As I passed onto the main road, the glare from the sun made me shield my eyes. The streets were quiet, no police, nothing out of the ordinary. I stopped and looked all around, searching for what way to go. The area wasn’t very built up in either direction. I chose left to seek out a bar. There were a few more shops that way. I took a step and then froze. A police car rolled to a stop at the red traffic light next to me. There were two male officers in the front. One moved his head to look in my general direction. I turned on my heel and began to slowly walk in the other direction. A moment later I heard the cars let off their collective handbrakes and move off. I waited a few seconds, then half turned my head and I could see the police car disappearing around the next bend. I released my breath. I could feel my pulse pounding in my wrist, the strap of my bag adding pressure. I adjusted my straps and ran a hand through my hair.
It’s okay.
Walking on a little further, I felt my luck was really on the turn, locating a bar just down the street. It seemed to be just a local and inside there were but a few old men at the bar and one family – maybe tourists – in the corner. It was dark inside and felt cool. Both features were welcome. The bar was sparsely decorated, more traditionally so than the brash touristy bars or slick resort ones. I located the cash that Richard had given me and ordered myself a small bottle of San Miguel. I wasn’t being particularly sensible, I ordered a vodka chaser as well. What had I to lose? I poured myself into a quiet corner booth and nursed my drinks. I suppose I was in some weird limbo state, looking back. There was no plan to follow now, there was no rule book for this. They don’t teach you skills at school to deal with accidental homicide and running from the cops. I must have been high on adrenaline and high on pushing my tired body to its limit, I’m sure I looked a right space cadet. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by Iron Butterfly came over the radio. It seemed to give the bar an even murkier and down at the heel quality. I quite like the tune, sludgy as hell. Mike had tried to get me more into them at one point. He loved all that old stoner stuff. They had another song I’d quite liked – I remember the chorus kept asking ‘Are you happy?’ I knew now I had been and probably hadn’t appreciated it. It didn’t feel like I’d ever be happy again.
Holed up in the bar, I downed a second vodka, along with a splash of lime and I made my decision. I had to contact Richard. Yes, there was a chance that our call would be tapped, but there was no better option I could see. I had to see how the land lay. I wasn’t going on the lam, skipping countries, but I wasn’t just going to walk into a cell either.
I wiped a hand over my lips. They had a wall mounted payphone down towards the toilets and I seized the moment and made the call.
“Yes, that’s right – Room 202. Okay, thank you.”
An unpleasant waft came up when someone returned from the loo and the doors flapped open. I fidgeted with a pre-made rolly in my hand. I had just rolled it and decided I’d reward myself after making the call.
“Hello?” came Richard’s voice a few moments later.
“Richard it’s me,” I whispered, instantly wondering why I did so.
“Oh… hello...” He said, sounding cautious.
“I had to call.”
“I thought you weren’t going to do that,” he replied, his tone hardening.
“I know – but… I had to.”
Silence.
“I don’t want to say too much – you know, on the phone. But I need to ask you some stuff – and tell you some stuff.”
“Alright, you’d better go on,” he said absently.
“Okay,” I said. I took a long pause, swallowing. I nearly snapped the rolly in two, “Police came for me at the hotel.”
Silence again.
I guessed me was considering how likely it was that the phone was already tapped. I was. I imagined his face, him licking his lips.
“Fuck it Vicky, if someone’s listening – it’s too bloody late anyhow. Now, what are you talking about?”
“The police – they sent like a team to come and arrest me.”
Saying it out loud sounded pretty daft.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said loudly, “How do you know they were going to do that?”
“Well, I mean… they came for me,” I replied, flustered at the stupidity of the question.
“How do you know that they came for you? Did they try and arrest you?”
“No, I climbed out my window before…”
“Climbed out your window?” he repeated incredulously. I could hear the hint of laughter in his voice, “What the hell? Did they speak to you?”
“No, like I said, I got out before they could do anything.”
“Jesus, Vicky, police happen to be at your hotel and you’re climbing out windows thinking you’re being arrested?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I persisted, feeling irked but also hopeful that he could be right, “They were there to arrest somebody, they were watching the back door too. Has anyone come to see you there?”
“Vicky, if they were there to get
