corner.
Toward the back, a bright red exit sign glowed against the wall. Just in front of it, big letters spelled restrooms. An arrow pointed off to the right. At the table directly beneath the sign, where my parents had sat together years earlier, were Puppa and Jellybean. A black box rested on the table between them.
My instinct was to rush over and embrace both of them and tell them how wonderful it was to see them together again. But I held back, searching the faces nearby at the door. A man locked eyes with me. Fear flashed down my spine. He could be one of the bad guys. He raised his mug of beer and smiled, beckoning to me with lifted eyebrows to join him at his table. I shook my head and turned away, laughing inside at his come-on, despite my paranoia.
A hand grabbed my shoulder. I gave a mini-scream and turned. A huge biker-type dude wearing a black tee, tattoos, and a bandana grunted at me. “Three dollars.”
“Pardon me?” Maybe he was just hoping for a handout. I couldn’t imagine anyone actually paying to get into this place.
“Three dollars cover charge,” he repeated and crossed his arms like an all-powerful genie.
I dug through my pockets and rounded up the required bills. He nodded the okay. I dodged in and out of bodies and chairs as I made my way over to the corner table. I plopped down in a vacant seat. Goose bumps crawled over my skin as if eyes watched secretly from every shadow.
I leaned toward them. “What’s going on? Puppa, what are you doing here?”
Neither Puppa nor Candice made any sign of greeting. They must know which set of eyes behind me posed a threat.
“The box, Tish. Where is it?” Candice asked in a strangled whisper.
“Safe in the car. I didn’t want to bring it in until I knew you were okay.” I reached for the box of photos of me and my mother and pulled it toward me.
“Put it back.” Candice’s eyes grew large as if she’d spotted some threat over my shoulder.
I pushed it back to the middle. “So what’s your big plan? How are we all going to get out of here alive and still make sure your pictures get to the police?”
Puppa blinked in surprise.
“Yes, I peeked.” I stared at them in expectation. Neither rushed to explain the strategy. “Please tell me we’re going to get out of this alive.”
“We are. As soon as you bring the other box inside.” Candice nudged my grandfather.
Puppa nodded at me to comply.
“But if they take your box of photos, how are we going to make sure these guys end up in jail?”
“Things don’t always work out like we expect.” Puppa nodded toward the door. “Let’s worry about getting out of here safely before we worry about what happens to Majestic. He’ll get what he has coming.”
Please God, please God, please God help us, I chanted with silent lips as I worked my way back through the crowd and out to my Explorer. Bip bip. The doors unlocked with a press of the remote. I looked at the box on the front seat, and wavered. Why would the drug runners let us live once they had the box in hand? We’d all seen the pictures. Left alive, we’d all be able to testify against the criminals. So really, in their eyes, we were better off dead.
That meant they probably planned to kill us once they had the photos anyway. So why give them the photos?
I dumped the contents of the box onto the passenger-side floorboards, mashing the prints under the seat. They pushed out the back and sides, but I kept stuffing until they stayed. Then I opened the glove box and took out my SUV owner’s manual, a bunch of renovation shots from the last house, and miscellaneous bills. I layered them in the box with the house photos on top, then pressed the lid over them.
I auto-locked the doors and headed back into the Watering Hole. I stepped through the entrance and began my march to the rear. A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the bouncer asked with a menacing face.
Busted. How had he known I’d switched out the photos?
“I, uh, I . . .” Only squeaks of fear came out of my mouth.
“It’s three dollars.”
I blinked. Slowly I let out my breath. He was just collecting the cover charge. I gave a smile of relief. “I just paid, remember?”
“Let me see your stamp.” He held out his huge, gruff hand, just about the right size to wring my neck.
I cleared my throat. “I just paid to get in a few minutes ago. But then I had to go back to my car. I didn’t realize I needed a stamp.”
“That’ll be three dollars.” The genie-of-the-lamp-look appeared again.
“Okay.” I dug through my pockets and coughed up just enough change and bills to get in for the second time.
“What’s in the box?” he demanded.
“Just, um, pictures.” At his look of doubt, I babbled on. “My aunt is sitting over there and I wanted to show them to her.”
“Open it.”
“What? I’m not going to open it.” I gripped it to my chest.
“We have the right to search all items large enough to conceal a weapon.”
I hesitated, looking around for bad guys. Nobody seemed to take particular interest in the box. I set it on a table and lifted the lid. “See? Just pictures.”
He grabbed the top wad of photos and lifted them. Then he peeled back the bills to reveal the owner’s manual.
“Fine. Go ahead.” He nodded me in.
I scurried to put the lid back in place. I glanced up at my previous admirer, still sitting alone with his beer. He stared at the box and rubbed his chin. Then he looked in my eyes with a squinty glare.
I gasped and stumbled backward with the box in hand. I launched through the crowd and dove into the open seat across from Puppa and Candice.
I slammed the box on the table and switched it for the one with the photos of my mother. “Let’s not hang around. I dumped the other photos out in my car, and that guy by the door figured it out.”
Candice looked as if her eyes were going to pop from their sockets. “Then we’re all dead.”
Puppa jumped up. “Leave now, Patricia. Drive straight home.”
“I can’t just leave you guys. I’m sorry. I thought I was being clever. I’ll go back out and get the photos.”
Candice started toward the emergency exit. “Too late. Leave through the rear. Let’s go!”
She and Puppa bailed toward the back door, as energetic as a pair of oldsters could be. A chair tangled my legs on the way out, bruising my shin.
Outside, darkness blinded me. I stumbled away from the building.
“Get home, Patricia,” my grandfather shouted from the blackness.
I clutched my box of prized photos and sprinted around the back corner of the bar toward my vehicle. In a fog of slow motion, I threaded through parked cars under the glaring spotlight. Just ahead was the Explorer. I fumbled with my keys, hitting buttons at random on the remote. The car alarm sounded, the blaring honk honk honk marking me like an audio target.
I clawed for the door handle.
Disengage security. Insert key. Turn ignition. I talked myself through the process, calming my mind but not my nerves. I threw the car in reverse. The Explorer bucked as I shifted gears and shot onto the main road.
“Get me home, get me home, get me home,” I uttered my desperate plea.
A truck pulled out of the parking lot behind me and hovered on my tail, its brights blinding in my mirrors. I squinted against the glare, accelerating to see if the vehicle would ease off. It stayed glued to my tail.
I pressed the gas to put some distance between us. I couldn’t shake it.
“Back off!” My voice came out in a ragged scream.
I hung a right at the crossroads and picked up speed as I went downhill. The road made tight curves, then straightened out again. I swerved like a racecar driver on drugs, spilling into the opposite lane, overcompensating and hitting the dirt on the shoulder. I jerked back onto the pavement. Tears ran down my face as I hurled through
