Thin Luck

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Illinois - 720 ILCS 5/10-1

Kidnapping

BLOOD WAS EVERYWHERE. "You fucking devil!"

I had the gun in my hand, pointed at him. "Get out of the car."

"You fucking devil!" John shouted again. "You shot me!"

We both looked down to the blood pouring out of his leg.

"I said get out of the car, asshole!" My voice was shaking. My heart beat so hard in my chest it was difficult to breathe.

His bloody hand reached for the car door. "What are you going to do to me?"

"GET OUT!" I waved the gun in front of his face to get his attention. Memories flashed in front of me in another car, with another gun. "Get out," I said more evenly.

The calmer voice made him shiver. He opened the car door and a rush of bitter wind and leaves flew in like a vacuum. His pants were still around his ankles, so he struggled getting out of the door. He crawled on his hands and knees. His hairy, blinding white ass had streaks of blood across it. He looked like a bleeding white whale on the beach.

Once he was clear of the car I climbed into the driver's seat. The car started, but it sounded like the fuel injectors were as clogged as the man's arteries. When I put it in reverse rocks kicked up into John's shocked face. I pressed hard on the accelerator. My adrenaline pumped. My mind was anything but sharp.

A few yards down the road a sign pointed the direction to Chicago. Another old sign, shot at, rusted out, warned me about the fine for littering: $100. The trash I left behind might cost me more.

I put the gun under the seat, but my hand came back bloody. I searched the car and found only thin paper napkins to wipe my hands. I had to do something about this car, before I got pulled over again. The cops would find blood everywhere, a handgun and me driving another man's car. They would suspect the worst and be correct.

The crisp air outside the gas station quickened my mind. I dug through the trashy car and found John's wallet in the glove box. I couldn't risk using Wayne's card again. I filled up the tank with my hands shaking.

I concentrated on the steady rhythm of the dashed white lines in asphalt. My breathing slowed to a tolerable pace fifty miles later. My mind wandered off to that night years ago in April. When I woke up out of a haze my clothes were ripped. Brendan was covered in blood. I screamed so loud my ears rang.

I was sobbing uncontrollably when Nick ripped open the door. "Oh my God," he said.

I looked at him. His eyes were moving back and forth between Brendan and I.

"I don't know what happened," I said.

"I should call an ambulance." His eyes stayed on Brendan.

"No," I said. "Please."

"Shit, is he... is he dead? Did you kill him?"

"I don't know if he's dead. I don't even know where I am."

"Is that... is that Professor Behan?"

I slowly nodded. I didn't want to look back at the dead body, but his bloody face had already burned an indelible image in my mind. He wore Brendan's hand-repaired glasses.

"Whoa, is that a gun?" Nick pointed to a pearl handled gun wedged between the center console and my seat. "Is that your gun?"

"I don't own a gun," I said.