On The Run

Chapter Ten - "Chance Meeting"

Jake

 

“I could have sworn I had it in my wallet,” she was saying to the cashier who had rung up her drinks.

It was the NBA Chicago Bulls Conference Semifinals game against the Philadelphia 76ers, and I was waiting in line behind a redhead who’d apparently lost her money. There was only one thing to do, so I stepped up next to her and pushed a twenty-dollar bill across the counter.

She turned and looked up at me with a small smile, “I did have it.”

“It happens,” I replied.

She took her drinks and said, “Thanks. Would you like me to pay you back?”

I scoffed, “With what?”

“Ouch,” she said with a half-smile.

“Do you mind? We’re waiting here,” the stocky man behind me snapped, and I stepped out of line as she did, forgetting what I’d come down to buy in the first place.

“What? No money?” she joked, with a chuckle.

“I’d just rather share your drink,” I said with my best rendition of a cocky smile.

“Come on. You’re hot for goodness sake; you’ve got to have better lines than that!” she exclaimed in surprise, still half-smiling.

“Is that your line?” I asked with a grin, which I just couldn’t help.

She laughed, “Maybe.”

“Okay, here’s mine. Would you like to go to a basketball game with me?”

“Why would you assume I’m all alone?”

“Wishful thinking,” I replied looking down at her lone drink.

“I’m here with friends.”

“So am I.”

“I’m not going to ditch my friends to hang out with a stranger,” she said.

“A stranger who paid for your drink; a payment which hasn’t been returned, by the way,” I said facetious.

Her mouth dropped open slightly, but I could see the amusement in her eyes, “So, what? One game and you think I’m going to start falling for you?”

“One game and dinner.”

“I’m going to say yes, but I don’t want you to think it’s because of your witty charm or how hot you are, I’ve just been brought up not to let a good deed go unrewarded.”

I chuckled, “Fine.”

“Are you going to tell me your name?” she asked.

We began to walk back towards the bleachers, “It’s Jake. Jake Finchley.”

“Hi Jake. I’m Mary Santiago.”

 

Sarah’s voice cut into my reminiscence, “Jake, we’re going to have to go to her office first,” she was saying, as she mindlessly flipped through the coroner report. I nodded slowly. She’d been through the reports at least ten times, while I’d scanned it only a few times. I was so used to looking through reports of people that I barely even knew; it was awkward and slightly queasy looking at pictures of a corpse I’d once been familiar with.