On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Eight - "'How' I Met Your Mother"

Fitch

“Fitch, come here a second,” Benjamin called from the other end of the shop.

I slid out from beneath the car I was working on and walked over, wrench still in hand.

He led me into his office and sat in his large chair. I couldn’t help but think of the last time I was in that chair with Chloe. I managed to hold back my smirk as Benjamin begun, “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yeah, anything,” I replied, already skeptical, but masking it with a smile.

He smiled, “I need you to pick up a few cars for me. They’re going to be coming in on the docks tomorrow morning. Seven a.m. or so.”

I knew never to ask for any details with the errands Benjamin sent me on, but I always found myself extra optimistic on those days, because I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I got pulled over by the cops. I guess that’s the problem with taking oversized favors from strangers. Although, I always wondered, in the situation Ricky and I were in, even if we had known all Benjamin’s dark secrets, would we have been able to turn down his help?

“Sure, no problem,” I replied, taking the sheet he held out to me, with the address written on it.

“Guy’s name is Joel; you’ll know him when you see him.”

I nodded, hiding my hesitation behind my submission.

So, you can imagine my fear when I returned and spotted the same car that had been parked across the street since the morning.

I swallowed, keeping an eye on it, but I couldn’t even see the person inside – the windows were tinted. I was so worried.

Benjamin was out, so there was no one I could turn to. Trey was out; Ricky was somewhere – with Lexie, I supposed; Kayla was working at Daisey’s; Chloe was upstairs, but I was certainly not going to drag her into Benjamin’s business.

I guess I could have called Benjamin, but I thought I might just be paranoid.

When the hours ticked by and it was still there, I decided to face it head on. I walked across the street, with as much confidence as I could manage, and tapped on the driver’s window.

Slowly, it was rolled down, and as I took in the large guy in the dark glasses, I stepped back slightly. They looked like Secret Service Agents.

Oh God, I thought.

He stared at me wordlessly. In the passenger’s seat, there was also a guy just as beefy, in dark glasses as well. They both stared, saying nothing, and I was finding it hard to reach for my words.

“Hi.”

I spun around to find a well-dressed woman behind me.

“Hi,” I replied, almost questioningly.

“Did you want something?” she asked.

So it was her car. Who were these people?

“Um . . . well, you’ve been parked here a while. I was wondering if you were looking for somebody,” I replied, thinking fast.

She hesitated, and then looked in the direction of the auto shop. Slowly, she shook her head. She looked afraid, somehow. It reminded me of something—someone.

I frowned, “Did you want something?” I asked, suddenly curious.

“Do you live there?” she asked, gesturing at the auto shop.