Double Crosser

Untitled Part 1

I had hoped to sneak into town under the radar, but the Syndicate's bloodhounds somehow got wind of my scent, and were now on my trail. Paranoia caused me to constantly look over my shoulder. I know it was foolish of me to return here, but I had to be certain my sister Suzanne was alright. She was my only family member still around, and I needed to see her.

When I hurriedly left a year before, all I had time to do was call Suzanne and leave a message on her voice-mail. The thugs I had double-crossed were closing in on me, and time was short. There was no one else I could trust in this town anymore. Suzanne was my twin sister, and a friend who had stood by me during rough times. I needed to let her know I was changing my criminal ways and trying to start a new life. If only I could have reached her before I was forced out. I figured by now, the Syndicate had a tracer on her phone and was just waiting for me to give my location away. You don't walk away from people like that with fifty-thousand of their dollars and not expect repercussions. It was my dough, but they felt otherwise. I prayed they had left her alone. A year was a long time to go between phone calls.

The January wind blew cold, and I pulled my stocking cap down tighter over my head and adjusted my coat collar up to shield my neck. I laughed to myself thinking of how many times Suzanne had been like a mother hen urging me to dress warmer or made sure I had a scarf on. Her warnings echoed our dear departed mother in so many ways; it was almost like she channeled her. God, I hoped my sister was alright. It would be almost like losing my mother all over again. Suzanne reminded me of her in many ways.

I kept close to the darkened storefronts and moved furtively past the windows as I made my way downtown. I caught a glance of my reflection in a tobacco shop window, and wondered if Suzanne would even recognize her own brother. A year of life on the run had taken its toll. My hair was very short now and I had shaved off my beard and mustache to change my looks. This time of night on a Sunday was for fools and homeless people. The homeless were all in warm shelters somewhere, so what did that make me? I had to find Suzanne, let her know I was safe, and get her out of this town. I suspected the Syndicate was watching her apartment, but I had to be sure. That was the only thought that kept reassuring me, that they would not harm her in hopes of my eventual return. I was still three miles from her last known address. I had come in on the late bus, and decided to walk the remaining distance. Modern crooks don't post lookouts at bus terminals anymore. Everybody takes airplanes now. Everybody owns a car.

I felt like a rat scurrying along a wall seeking a hole to climb into. I heard a noise from the street carried by the wind and looked back to see two headlights aimed in my direction and coming my way very slowly. It could possibly be some out-of-towner who took a wrong turn, but, under the circumstances I was inclined to think otherwise. I ducked inside a doorway of a pawn shop just as a late model cobalt blue Chrysler 300C cruised past. The big hemi engine idled menacingly through twin exhausts as it made its way eastward on Front Street. I waited in my shadowy cul-de-sac until the big sedan moved farther down. As I cautiously glided out to continue on my way, the car's brake lights suddenly activated followed by the back-up lights. They had seen something and were coming back to investigate!

An alley was just around the corner from the pawn shop, so I darted up it at full speed. I figured I had maybe a few minutes at best to find shelter before the hired guns located me. In panic mode, I started trying every back door I could find. It was the irrational act of a desperate man. The dumpsters backed up against the walls would shield me from the cars' headlights, temporarily. I had to get inside one of these shops. In there, maybe I could hide long enough to convince the Syndicate goons that I had somehow slipped by.

By some miracle, I found a door slightly ajar. Apparently, the store owner, in his or her haste, had not slammed it hard enough to engage the lock. Hopefully, an alarm was not activated either. I slipped into the dark recess, secured the door properly and slid a deadbolt through the frame. I was breathing hard as I stood with my back against the door. My heart was pounding out a rhythm like a drum solo.