Edited! Mark’s picture on your right>>
Mark was driving home from the airport after a two and a half hour flight from Colorado, where he had to drop Joanna.
Now that he's back in San Francesco, he had to start his survival plan, because after all, helping Joanna this time actually affected his life as well.
Once the gang, the mob or was it the fucking Mafia, found out that Joanna Blake wasn't in the Central California Women's Facility in Chowchilla, one word could describe the future: CHAOS. It had been already a few hours since she was supposed to be admitted there.
He knew that changing her paper could get them both in big troubles if they were found out; but having his lawyer license confiscated was the least of his concerns. What he had to focus on at the moment was how would he divert the mob’s attention away from him.
Joanna was covered, for a while at least, thanks to his skills in changing her identity. Now, he'll be the site of attention. Hell, he'll be in the top of the suspect list.
Mark reached his apartment block in South Beach Marina of Townsend Street. He parked his car and went right up to his apartment in the sixth flour. He inserted the lock and opened the door, stepping inside slowly.
Something was amiss.
Mark didn't think they'd figure it out this fast. But once he saw the tall man in black standing in front of the big glass window in his living room, he knew he underestimated them.
"Good afternoon." the stranger said, turning around to face him. "Mark Boyd?", it was more of a statement than an actual question.
Mark switched the game-mood in his brain, as he placed his hands on either side of his hip. "Having you breaking into my home gives me the right to ask questions, and the first one would be: are you going to leave or should I call the cops?" Mark said, tilting his chin up with the most authorized posture he could master in this situation.
The stranger chuckled. He was in his mid, forties, Mark noted, with a gray-ish heir and a hard bone structured face, "No need to get aggressive, kid. Just have a few question I need you to answer..."
Did he just call him kid?
"I told you to get the hell OUT!" Mark all but yelled at the man and got his cellphone out of his pocket trying to put a show of dialing numbers.
"Where's the Blake girl?" The man said, his voice didn't seem the least bit concerned about the dialing.
"Excuse me?" Mark frowned his eyebrows questionably as he looked up at the stranger.
"Joanna Blake, the girl you worked on her case just last week?" The stranger bit out, patience obviously seeping out of his tone.
"I’m sorry sir but that is confidential." Mark barked the answer at the man. "Leave. NOW" Mark whipped his right arm dramatically to the side hoping to make the man flinch.
He didn't though, bur Mark still proceeded with the charade he was playing and placed the phone against his ear.
"You might want to consider answering me first." The stranger said calmly, yet every syllable was more threatening than the other one as he so smoothly pulled his jacket away from his left hip where something silver shined.
Crap! Was that a gun? Mark thought and he lowered his phone slowly to his side.
"Fine! Ask away and leave me alone" Mark waved his hand annoyingly.
The stranger turned around the shiny-black coffee table and sat on one of the armchairs as if he owned the place. "You worked on the case of Joanna Blake." He stated but Mark still answered, "That's right."
"Where the hell is she?” the man said calmly, tilting his head in a menacing manner that sent chills down Mark’s spine.
"The prison, as far as I know." Mark tried his best to sound both confused and disconcerted.
The stranger looked up to Mark. "You are her lawyer, you should know." He bit out angrily.
Mark took less than a second to decide what his next answer would be. Shrugging carelessly, he said, "That's true, but given the latest circumstances it was kept confidential. " Mark saw the look in the man's face before he added, "even from me!"
The stranger stood up again and started pacing the room. "Why would you cover for her?" He asked.
"I don't know. Why would I?" Mark used his lawyer skills in that answer.
"You are a big shot lawyer, working for one of the biggest firms in the nation. Why did you take a case of a lowly, poor girl like Blake?"
The stranger stopped and turned to face him. "How do you know her?" He continued.
Mark knew this question was going to hit him one day. He didn't think it would come from a mobster though. He was deeply thankful for the last name confusion in their family. His mother was a Woods after her father’s last name. His mother's half sister, Joanna's mother, was a Cage after her and his mom’s mother’s last name. Joanna carried her father's last name and he carried his father's last name. And due to this riddle, no one really knew the relation between Mark and Joanna.
That, and the fact that Joanna always dissociated herself from him as much as she could, and for once in his life, he was grateful that she did.
"Will?" The stranger's voice cut through Mark's thoughts and he cleared his throat and raised his hands in front of him, palms toward the stranger in a defensive gesture.
"Look man, my firm gives me one Pro Bono case a year. This case was the one for this year. No special reason, just bad luck, I guess." Mark pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tightly in a distressed manner, "It was a boring and a stupid case as it was. I hate working for the poor." Mark exasperated like a spoiled child to complete the scene.
"So you want me to believe that you have no idea where your client, Joanna Blake is spending her time right now?" The stranger bellowed at him "I don't fucking buy it."
"I can't do anything about it, man. All I knew is that she was supposed to be admitted today morning in the Central California Women's Facility in Chowchilla. She claimed someone had threatened her. There was no proof of it. To tell you the truth, I don't think that woman was stable to begin with, if you know what I mean." Mark circled his forefinger near his head.
"I proposed a change of the facility due to the threat. But after that I don't know what happened. I had a conference to attend in New York, just came back." He gestured with his hand at his travel bag. "I was too busy to continue with all that crap." He continued.
The man narrowed his eyes at him.
"Did you know she beat the poor man to the pulp? She was this close to killing him." He made a gesture with his forefinger and thump to emphasize the notion.
"You sure talk a lot." The stranger huffed angrily.
"Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m being rude, that must've been your friend." Mark said innocently. "You must be so angry at her. I'd be too, she's a piece of work, I must say!" He continued blabbering hoping that this dangerous man would buy his act.
The man turned his head to the side for a moment before he said, "If I found out that you've been lying, you'll wish you were dead, kid" he said menacingly before storming out of the room, almost slamming into mark as he passed him.
Once Mark heard the fort door slam, he sank down on his couch and let out a long harsh breath.
He was in deep shit. Oh, in deep deep shit.
“Hello.” He said once the operator answered.
“Yes, sir, how may I help you.” The female operator said cheerfully.
“I’d like to change my flight to Greece.” He said and gave her his reservation number.
“Sure, when would you like it to be?” she said and he heard the sound of a clicking on a keyboard.
“Now.” He said.
“I… I’m sorry?” the woman said.
“The closest flight available.” He clarified.
“Oh, ok. Just a moment, please.” She said and he rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
“We’ve got a seat for you at the flight going at 5 p.m. this evening.” She said but he zoned off as he thought of how screwed up thing was getting.
“Sir?”
“Yes. Book it!.” He bit out.
“Ok, Mr. Parker.” She beamed cheerfully as she gave him his reservation number and the seat number. Mark finished the call soon after.
Yes, he did change his name. Or, made a fake ID. He didn’t change his identity like he did for Joanna, but he forged a new name with a new ID and passport with a different name.
James Parker.
If he wanted to survive, he thought as he laid his head back on the back of the couch, he had to play it like an out-law.
Ironic, huh?
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