The thought makes me grin; worse ways to go.
For a few miles, I try and concentrate. It’s gettingdark now, my headlight reflecting off the trees, and the corners come up fast. But the road is empty, and I can ride at whatever speed I want. It’s real freedom, the only chance I ever get it.
And it hasn’t felt like this in years.
I know why. More accurately, I knowwho.
The last few miles of Route 74 are almost flat, narrow but straight roads past fields. My headlight picks out two white crosses on the verge, opposite an intersection. No way of knowing, but they were probably bikers. Some guy out with his girl, gets her killed. I clench my jaw. I’ve hardly noticed that stuff for so long, but now it has another meaning.
I take I-5 north into the city, and the freeway is busy, even this late. Holiday traffic, readying for the weekend ahead. An hour later, I pull up two blocks short of my apartment, and abandon the stolen bike down an alleyway. It’s about done on gas anyway. Out of habit, I give it a quick wipe down, then walk away, stripping my gloves and helmet off as I go.
Tonight. Tomorrow. Then I get to see Genesis again.
It’s enough to put energy in my steps, despite how tired I am.
What I really want to do is get the TV on and find out what’s happened to Pablo. There’s no way he’s not splashed all over the news with a chopper after him. It takes the vultures that are the local media about three minutes to respond when their police scanners pick up something like that. A bank robbery and a fleeing suspect on the eve of July Fourthweekend? It’s a gift for them. I’ll get to see them capture Pablo in high definition.
Genesis will need to hide. I can help her with that.
I let myself into my apartment. It’s a one-bed, shit lying everywhere. I see it with fresh eyes. The empty pizza boxes. Beer bottles lying discarded. Garbage overflowing. The weights out of their rack, clothes lying dirty on the floor. I can’t bring her back here, not like this.
The TV goes on first, sound low. It doesn’t take long to find coverage; it’s on every goddamn channel. I flick until I find one that’s summarizing, not replaying. The headline says it all.
Breaking: Suspect Killed After Suspected Palm Springs Bank Robbery—Suspect Fired On Officers—Riverside County Sheriff Confirms.
I grimace. He’s dead, which means Genesis can breathe easy. But I wanted to kill him myself, and I feel cheated.
It doesn’t take long for the footage to start looping again. Sweeping, clean desert aerial of a dirt bike trailing dust, running hard as the sun sets. Easy to follow from above, just like Genesis said. The only moving thing for miles.
Pablo heads for a road, and the camera pans back. The cops are waiting east and west, cruisers behind barriers, stingers lying across the asphalt, spikes prominent. He rides toward them, seemingly oblivious, then skids to a halt a hundred yards short. Guns pointed at him. More cars coming in behind.
It’s obvious the stupid fucker is caught. If I hadn’tseen the headline, I wouldn’t have believed he was dumb enough to draw on them.
But he pulls the gun he told us he had. Steps off the bike, lets it fall. Shouting something as he walks forward, arm extended. A muzzle flash, another. The camera pulls back fast, censorship by distance, but there’s no doubt what happens as his body jerks, then crumples.
The gene pool has just been marginally improved.
And we’ve got away clean.
Was this Renner’s plan all along? Is that why he didn’t stop Pablo from taking a dirt bike? Was Pablo the sacrificial lamb?
If so, from which point? From the first time Pablo opened his mouth in Renner’s unit, insulting Genesis with his very first words?
It’s a hunch, nothing more, but it feels right. My grudging admiration for Renner jumps a notch.
Which means what, that Pablo’s died with an empty bag? Or a third of the loot?
I stride to the backpack Renner gave me, weighed down and heavy. Unclip the flap, zip it open. Stare at the contents. Reach in, pull out one of the three drills we heard them use. There’s another one, too. But otherwise, the bag is empty. Just a roll of paper towels for bulk.
A curse becomes a laugh, and I shake my head at the audacity of it.
I’ve been running with nothing more incriminating than some used hardware and something to mop up messes. Which means Genesishas itall—unless they took some on the van. But the whole point was for the main crew to be clean. No, she’s got everything, and Renner didn’t trust me or Pablo.
Can’t argue with that. I wouldn’t either, in his boots.
Question is, am I being set up too, or was he just being prudent?
Is there even a rendezvous tomorrow night, or will the unit be moved, and I’ll never see him again?
