The Advocate - 02 - The Advocate's Betrayal (27 page)

Sabre could feel the cramps forming in her legs with each step she took. She lifted her foot, only to catch it on the tip of a rock, and her feet flew out from under her. Down she went, grabbing at the air for a hold. She fell face down into the dirt and rocks, digging her hands into the dirt, sliding just far enough to rip apart her already skinned knee and her bare belly. She lay there for a second, not wanting to get up. It felt good to not use any energy. If she just lay there, eventually someone would find her and carry her up the mountain. Her body gave into the pull, but her mind would not. She would not give up. She would get up and keep going.

She pushed up with both hands until she was on her knees, and then one leg at a time, she stood up. Weak, dirty, and bleeding she started back up the trail, telling herself to put one foot in front of the other, talking her way through each step.

The sun had almost set. Sabre shivered as she climbed, never passing a single hiker. She had vomited twice and her head was pounding, but she could see the ridge of the canyon and it kept her going. She could see the figure of a man in the darkness standing near the top. He seemed to be watching her. He was an older gentleman. When she became closer, he called, “Are you okay?”

She tried to respond, but her words were not audible. She shook her head back and forth, but she wasn’t certain he could see it.
One more step. One more step.
She was going to make it. A feeling of emotional and physical security passed through her body. That feeling of safety lifted the weights from her legs and made the next few steps much easier. Just as she made the last step out of the canyon, she heard someone walking behind her. She stepped out, turned around, and the tall man from below grabbed her and picked her up. Her body trembled. The weakness returned. Utter terror took over where hope had dwelled for those last few seconds of her climb.

“Go get help,” he instructed the old gentleman.

“No.” Sabre tried to say more, but the gentleman was moving swiftly across the grass away from them. And she was in the arms of her captor, moving toward the parking lot, too weak to fight or call for help.

33

The cold wind whistled through the trees, shaking the leaves and rattling branches. JP scooted himself along the ground in an attempt to find something to help him tear the mask off his face. Unable to see, he feared falling over a cliff or wall. He came upon a stick, lifted his body up enough to lay his shoulder on the end, turned his head to the side, and leaned back trying to catch the blindfold on the stick. He felt it tug. He scooted down as far as he could while still holding the stick in place. The blindfold caught on his forehead. He twisted and turned his head until it finally came off his eyes. He shook his head until it fell to the ground.

Trees surrounded a grassy cul de sac about one-hundred-fifty-feet wide and about six-hundred feet deep. All he could tell in the moonlight was he’d been dumped at the end furthest from the opening with no visible roads or buildings.

JP stepped into the clearing and leaned forward as far as he could, stretching his arms behind him in an attempt to pull the handcuffs over his behind. The cuffs cut into his wrists. Pulling harder helped move his hands slightly lower on his buttocks, but as he did the cuff caught on his jeans. He raised his hands just enough to break loose and then tried again. The cuffs dug deeper into his wrists as he inched his hands down, pulling his body backward. Just a little farther and they’d be at the bottom of his derriere. He stretched. He pulled. He tucked into a ball and rolled backwards slipping the cuffs under his butt. There he lay like a turtle on his back, hands under his knees. He took a deep breath. He was almost there.

Moving his knees as close as he could to his chin, JP leaned to one side, stretched his left leg straight up in the air, turned his right leg at an angle, and stretched it back as far as he could toward his head until he could get his foot tucked under his right wrist. He pushed and pulled, catching the cuffs on his pant leg. He pulled his knee back in an attempt to get his foot higher on his arm, avoiding the cuffs catching on the bottom of his pants. His wrists hurt. The ground felt hard on his back, but he continued rocking his body back and forth until he finally maneuvered his right leg through. The left leg was easier; he had more room to work with. Pointing his knee out to the left, he pulled his hands up, and slipped his leg through. He rolled over, pushed himself up with the palms of his hands, and stood up. Although his wrists would be bruised and sore for awhile and he could see in the moonlight that he was bleeding, his arms and shoulders felt better, and he had a better chance of getting out of the cuffs.

JP walked a little way into the woods to avoid the wind, unzipped his pants and took a whiz.
Second best feeling in the world
, he thought.

His next plan was to get out of the cuffs. He knew if he couldn’t squeeze through the locked cuffs, he wasn’t getting out without a key or some tool and assistance. Help wasn’t likely to happen. If anyone saw him with cuffs, they’d surely turn him into the cops and he’d be right back where he started. He’d done everything he could when they placed the cuffs on him to ensure possible escape. He’d faced his palms inward and he pushed his wrists out.

JP stretched his left hand out straight and then touched his thumb to his pinkie, scrunching his hand together and making it as small as he could. With his right hand he grabbed his left hand; his thumb and index finger squeezed hard. He caught his other three fingers on the handcuff and pulled them forward, continuing to squeeze as he pulled the handcuff off. He had one hand free. He then tried the same thing with the other hand. The cuff was either on tighter or his right hand was just a little larger. Whatever the case, it took longer and hurt more to pull the cuff off. At last, JP tossed the cuffs into the woods, shook his hands, stretched his arms, and then lay down and huddled up against a tree to wait for the morning sunlight.

The first light of dawn bid good morning to JP. The smell of cow dung and raw milk filled his nostrils. It could only mean there was life nearby. He followed the odors and started through the trees. Within about sixty feet he found himself in another clearing. Steam filled the air and the smells grew stronger. His nostrils led him forward until he came upon a dirt road. Following it to the end of the clearing, it turned left and he could see buildings ahead.

He walked for a good quarter of a mile, the smells more pungent as he went. Farm buildings sat on his right, and he could see a paved road ahead with cars occasionally passing by. He thought about walking to the road and hitching a ride, but where would he go with no money, no ID, and no phone? As he neared the road, he could see a large dairy already in action for the morning. He walked up to one of the buildings and looked around. As he started to walk around the building he heard someone say, “May I help you?”

JP turned around. A man about five foot eight with a rather round belly stood behind him holding a crowbar in his right hand. His face said mid-twenties, but his thinning hair made him look much older. His white uniformed shirt read
Chuck
just above his left pocket. JP glanced at the crowbar and then at the man. His face was soft and non-threatening. JP reached out his right hand to shake his. “Hi, I’m JP.”

The man switched the crowbar to his left hand, extended his right, and said, “Chuck.”

“Nice to meet you, Chuck.” JP smiled. “I know I must look awful, but I’ve had a bit of bad luck. My car broke down last night, and before I could get help, these punks came by, robbed me, beat me up, and left me back there tied to a tree.” JP pointed in the direction he had walked in from.

“Those creeps. This used to be such a nice place to live but the last few years it’s gotten bad even here. The city is moving too close to us. Dang druggies and gangs. I got me a shotgun. They better not ever come near my home ‘cuz I’ll show them a thing or two.”

“It’s bad everywhere.”

“It’s just awful in the city, but it shouldn’t be like that here. This is God’s country. It was always so peaceful out here.”

JP was starting to regret his story. He apparently had hit a nerve. “Do you have a cell phone I could use to make a phone call and get some help?”

“No, I don’t have a cell phone and I better not let you use the dairy phone. That’s just for business and we’re not supposed to use it for personal calls, but I was just headed into town. Why don’t you ride with me? It’s less than a mile and I have a friend there who’ll let you make your call.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Chuck led JP to his pickup, threw the crowbar in the back, and slid into the driver’s seat. As JP opened the passenger side, Chuck was gathering up the fast food bag and empty wrappers. He shoved the wrappers and an empty cup inside the bag and tossed it out the window. He looked at JP and, as if to explain the inappropriate deed, said, “I’ll pick it up when I get back.”

JP nodded.

Chuck began asking questions even before they’d pulled out of the driveway. “You from around here?”

“No. I’m from San Diego.”

“You drove from San Diego?”

“No, I rented a car in Chicago.”

“Eww, Chicago. That’s an awful place. I’ve been there a few times. Don’t care to go back. But San Diego, I hear that’s a real nice city. If you like cities, that is. I’m not much for city living. Give me the country any day. Too much crime and nonsense in the city. That’s probably where those punks who attacked you are from.”

“What city is that?”

Chuck glanced at JP with a quizzical look. “Lansing, of course. Didn’t you pass through it on your way here?”

“Oh yeah. I just wasn’t sure if there was another big city nearby. I don’t know my way around Michigan.” JP looked around. He could see the tall water tower with letters spelling Elsie across the side.

“Flint isn’t too far away. Saginaw is close, too. They’re all too close for me.” Chuck stopped at a stoplight. “Well, here we are, the big town of Elsie.”

They drove up the main drag into town, where all the businesses appeared to be on one main block. Chuck parked on Main Street in front of a big red brick building with white trim and a shingled awning. The left portion of the building housed the hardware store. Hand painted in green letters on the door to the right were the words, “Corner Space For Rent.” On the corner, near the streetlamp, stood a white milk can with black spots.  It resembled cowhide and was being used as a flower pot, housing magenta petunias.

JP stepped out of the car into the small town atmosphere. It had been a while since he’d been to a town without the hustle and bustle of traffic. Still early, only a few people were on the streets. His nostalgic feeling transported him to his childhood in Garfield, Texas, a small town where everyone knew everyone. They nosed their way into each other’s business, but they also took care of one another when they needed help. Some of the old buildings in Elsie even resembled those from his home town—wooden structures, always in need of paint. Even the old man watching the sunrise from a bench between the pizza parlor and the bakery was a sight likely to be seen in Texas. The only difference between Elsie and Garfield, or Elsie and any other small town he’d ever been to, was the statue of a Holstein cow reaching about eight feet tall near the bank.

The unlit neon “Open” sign hung on the door of the hardware store. Chuck knocked and yelled, “Hey, Roger, open up.” The lights were out with no sign of life inside. Chuck knocked harder. “Hey, Roger.” Inside, the lights came on and a disheveled man about forty limped towards the front of the store, unlocked the door, and flipped a switch; the “Open” sign lit up.

Roger rubbed his eyes, “Is it ei..eight o’clock already?”

“No, I’m early, but we need your help,” Chuck said as he stepped inside.

“Sure, what c..can I do?” Roger stuttered.

“This here’s JP.” Chuck nodded his head toward JP. “He’s had a bit of trouble, as you can see. Some punks beat him up and stole his wallet and everything from him. He don’t have any money or anything, ‘cuz those gang members from the city took everything. I hate what they do. They need to stay in the city where they belong. They better not mess with me. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

“Come in.” Roger walked to the back of the store.

“He needs to use your phone.” Chuck turned to JP. “And make sure you call the cops and report this. If they can’t do anything, we’ll keep them out of here ourselves.”

“I will, Chuck. Don’t worry,” JP said, continuing with his charade.

“Over he…here.” Roger directed him to a phone on the desk. “The old m…man won’t m…mind.”

JP picked up the phone to dial and realized he didn’t know many phone numbers, one of the drawbacks to cell phones and automatic dial. The time difference was two or three hours earlier in California; he wasn’t sure which. Bob would be home.  He racked his brain for the number, thinking he should know it by heart since it hadn’t changed in ten years. Looking at the keypad, he punched in the area code and the prefix and, let his fingers dial the number without giving it any more thought.

“Hello,” Bob said sleepily, then cleared his throat.

“Bob, it’s JP.”

“JP.” Bob’s voice grew louder. “Where the hell are you?” Before JP could answer, Bob said, “Some attorney named Quiñones called last night and said you were in jail in Chicago, but I couldn’t find you.”

“I was, but now I’m in Michigan and I need your help. But first, how’s Sabre?”

“Sabre’s fine. She’s gone for the weekend with Luke.”

“Luke’s back?”

“Yeah, he returned Thursday, and they left on Friday.”

“Damn it.”

“Why? What?”

“I don’t know for sure, but Luke lied to Sabre about where he was going and there’s a link between him and Betty.”

“What do you mean, a link?”

“Luke was in Chicago, not Dallas. And he’s now living in the house where Betty lived as a teenager.”

“This isn’t making any sense. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”