Date: Sun, 10 Jun 2007 09:11:28 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matt Wess <cow91387@yahoo.com>
Subject: Michael: Part Fifteen

Michael: Part Fifteen

      It was around one in the afternoon by the time Prosecutor Leanne
Boyle got home.  Her eyes were tired, her body aching to climb under the
sheets, and she wondered if she would ever work up enough steam to make
it back to work.
      The answering machine was blinking.  She'd been out of touch all
day.  She ought to check her e-mail, maybe just to get work off her
mind.
      She went to her computer and checked out the news.  Nothing too
exciting.  A teachers strike threatened to cancel school for a few days.
Snow showers were on the way, according to the weathermen.
      She was about to check her e-mail when an Instant Message bubbled
through.  Longlegs29.
      Don't waste your time trying to trace this, the message began.
      Leanne froze.
      Make sure you're taking close notes, Prosecutor.  I know where the
children are.  In fact I'm watching them right now...their eating
lunch...precious.
      Who are you? And where are they? Are they still in Dover, New
Jersey? Leanne typed back hastily.  She waited anxiously.  Can you tell
me where they are? Please!
      More words appeared on the screen.
      Listen, Prosecutor. Back off.  This is your warning.  You make one
false move...say by sending officers to search for the kids...I'll pull
this trigger and shoot each kid.  Good-bye.
      No wait! She typed back.
      Nothing.  No further reply came.
      "Shit!" Leanne pounded the keyboard.
      A full thirty seconds elapsed.  Then a minute.  Leanne was sure she
had lost the messenger.  She finally rested her head against the
monitor.  With lack of sleep she could scarcely comprehend the fact that
those kids were in serious danger.  So the million dollar question is:
how to protect them and indict them for murder without making matters
worse?

"Hands down, the time I fell off of my stool because I had been asleep in
science class had to be my most embarrassing moment," Macy said, blushing
slightly.
      No one found that as embarrassing as the other stories Adam had
shared.  "I just seem to lead a jinxed life," he said staring into his
strawberry milkshake.
      It was nearing two in the afternoon.  The four of them had stopped
at Pam's Diner, where they ordered lunch and were now finishing off their
meal with shakes all around, while sharing embarrassing moments.
      Dylan made a face.  "I think Pam made this milkshake with too much
shake.  If that's possible."  He held up his maraschino cherry.  "Anybody
want it?"
      "Yep." Macy responded a little too readily, as though she had been
eyeing it up for a while.  He put it on top of her shake and smiled.
Macy smiled back.
      Michael, for one reason or another, could not help but to feel a
little bit disgusted at how friendly Macy and Dylan were acting towards
each other.  It made him question Dylan's sexuality.  Not that it
mattered, really, Michael tried to tell himself.  After all, the nights
spent with Dylan had been nights when they were both intoxicated.
      Still, Michael felt a little discouraged from asking Dylan "the
question."  He wanted to so much.  He even had a speech prepared in his
mind.
      I'm being idiotic, Michael thought, smiling slightly at Adam's
two-hundredth embarrassing moment.
      After Adam finished, Dylan began recounting a moment of his.  Macy
laughed, and clapped gaily.  At one point she actually clapped her hand
over her mouth to prevent a sudden out burst of laughter.
      I'm-being-idiotic, Michael thought once more.  Macy is a good
friend of mine.  So is Dylan.  Nothing more.  A slight movement behind
Adam caught Michael's eye.  Adam had his back to the big plate-glass
window, and someone had walked past it.  No - someone was still there.
      Michael's hand froze in midair, and his heart felt encased in ice.
      Don Rafael was outside, giving Michael a predator's grin and a
thumbs-up sign.
      Quickly Michael glanced around the diner.  There was an exit behind
the counter.  He could knock over the table to slow him down...
      "Michael? Are you okay?"
      "Uh-huh," he muttered absently, his eyes locked on Don Rafael.  He
grinned at Michael, then walked past the window.
      The three of them turned to see what he was looking at just as Don
Rafael slipped out of sight.
      Michael sat very still, waiting for him to burst through the door,
shooting the place up.  He was on full alert, ready to spring into
action.  But a minute passed and nothing happened.  The other occupants
continued to enjoy their meals.
      Macy was still looking at Michael quizzically.  "You okay?" she
asked again.
      Michael gave them his attention again.  "We have to leave - Don
Rafael is here."
      "What?" all three of them asked in unison.  Then Adam, "That's
impossible.  How on hell could he have found us?  It's not like we're
wearing a fucking neon sign."
      "Maybe you just thought you saw him.  Or somebody who looked like
him," Dylan suggested.  "Think about it, we're in the middle of New
Jersey.  There's no way he could find us that easily."
      "No - I know what I saw.  I'm not sure how he could have found us
that quickly but he did.  We need to leave - now."
      They stood up together.  Adam slapped down twenty dollars.  Michael
led them through the congested diner, weaving through the tables, and
picking up the pace as they headed towards the exit.  His eyes continued
to rove around the scenery, sensing any kind of sudden movement.
      Within seconds they burst into the dull daylight.
      At five minutes of four the few people in the streets of Dover, New
Jersey were hurrying from cars to stores, heedless of anything except the
bitter, snowy day.
      A black, flashy new SUV was idling by the curb across the street.
      Keys still in the ignition.
      Owner making a withdrawal from the ATM.
      It was risky.
      Macy traced Michael's gaze and read his thoughts.  "Oh, God, no
Michael.  We could never..."
      "Move!" Michael hissed, cutting her off.  Michael, Adam, and Dylan
approached the vacant car with agility.  Macy straggled behind, but was
close on their heels.
      The owner was retrieving the money.
      The four of them noiselessly opened a door and slipped in.  Hearts
racing.  They weren't going to get away.
      Michael positioned himself behind the wheel.  Concentrating
fiercely, he threw the car into drive.  "Go! Go! Go! NOW! PUNCH IT!"
Adam bellowed.  Michael laid his foot on the accelerator.  The car sprung
to life under his touch, jumping from the curb.
      All of them were shouting and trying to rush Michael at once.  "We
need to be heading the other way!" Macy yelled from the backseat.
      "Michael just floor it!" Dylan talked over Macy, craning his neck
around.  Even as they sped out of sight they could hear the anguish yells
from the owner.  Michael could see him in the rear view mirror attempting
to catch up, his face as red as his shirt.
      "Hang a left," Adam shouted to Michael.
      Without apparent cause, Michael jerked the wheel hard to the left,
tires squeaking - leaving the owner in the dust.  Adam grabbed the dash
with both hands as the large SUV fishtailed.
      "Yeeehaw!" Dylan laughed as Michael straightened out the car and
they tore off down the road.
      Michael had to admit he felt the rush, too.  It was like playing
Grand Theft Auto - the only difference is that the adrenaline they felt
is quite real.

"This man has good taste in music," Dylan observed going through the
stacks of CD's.  "Here, play this one," he said, handing forward a Jimmy
Buffet CD.
      At least ten minutes had passed since they stole the car.  As far
as Michael could tell, they were heading westbound on Route 80.  He kept
on seeing signs for Pennsylvania.  So they must be going in the right
direction.
      One thing was definite: the trip will go one hell of a lot faster.
      Michael continuously checked the rearview mirror, anticipating a
large swarm of squad cars to come barreling up from behind them - but
nothing ever came.  Also there was no sign of Don Rafael.
      Two points for the four of them.  A big fat zero for the others.
      Meanwhile, Macy kept acting all antsy in the backseat, repeatedly
saying, "I really don't think we should have done this.  We're going to
be too easy to track now."
      Adam twisted around in his seat.  "Fine, you walk.  The next rest
stop we see we'll let you out and see you in the next millennium."
      For the umpteenth time, Michael checked the rearview mirror as Macy
and Adam quarreled.  His eyes linked with Dylan's.  They held their gaze
until a blaring car horn sped by them.  Michael snapped his eyes back to
the road in time to see their car mindlessly drifting over to another
lane.
      "I made it this far," Dylan called up to Michael.  "Don't kill me
now.  We still have a lot to do."
      Michael caught Dylan's secret wink in the rearview mirror.

"Now I presume Carlos told you everything," Don Rafael said.  The boy
nodded.  "Hopefully you've been studying up on the history," Don Rafael
continued.  Again the boy nodded.  He tried so hard not to act nervous.
      The pair of them were seated on a park bench - right across the
street from where the four fuckers ate lunch.  If Don Rafael was in
charge he would have just shot them all today, but Carlos had this
diabolical plan and this boy played a huge part.
      The boy was so important that Carlos himself drove out to New
Jersey to make sure he got there safely, and explain everything.
Personally, Don Rafael felt that the boy was a floozy, but he could never
object to what Carlos plans.
      "Just to reassure you," he said slowly, "Carlos will reward you
handsomely if you should succeed."  The boy remained silent, annoyed by
his silence Don Rafael continued, frowning slightly.  "From now you're
name is no longer Peter Fiennes."
      Finally the boy spoke.  "It's Michael Alan Douglas.  I know."
      Don Rafael glowered at him.  To look like Michael is one thing, but
to act like him was a whole different thing.  If they had more time Don
Rafael would suggest more practice - but Carlos made it clear that they
had little time.
      He stood up from the bench.  "That will do," he said curtly to
Michael's impersonator.

Later that night they hid the SUV in a gathering of trees right outside
the city limits of Philadelphia.  No sign of the police and no sign of
Carlos's goons.  Michael was starting to feel suspicious.
      They were now ensconced in the lack of luxury of the Sleeper Inn,
which was the kind of place that had shady deals going on in all the
rooms.  Adam was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds woofing down a
Philly-cheese steak while watching Dylan flip mindlessly through the
channels.
      "Oh for heaven's sake Dylan! Just choose a channel!" Macy erupted
from behind a map of Pennsylvania.
      Dylan frowned.  "What's it to you? You're not even watching."
      Macy peered over the map, her face immediately lighting up.  "Oh go
back! The View is on!"
      "No," Michael, Dylan, and Adam objected lamely in unison.
      It was Macy's turn to frown.  She hid behind the map muttering
something that sounded like "men..."
      Two hours later the room was roughly silent and dark.  The
television was off.  Seeing that the beds were made for only one both
Michael and Adam ended up sleeping on the floor.  As always, Michael fell
asleep hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.
      As it turned out, his "tomorrow" started in the pitch-darkness,
with his hand and feet bound, and a strip of duct tape over his mouth.