass free again. Not that it matters, that Paco guy knows who you are and how to find you. You won't live 6-months in there. So, RUN DUMBASS!
And with that thought my feet finally began to move. I rushed over to Josh's house and pulled together some clothing and bedding, then took it to his mother's room where I added his mother's bedding. I threw in the picture from her nightstand. It was Lisa holding a smiling Josh from a time far, far away when guns weren't going off and neighbors weren't dead in my living room. Shaking my head and getting back into motion, I threw all of this into the back seat of her car, then I ran back into my house, following my own bloody footprints, and grabbed a change of clothes, my wallet, her purse and the money. These all went into the trunk. Then, praying a little prayer to the Mr. Goodwrench in the Sky, I started her car and went to get Josh.
“Come on, Josh, we have to go.” Poor boy was in shock, I guess. The little guy didn't even look at me. He just sat there on his knees in a puddle of his mother's blood, rocking back and forth, staring at her and stroking her hand. He was making a mewling sound that I could just barely hear, but that might have been from the guns going off in such a close space. Shit, for all I know he was reciting the Gettysburg Address, but it sounded like “no, no, no” over and over again. Hell, what do I know about kids? I'm just a stupid ex-con who keeps making the wrong decisions – like answering my phone. So, I bent down and picked him up. He was so light, lifeless in my arms as he continued to stare at what was once his entire world. It was like picking up a rag doll. I bent back down and picked up the gun as something I might need later, and then ran for the car. I got Josh buckled into his mother's car and we ran as Lisa's dying words reverberated in my mind over and over about what would happen if Paco's people or the police caught us. I hit the highway at near 100 before realizing the danger and slowing down. I set the cruise control and tried to quit shaking. Looking into the mirror I saw the haunted eyes of a little boy, swaying with the motion of the car and hugging his mother's now blood-stained bedding in white-knuckled fists.
Probably the only good thing that I did in prison, in light of today's happenings, was read. Well, that and lift weights and run. And fight. I learned how to fight quick and dirty, then run. I started to think about all of the mystery stories and action/adventure stories I used to read, searching my memory for anything those authors wrote that would help me now.
My first plan was a stop at a gas station bathroom and change into clean clothes and wash. The blood stains on Josh's knees and hands wouldn't come out. No matter how I scrubbed, they wouldn’t come out! I scrubbed again, again, and…and I felt myself losing it a bit as I scrubbed at the stains. With a force of will, I pulled myself back from the brink. Josh just stared at his hands the whole time, oblivious to my little break with sanity. Once changed into clean clothes he still couldn't walk, or wouldn't, so I carried him to the car and buckled him back in. Our bloody clothes went into the dumpster, pulling some trash over them so they wouldn't be noticed. Then I pulled the car to the front of the station and filled the tank. It had a mini-store inside, so I took advantage and loaded up on bread, peanut butter and jelly, chips, water and soda and everything else I could think to buy, including toilet paper and paper towels. This all went on my credit card with the stoner kid at the register. I figured it will be the last time I'll safely be able to use it, and I'm changing direction anyway. It may lead a false trail.
Before heading out again, I called the police using Lisa's cell phone, directing them to my house and giving the story of what had happened. I told them who the name of the kidnapper was and my name. I told them that I didn't know what to do other than follow Lisa's directions, but would call back if I could figure out what I could do to keep Josh and me alive to see Christmas. I dropped the phone and my credit card on the ground near the pump, hoping someone would take both for a spending spree of their own.
Pulling out onto the highway in the most ‘normal’ manner I could manage, I tried to emulate every Joe Schmoe on the road to blend in, and then changed direction at the next exit ramp. Josh just stared. We were two states away before I could talk myself into stopping for the night. Josh was either asleep with his eyes open or catatonic, I didn't know. Frankly, at this point I didn't know much of anything. My knuckles were white and swollen and I couldn't get my hands to release the steering wheel when I stopped at a roadside motel. I paid cash for one night, a practice I didn't know was still acceptable. But, since this guy seemed more interested in the cash than my name in the book it probably went into the ‘get Bubba drunk fund’. I took the car around to the back for room 62 and carried Josh in, laying him on the bed. His mother's bedding and picture were next, and they got dumped on top of him. He just curled into a ball under the blanket and held his mother's picture to his chest. The money was brought in and enough food to get us to morning. My plans to stay awake and keep watch were trumped by physical and emotional exhaustion, so I put my bedding down to sleep on the floor in front of the door with Lisa's gun in my hand. I woke up when Josh pulled his blanket and pillow down and tried to cuddle into me. Scared me to death! I thought Paco had found us already.
I woke up feeling confused by the wonderful smell of boy. I found my hand stroking Josh's hair as he continued to sleep. Typical boy hair, soft and full of a vitality that us men remember having with confusion as our bald spot grows wider year after year. I chuckled at my own thoughts and wondered if Josh would someday think the same about his hair. I also noticed it was a good bit greasy too. This boy needs a bath, but he wasn't alone in that category. I pulled back from him to try to get up and get things moving but each time I moved, he moved right back into me. I finally gave up and shook his shoulder.
“It's time to get up, Josh.” He just looked at me with those sad blue eyes as I clumsily rose to morning legs that didn't want to hold me yet and stumbled my way to the bathroom. A quick pee for me and then I stepped into the shower for a clean-up. I could still smell that acidic stench from work and a new odor I thought to be gun powder on my skin, and blood, lots of blood. I couldn't escape that stench of spilled blood, that coppery stink that seemed to sit in the back of my throat and blocked out every other scent. The more I thought about it the harder I scrubbed, and scrubbed, and…pulling my sanity back, I wrapped a towel around my waist and took my clothes out to the main room to give Josh his time.
“Josh, go take a shower, buddy.” He was still lying on the floor in the same position I left him. His eyes were closed now and he had his mother's picture clutched to his chest. “Josh, come on, we need to get moving.” He at least opened his eyes this time, but there was little life there. Lacking any other idea, I picked him up onto his feet and walked him into the shower area. I turned on the shower and showed him where the little soaps and shampoos were, then walked back to get dressed. Josh didn't move. Oh, this is pitiful, I thought. I went back to him and began to undress the little guy, beginning by placing his mother's picture on the toilet tank where he could see it. I unbuttoned his shirt and lifted it over his head with a little tickle on the ribs where all boys are ticklish. Nothing. I then took off his shoes and socks and unsnapped his jeans.
“You ready to take over, sport?” Still nothing. He seemed willing to allow me to move him around freely enough but lacked any movement of his own. So, I unzipped him and pushed his jeans down over his knees, still stained with his mother's blood. He was wearing Spiderman boxers, how cute. I didn't notice yesterday.
“How about you take over from here, Joshy?”
His only response was, those sad eyes looking back at me. I pulled down his boxers and set him under the water. Still nothing. Well, there are worse chores in the world than washing a cute little boy, so I started with his hair. I have a thing about hair. My relationship with Jerry actually started with me rubbing his head and playing with his hair. Halfway into it, Josh had come out of himself a bit, but only to cry and wrap his arms around my waist. Thankfully I still had the towel on so the water was no trouble. I stepped into the shower/tub and sat down on the edge. Josh melted into my lap and buried his head into my chest. I continued to wash what I could reach, but then just gave up on the whole idea and held the little boy. I stroked his back as I rocked back and forth, kissed the top of his head and just let him feel as safe as I could. I didn't talk. What do you say to a little boy who’d just lost his world and now could only trust someone little boys are told never to trust? I couldn't tell him it all would be ok, because it wouldn't be. I couldn't tell him the worst was over, who knew what tomorrow would bring. I couldn't even tell him I loved him. Right now the whole concept of this naked boy in my lap scared the living daylights right out of me. All I could do was hold him as he cried until the shower water got cold.
I lifted him off my lap, this completely defeated limp noodle of a boy, and he let me get a towel to dry him. The shower did do some good; there was a bit more life in his eyes. I stroked his hair with the towel and tried to do the best I could without a comb. Odd the little things you forget that seem really important later. His big beautiful eyes never wavered from mine, fixated as if on a life ring in a raging sea. I couldn't help but wonder what was churning behind those dark orbs, if anything. I wiped his face carefully, sweeping his cheeks and nose, then lips and ears. He seemed so fragile with such fine bones and skin that seemed almost transparent. I wiped down his chest, and then turned him to rub his back, bottom and legs.
“Would you like to finish your front, Josh?” He just looked at me, those sweet soft eyes that were filled with sadness. I gently wiped his eyebrows with the towel again, then held it out to him. Getting no response, I ran the towel across his belly and thighs, then gently patted his penis and balls dry, somewhat impressed at the size. He picked his mother's picture up off the toilet tank where I'd put it before his shower as I steered him back into the main room for clean clothes, silently cursing myself for perving on the sight of this sad little boy. It was only a moment to get him dressed then myself.
I reloaded the car, wondering at this little guy who still stood next to the bed where I dressed him, clutching his mother's picture and looking absent. With everything packed I called for Josh. He just stood there. Man, this has got to stop!
“Josh, I know you've had a really, really hard day. I know that you are going to need time to figure all of this out. But, you have to move when I tell you to, you got it?” Ok, I guess frustration and fear are getting ugly in my world.
“I can't,” he said in a little whisper, barely audible, as two tears slowly spilled from his eyes.
“ 'Can't' he says,” I mumble to myself. “Great.” Ok, deep breath.
“Josh, what do you mean you can't?”
“My mom told me not to talk to you and never get into your car.”
TBC