Tom Brand Escapes

5 - Escapes NJ

Brand threw the car into reverse and peeled into a U-turn, turning the wrong way back into the lot. He made a quick right into the covered parking deck and drove to the roof. As the low roof of the parking lot gave way to the sky, Brand shut off the lights and drove to the southwest corner. Petras was waiting for them. Looking out to the highway, Brand could see the lights of rapidly approaching police cars. He could also see the black sedan that had been following them flying back over the ramp. Brand jumped out of the car and pulled Leah from the front seat. She was now covered in the kid's blood and whimpering. Petras walked up to them and took her by the arm.

"I don't understand how they caught up to us so quickly," Brand said to him, "I almost couldn't shake them."

"You dumped the driver's phone?" Petra asked.

"Yes."

"He dead?" Petra asked tossing his head in the direction of the driver who was now crumpled on the passenger seat.

"No. He's hit but he'll make it,"

Petras frowned and reached for his waistband.

Brand stopped him, "No. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Petras held Brand's gaze for a moment and then put his hand back down.

"Did you get the girl's phone?" he asked.

"She didn't have one."

Petras raised his eyebrows.

Both men regarded her. She was still whimpering and shrieked in fright as Petras began roughly searching her. He shoved his hand up her leggings from her ankles and then down her leggings from her waist.

"Hey," she slapped on his back, "Stop it."

"Son of a bitch," Petras said.

He produced an old style flip phone from her pants, showed it to Brand and then chucked it off the roof.

Leah continued to scream until Petras raised his hand to her, "Shut up."

"Come on," Petras said.

He pulled Leah along with him toward the edge of the roof.

When she realized where they were headed, she began to try to pull away from him.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

Petras sighed deeply and shook his head, looking over his shoulder once more at Brand. He climbed up onto the low wall that ran along the roof edge and plucked from the air handlebars. They were clear and virtually invisible, attached to an equally clear, impossibly thin wire. To Brand it looked just thicker than fishing line. Without another word, Petras grabbed on firmly and launched himself off the wall and down the zipline, disappearing over the trees. Brand watched him as he skimmed the trees and then dropped out of site.

"You're next," he told Leah motioning her forward. Brand reached up and pulled another set of the clear handles toward her.

"I'm not getting on that thing," she said, her curls vibrating as she shook her head rapidly back and forth.

The police sirens were getting louder and Brand could hear the squeal of tires on the ramp. There was no time for coaxing. Brand pulled out his gun and pressed it to her forehead.

"Yes, you are. And when I get down there, you and I are going to have a chat."

Brand rode the zipline down just in time to see Petras shoving Leah into the backseat of a tan SUV. Her hands were zip-tied behind her back and she was crying again.

Brand cut the lines, gathered the handles, and threw them into the back of the vehicle. The truck was pretty nondescript and a little banged up but Brand was sure it was bulletproof and loaded for bear. The way their night was going, they would need it.

As he got into the passenger seat, he could hear Leah sobbing despite the glass partition between the front and back seats. Although he knew he shouldn't, he felt a bit sorry for her. Petras, on the other hand, was never moved by tears. He came from a family with a long line of female rebels and freedom fighters, and women's tears did little except attract his scorn.

Brand flipped the glove box open and perused it. He took out some ammo and a new phone and shoved them both into his jacket pocket.

"Crying," Petras said.

Brand nodded. He could recite from memory the story Petras was about to tell him.

"I once watched my mother snap a man's neck, drag him out the back door, and come back in to cook dinner. This," he pointed his thumb backwards, banging it on the thick partition, "is pathetic and," he added with a meaningful look to Brand, "fake. This one is not to be trusted, Tom."

"I know, Petras. I intend to find out the rest of her story. We haven't been told some very important details."

"Apparently," Petras said.

He started the car and pulled out. They were in a small field behind a medical office building. As they pulled out onto the highway, police and emergency vehicles flew past on the opposite side, going north.

"Bye-bye," Petras waved at them.

After a moment he said, "That phone was being used to track her movements. There was a time you would have disposed of her by this point."

Brand shook his head.

"Only if I was sure the people who hired us were the ones who double-crossed us. I'm not sure that's the case."

Petras drove on in silence for another moment.

"Your friend from the Bahamas is alive and well, too," he said finally.

"Yes, Petras. She knew, and she still knows, nothing. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That is becoming quite the mantra with you," Petras said and then Brand realized he had just said the same thing about the taxi driver.

"I suppose it is," Brand said. There was no point in arguing.

"Again, why? Why risk compromising your identity, your missions? In our line of work, this is not wise."

Brand could feel his blood begin to boil. He turned in his seat.

"I'm tired of death, Petras. I'm tired of being the cause of it. If someone needs my help, I'll help. But if the only goal is killing or if it's going to cause collateral damage, I'm out."

Petras eyes shifted back and forth from the road to Brand.

He shrugged, "Okay. If someone needs killed, I'll do it. But remember, my friend, in life, death is the only thing that is certain."

Brand sat back against the seat, staring out at the lights of the New Jersey Turnpike. As Petras veered off onto the Garden State, Brand gave him a questioning look.

"Boat," he said.

(Thanks for reading - for the introduction of Tom Brand, please see my online novel, "Slippery Slope")