Ken Douglas - Death Glitch

Leaving the Rite Aide, she got back on the freeway, taking the off ramp at the Weed rest area. It was early and except for a couple truckers sleeping in their cabs, the rest stop was deserted. In the restroom, she plugged in the shaver and gave herself a quick bootcamp type haircut.

Taking the mascara out of her bag, she lightly applied some under her eyes, then on her eyelids, trying for a gaunt, goth kind of look. Maybe a girl on drugs, maybe a girl with cancer, the kind of girl one looked away from, the kind people didn’t want to notice.

Satisfied for now, she surveyed her mess. Hair in the sink, hair on the floor. Fortunately it was thick and long and easy to pick up. She put it in the trash with a sigh. It had been so long since she’d had hair and this hair had been beautiful. Such a shame.

Back at the car, she wanted to be on her way, but the dog hadn’t been out for quite a while, so she opened the door and Hunter took off, shooting across the rest area to the open field beyond. For a second Izzy wondered if he was coming back. He’d saved her life with Shaffer and she owed him, but a life on the run would be easier alone.

But after a couple minutes, Hunter came bounding back. He jumped into the backseat and Izzy was on the road again. She needed ammunition for her guns, because they, whoever they were, were going to be coming after her and she needed to be ready.

Years ago she’d had an affair with a married man in Medford. Not her proudest moment, but it had been so long since she’d had a man in her bed. She’d met him on a consult. He was a few years younger and better looking than any man had a right to be. He was a young heart surgeon with a future and he had the sweetest grin.

That he’d been using her to get out of podunk Medford never crossed her mind. That he’d been married should have been a clue, but he’d seemed so genuine and genuinely in love with both her and his wife. The poor man had seemed torn and she’d been so stupid. After she’d recommended him for an opening at prestigious Massachusetts General, he and his wife left town and she’d never heard from him again.

She’d put him, Mass General and the shitty town she’d met him in out of her mind. But now, as she was heading north on Interstate 5, she was glad she knew her way around Medford. She knew where to get the ammo she needed, the clothes she needed and where the seedy motels were, the kind that wouldn’t ask for a credit card if you had some extra cash.

She took the first of the two Medford off ramps, turned west on Barnett, then right into the WinCo parking lot, where she pointed her car to a line of stores to the right of the supermarket, parking in front of Ace’s Guns.

Inside, she found just about the seediest man she’d ever imagined could hold a job. He looked like he belonged sleeping under an overpass somewhere and he smelled like he’d bathed in gin.

“ Can I help you?” At least he had all his teeth.

“ I don’t know.” Something about him wasn’t right. “Maybe I should be asking you that question.”

“ Don’t let the getup fool you.” He smiled and she saw a twinkle there. “I got a meeting with the IRS coming up at 10:00.”

“ And that’s how you dress? You’re really going to impress them.”

“ I haven’t paid any taxes since ’73. My plan is to tell them I’ve been homeless. Think they’ll buy it?”

“ I would’ve.” She returned his smile. “But how do you know I’m not a revenuer?”

“ Now that’s a term I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“ Well, how do you know?”

“ I can smell ’em and, lady, you smell way too sweet to be a tax man and you look too pretty to be a cop. But you got a look of desperation about you. You’re a girl on the run.”

“ I’m a girl with a couple guns who wants as many clips, bullets in ’em, that you can get for me. And I need ’em before you go off to meet the tax people.”

“ Who you running from?”

“ You name it.”

“ What did you do?”

“ Nothing, but they’re going to say everything?”

“ You’re not going to get far. Your picture is all over the TV. The internet, too.”

“ Shit.” She clenched her fists. “But I cut off my hair, darkened my eyes. I don’t look the same. Double shit. They have no pictures. They faked it.” How could she ever hope to elude them. “How the hell did you spot me?”

“ You’re too clean. You don’t look road weary and you don’t look like you been rode hard.”

“ Are the cops on the way? Did you push some kind of alarm button when I walked in?”

“ Nah.” He smiled with his eyes, but not his mouth. “You’d a done what they said, you’d a walked in here, shot me, took what you wanted and been gone. Besides, revenuers ain’t the only bastards I can smell out. You’re on the run, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“ I killed two people, caused a third to have a heart attack.”

“ You have a good reason?”

“ Jeez, I can’t believe I’m telling you any of this.” It made no sense talking to him, but then everything that had been happening to her made no sense. “I gotta go.” She started for the door.

“ Without your ammo?”

She stopped, turned back and faced him.

“ I am in trouble and most likely I’m going to be dead very soon. I’ve got two guns, one empty, one almost empty. I can’t use my credit cards, can’t get at my bank account. When my money’s gone, I’m going to be a sitting duck, but when they catch up to me, I’d like to give the hunters a run for their money.”

“ Wait.”

She stopped, watched him come from behind the counter, go to the door, lock it. For a second she thought he was locking her in, but the look on his face told her he was locking others out.

“ Name’s Nate,” he said. Then “Come on to the back.”

“ I don’t have a lot of time.” But she followed him into a back room anyway, where she saw a small desk with a couple coffee cups on it.

“ Everyone’s got time for a good cup of coffee.” He opened the top desk drawer, took out a thermos, then a flask. “Take a seat.” He motioned toward a chair, then poured a couple cups. “Irish whiskey.” He poured a generous shot from the flask into each cup. “I’m not gonna ask what kind of trouble you’re in. I saw it on the news. And I’m not gonna ask did you do it. Some of it you told me, but I know a frame when I see it, ’cuz I been spending my life under the radar ’cuz a one.” He pushed a cup toward her, lifted the other as if to toast.

“ Really, I’m in a hurry.”

“ Have a drink, relax for a minute. You’re safe here.”

“ Alright.” She took a chair, then picked up the cup.

“ Safe passage.” He clinked her cup.

“ That about says it all.” She took a sip.

“ Don’t it though.” He took a bigger sip. “Now show me your guns.”

An hour later she parked in front of the local Goodwill store. Nate had given, not sold her, five clips for the Rugar, loaded and ready to go and a dozen for the forty-five. A lot of money to give away, she’d told him and he told her to forget it. “Besides,” he’d said, “if I can’t fool the tax man, I’m most likely going to jail, anyway.” She hoped he’d be okay. He was a nice man, who’d helped her when he didn’t have to.

In the Goodwill store, she remembered what Nate had said about her not looking road weary enough, so she bought a couple pair of black jeans and several black tee shirts. She found a pair of black, low top Converse tennis shoes that fit and she found a ratty looking black sweatshirt that had a vee cut out of the neckline. Dressed in her new clothes, she’d look the part.

Now all she needed was a plan.