the extension ladder to the ground. She propped the half ladder along the side with the other ladders and ran the chain through them again, so her burglary wouldn't be obvious from the street.
She went to a small pickup truck, looked at its license plate, then sorted through her keys and found the right one. She started the engine, drove the truck to the gap she had cut in the fence, rolled back some more chain-link, and drove out through the gap to the street.
According to the clock on the pickup's dashboard, it was nearly two a.m. She drove straight until she saw a sign for the 101 Freeway. She followed the arrow, got on the freeway a few minutes later, and headed east. At the junction with the 134 she switched freeways, because she knew that the 134 became the 210 and met Interstate 15 a few miles ahead on the far side of Los Angeles. Interstate 15 North ran across the desert to Las Vegas, and then kept going north all the way to Salt Lake City.
5.
Jane kept the pickup at ten miles an hour over the speed limit with a steady pressure on the pedal, trying not to slow down or apply the brake. She used her left foot because the right leg had been weakened by the bullet wound and hadn't been rested much tonight. When the sun came up just before six she was almost to Nevada on Route 15, and she had been successful in avoiding any traffic problems or slowdowns.
She had guessed correctly that the rental company would keep the gas tanks full so the staff could simply hand a customer the keys to any vehicle and tell him to bring it back with a full tank. When she left Los Angeles she had no purse, no money, no identification. She was wearing a man's shirt that had been put on her as a hospital gown, and a man's pants with the legs rolled at the ankles and the belt cinched tight. The only part of the outfit that was hers was the pair of flat black shoes she'd worn to the courthouse. Her only real assets were stolen: the truck, the loaded gun, and the bolt cutters.
She knew that the time was coming very soon when the police in California would receive the report of the stolen pickup truck. People who rented tools and construction equipment undoubtedly opened early. When she crossed into Nevada, she felt as though she had won an extra hour or two before a police car might appear behind her flashing its lights. It took time before auto thefts from other states got to the top of the list anywhere.
She drove into Las Vegas, took the Tropicana exit, drove east of the tall casinos on Las Vegas Boulevard, and pulled the pickup truck into the parking lot of a large chain drugstore. She put the gun and spare magazine into her pants pockets, tucked in the big shirt, and started to walk. She was in terrible condition, in pain and exhausted. At six thirty in the morning, the sun was low on the eastern side, but already strong. It always seemed to be either in her eyes or reflecting off every smooth, flat surface ahead of her. The pavement was already radiating heat that she could feel on her bare ankles.
The burns on her back and the bruises on her arms and shoulders and sides ached again, now that she wasn't sitting still in the truck. But the bullet wound was still her main worry. It was still angry and painful and made her limp slowly along the street.
The day was going to heat up rapidly, so she would need to get into some shade and air-conditioning. She had been in Las Vegas a few times before, staying in the big hotels on the Strip. She had noticed all the security cameras on the ceilings, and the mirrors placed in spots where they could only be for observation, and the many quiet, well-dressed men who appeared and disappeared, watching the changing crowds of people to be sure nothing disrupted the orderly flow of money from the customers to the casinos. She had found the security relaxing, because it took a bit of the pressure away from her. But she knew today was not a good day to try to enter any of the big hotels. A glimpse at her reflection in every window she passed showed her she looked like a madwoman. She wouldn't get more than a few steps inside the door before some calm, efficient functionary intercepted her and offered her help getting where she belonged.
She passed a tiny strip mall, where she could see two pay telephones on an outer wall. They struck her as almost impossible relics of the days before cell phones, but she could see that one of them had a telephone book that was intact. She went to the phone, opened the front section of the book, and, after some looking, found the address of a shelter for battered women.
A map in the front of the book indicated she had to walk east on Bonanza Road. She walked steadily, trying to get as far as she could from the pickup truck she'd abandoned, and hoping to be inside before too many people noticed her. The blocks were very long. She found that she could make better progress if she walked in the shadows of the big buildings and parking structures. After an hour she went into a gas station to use the ladies' room, wash her face, and then drink water from her cupped hands. She clawed her hair with her fingers to comb it. When she came out, an attendant was already standing in the shade near the pumps to satisfy himself that she was on her way.
By nine she was on the right street, and at nine forty-five she was at the front door. The shelter looked like a house, just another one-story bungalow among thousands. There was no big sign on the front, only a little wooden one that read 'The Lifeboat' and an even smaller one beside the door that read 'Please ring.' She pressed a button on the intercom box and heard static. 'Hi,' Jane said. 'I just got to town and I'm having a hard time. I wondered-' There was a buzz and a solenoid clicked a dead bolt open.
Jane stepped inside and saw that behind a counter to her left there was a young receptionist, with an older woman standing beside the receptionist looking down at some papers. The two looked up at Jane at once. The younger one smiled and said, 'What can we-' but the older one interrupted. 'Come in. Don't worry. You're in the right place. Come right in here with me.'
The woman had white hair with a few remaining streaks of blond, so it looked a bit yellow, as though she had simply forgotten to make a decision about which color it should be. 'This is the Lifeboat. We have everything you need right here. Come sit down in here.' She led Jane into an office and let her sit on a soft leather couch. 'Would you like some water'
'Sure,' Jane said. 'I'd love some.'
She went to a small office refrigerator, pulled out a pitcher full of water, and poured Jane a glass. Then she refilled the pitcher at the tap in the bathroom and put it back in the refrigerator.
'I'm Sarah Werth.' She picked up a clipboard with a form on it from a table, and sat down in front of Jane in a desk chair. 'Now, honey. Let's get some quick essentials.'
'All right.'
'How did you get here Is there a car outside we need to move'
'No, I walked.'
Sarah Werth looked at her for a second or two, then returned to her form. 'Do you need medical attention right away'
'I need access to a first aid kit, but that's about all.'
She stared at the gap where the two top buttons of Jane's shirt were open. 'I can see somebody has been hitting you,' she said. 'Would you like to report a crime'
Jane could tell she had seen one of the bruises. She drew the shirt closed and buttoned it. 'No, I can't do that,' Jane said. 'I know what I need, so can I just ask'
'If you want to do it that way, you can,' said Sarah. 'But I'll need to ask you the rest of the questions afterward.'
'Fair enough,' Jane said. 'I would like another glass of water in a minute. I'd like a bath and then something to eat, and then a place to sleep for about eight hours.'
Sarah waited for a couple of seconds, but nothing more came. 'Those are easy.' As she took Jane's glass and refilled it, she said, 'We have about seventy women and children with us right now, most of them in secret, secure locations.'
'What kind of locations'
'They're mostly houses, single-family houses that are owned by the Department of Housing and Urban Development. We keep them occupied and kept up. If someone comes to us looking for a particular woman, we ask her if she wants to see him. If she does, she meets with him here. If she doesn't, we never heard of her.'
'Sounds smart.'
'Is someone looking for you that you'd like to avoid'
'Yes. Anyone who comes looking for me is someone I'd like to avoid. But I don't think people can find me here, or I wouldn't have come.'
'All right. Take this clipboard and fill in all the blanks that you can.'
