No trace, p.5
No Trace, page 5
Donny realized he had been lucky that the bus had not been moving when his boss had glanced at the board. If it was stationary, a mechanical problem was an easy explanation. Moving was another story, especially when Bus 82 was supposed to be on the east side, not west where it was slowly heading north. He glanced at the clock again. Forty-eight minutes to go. Jesus, he was going to have a heart attack, he thought, and swiped at his sweaty brow again. Come on time…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HELEN
Every Friday, Helen would take her shopping bag, walk the two blocks to the bus stop and take the number 46 down to the farmer’s market off Central Avenue. She loved to browse through the aisles gazing at all the colors of the fruits and vegetables. Her budget only allowed her to spend ten dollars on a few precious pieces of the fresh produce, but that was fine. She found she did not eat as much now that her seventieth birthday had come and gone.
Today was no different. She pulled on a light jacket over her pull-on pants and blousy top and left her tiny apartment into the cool November morning. She wore good sneakers and her gait was firm and quick. Old was only a thought that never slowed her down. She was in good health and, if careful, enjoyed a simple life with three lovely grandchildren and a wonderful daughter and son-in-law. Her life had been blessed, and she had no complaints.
She stood at the bus stop with three other executive type individuals and two very disreputable young teens. Two of the suits were men, both engrossed with their phones, and a third, a sleek looking woman. Powerful was the word that came to her mind as she surreptitiously glanced at the slim woman. Harsh, red lipstick coated her full lips, bright blue eyes stared out at the street and a pert, little upturned nose made her thin face less harsh. She was not pretty, Helen decided, but rather handsome. Even her bleached, blond hair was cropped tight and short to her head, leaving her long neck bare. Her powerful demeanor was accentuated by a dark green jacket and skirt that snugged all her curves.
“You a lawyer or something?” Helen could not help herself from asking the question.
The woman gave a quick glance at the older woman and then lifted her right shoulder. “Or something.”
“What’s that mean?” Helen demanded and then checked words. She had always been inquisitive and not afraid to talk to anyone. In recent years, she had realized that the younger generation was just plain rude. They were all self-absorbed and into taking pictures of themselves and posting them on their phones. Who takes pictures of a dinner plate, she wondered as she thought about her son-in-law two nights ago posting a photo of the lasagna she had made for them. She shook her head in consternation and stared up at the woman, waiting for an answer.
The short-haired blonde woman stared thoughtfully at the old woman and then just shrugged. “Let’s just say I buy and sell things.”
“Import and export, then?” Helen continued to badger the commuter.
“Sure. That sounds good.”
Helen pursed her lips until it looked as if she was trying to swallow the wrinkles that surrounded her mouth. “Humph…That just isn’t an answer if you ask me.” She turned away from the woman and shook her head.
This younger generation just had no etiquette. Why would a powerful-looking woman like this one not just tell her she was doing something illegal? Import, export, my ass, Helen thought with another shake of her head. She glanced one more time at the woman and then stared up the street at the approaching bus.
BRITTANY
Brittany shook off the old woman’s questions. Her scrutiny had caught her off guard and she needed to be better prepared with answers that didn’t lead to suspicion. Brittany had tried acting, then minimum wage jobs that were mindless. Now, approaching thirty, she had finally stumbled upon an enterprise that was sure to jail or kill her if she was ever caught. But she was careful. There was no way she would ever make the same stupid mistakes that her predecessor had done. She could do this, she thought with determination. No more living minute to minute. She tried not to count how many millions this new venture would net her, but the zeros dangled before her eyes and she began to dream for the first time in a long, long time.
The bus pulled in and the doors gasped open. “Hey, ladies first.”
The driver shouted to the two disreputable gangbangers as they barged forward.
“Fuck you.” The first one said and pushed his way up the stairs. His partner followed.
The two male executives hung back and allowed Helen and Brittany to board.
“Thank you, young man.” Helen nodded to one as she stepped up the stairs. She stopped and glanced at the number on the bus. “Hey, this isn’t Bus 46. Are you going downtown? Where is the big, black woman driver?”
“It’s going downtown.” The driver gave a short answer.
Helen shrugged and frowned as she moved up the stairs. She didn’t like change, but if the driver said they were going downtown, then she would have to deal with it.
Once Brittany was inside the doors, they swished shut, right in front of the two executives. The men shouted and the forward one banged on the glass door.
“Wrong bus.” The driver yelled as he hit the gas and pulled into traffic.
Helen staggered and grabbed a seat back as the bus lurched forward. “Let me sit down, mister.” She mumbled and slumped into the nearest seat. “Hey, you forgot those two men?” She yelled as she righted herself in the seat.
Brittany glanced back at the businessmen flashing their middle fingers in the air as the bus coughed a dark cloud of diesel in their wake. She swung herself into a seat and wondered what the driver had been thinking. Her glance caught the approach of a hooded man, slight in stature but a gait that was smooth and, at the same moment, scary. She registered a gun in his right hand and slunk back toward the window.
“Give me your phone.” He said and held out his left hand.
“Fuck you.” Brittany spat before she could pull back her words.
The black handle of the handgun was up and clocking her in the forehead faster than a viper can catch his prey. The left hand reached out again and the fingers wiggled before her face.
“Phone! Now!”
Brittany felt blood trickle down her forehead as she fumbled in her handbag for her cell phone. Thoughts tumbled through her brain as she frantically pawed through her purse. If she didn’t answer the calls coming in from her new employers, there would be hell to pay and she would be the one in hell. What else could she do, though? She had just been pistol whipped by a man that had no face, only a hoodie pulled tight, and sunglasses that covered his upper cheeks and eyes. Her fingers shook as she held out her phone. The man went to grab it, but Brittany held on.
“Please. If I don’t answer the calls that come through, I will be a dead woman walking.”
“I wouldn’t worry about any calls, lady.” He yanked the phone from her tight grasp and turned away.
Brittany sat stunned. What the hell was happening? She watched as the old woman that had questioned her handed over an old flip phone to the bully. The guy was only interested in their phones. What about their wallets, their jewelry? It didn’t make any sense.
The bus had turned around in a large parking lot and was now heading north. They were no longer on city streets, but on the 17 Interstate heading out of the Valley. The passengers were all glancing around at each other and out the windows as their homes and daily lives were being tossed into the air like a salad. None of them knew why they were in this horror or where they were going. They only knew it was not what had been planned for the day and danger was strangling them until their chests hurt, their breathing was rapid and oxygen-deprived. They were on a bus heading out of the city into the vastness of the wilds of Arizona. None of them knew where.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Donny glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to go. Bus 82 was on the outskirts of Phoenix and still in the red. He checked his boss and realized the man was once again out of his chair and heading his way. Donny rose and intercepted the man.
“Bus 82 was just having some mechanical problems. I’ve got it coming into the yard and another bus has picked up it’s route.” He stated loudly and stood right in front of the shorter man so he could not see the lit board.
“Well, good. I’m glad you got that back on track.”
Donny grabbed the man’s arm and steered him toward the break room. “Yes sir, most mornings everything runs smooth. You just never know when one of these darn buses will break down and throw a wrench into everything.” The boss balked a little bit as he was guided into the coffee area.
“You’ve done this long enough, Donny. I shouldn’t worry so much, but that’s my job, right?”
“I try and do my best not to stress you, sir.” Donny poured a cup of coffee, added two sugars and handed it to his boss.
“True, Donny.” The man accepted the coffee and then turned back toward his office.
“Sir, I have a question before you leave.” Donny stammered and coaxed his boss into staying in the break room for awhile longer.
The last thing he needed was his boss to turn around and see the red line of the wayward bus on its way out of the Valley. Quick, he thought, what to ask him.
“Well, sir…. Um…”
“Come on, Donny, spit it out. I have paperwork up my ass that needs filling out.”
“I was just wondering what is the minimum age for retirement?” He said lamely. His eyes were staring beyond his boss at the lit board. Almost, he breathed silently, almost gone from the board.
His boss laughed loudly. “You aren’t close, Donny. Too damn young to retire, son.”
“Yeah, but I already have twenty years in.” He stated in a long stall.
“Yes, and twenty more.” His boss waved and turned to leave.
Donny held his breath. Bus 82 was almost there. Come on, go faster, you bastard, Donny thought as he stared at the board. Just as his boss started to look up at the large lit board, Bus 82 disappeared. It was out of the city. Gone. Donny had made it. He glanced at the clock. One hour and fifty five minutes of hell, but now it was done. Gone! Ten thousand dollars richer! Damn! It was worth the stress. He had done it!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BOOKER AND UNO
Booker and Uno nodded to each other as the bus continued on its route. They had discovered that some of the fleet had not yet installed security cameras and the passengers on the bus were easy picking. They would bully their way onto the bus, check to see if a small, white recording device was in the front, right-hand corner and, if not, rob the riders of all their possessions. They would bring the jewelry and credit cards back to their gang leader and pocket the cash. So far it had been very lucrative.
Booker was a brawny teenager towering over people at six feet four inches. He had a broad chest and muscled shoulders, arms and neck. Spending a couple hours each day with the weights that were in their main gang hangout, he had bulked up to an intimating figure. His head was shaved bald, sporting a rattlesnake that wound around his head and seemed to perch on the top of his skull as if ready to strike. His eyes were small as was his nose and mouth, all contrary to the imposing figure he struck. His brother was the complete opposite. Small and slight in stature, he was nimble, slippery as an eel when pursued by authorities. Uno was deadly if cornered, his martial arts skills honed to kill anyone that stood in his way. His face was adorned with three tear drop tattoos beneath each brown eye; six known kills all together. He wore these proudly, and no one ever messed with him.
The pair now stood to take possession of the passenger’s belongings. As they moved into the aisle, a knife slid through Booker’s shirt and slowly punctured his skin in his lower back. He gasped and started to whirl around.
“I truly wouldn’t move.” The voice from behind spoke.
Booker tapped his brother on the shoulder and when he turned around shook his head. “Got a blade in my back.”
Uno turned and glanced behind his brother to stare hard at the hooded stranger that was slicing open Booker. “You don’t want to do that.”
“No, you do not want this blade to go any deeper, asshole. You bullied your way on this bus and now you’re in for the ride of your life.”
“What the fuck you talking about?”
“Look out the window. You see this bus running a route? You see where this bus is heading? It sure isn’t downtown, moron.”
Booker and Uno both glanced out the windows. Sure enough, houses were getting sparse, the desert already encroaching on civilization. They were heading directly north on I-17 and both glanced at each other, the first inkling of doubt showing on their faces.
“Now, give me your blades, phones and any other shit you was planning to use on these passengers.”
There was a hesitation and the knife slid in another half an inch and Booker grimaced in pain. “We’ll sit…sit down, man.” He stuttered, reaching into his pockets for his switchblade, phone and also a pair of brass knuckles that still had flecks of blood on them.
The blade was pulled out quickly, squelching with blood and tissue as it left his body. Booker slid back into the seat and carefully sat down, the fire in his back already a heavy, wet ache. Uno glanced once more at the hooded man and his eyes flashed anger and revenge.
“I also have this.” The man said and lifted his shirt to show the handgun tucked in his waistband. “So just give me your shit and sit next to your friend.”
Uno took out his phone and then a small pistol and knife. He tossed it at the stranger and then spit into his face. Quick as a striking adder, the hooded man had Booker’s knuckles on and landed a forceful punch right on Uno’s nose, busting it open so blood spilled immediately from his nostrils and the open wound.
“Come on, you little shit. You want some of me?” The man raised his fists and bounced on the balls of his feet.
“SIT DOWN!” The bus driver yelled and all motion stopped.
Everyone on the bus turned toward him and then back at the drama that had been unfolding at the back of the bus. They were already traumatized by the events of the early morning and the blood streaming down the face of the small teenager only intensified their mounting fear. The hooded man and wiry kid stared hard at each other for another twenty seconds and finally the teen yielded and slumped into the seat next to his brother. Silence seemed to bounce off the walls and deafen the twelve passengers. Their heads turned back toward the front of the bus, their movements almost robotic. No one said a word. No one glanced at another passenger. They all just sat in stunned silence staring at the passing landscape; the bus chugging its way further north up into the high desert. Their fate left to two men on Bus 82.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was an hour and a half later that the bus left the Interstate. It rumbled off a ramp that claimed no services and immediately bounced onto a rutted, dirt road. The passengers reached out and held the front of their seats as the bus dove and bucked on the dusty trail.
Within minutes the sound of the highway was gone and all that surrounded the people was creosote bushes, sage and some struggling prickly pear cactus. A vast panorama of blue sky and scrub brush for miles and miles was all they could see. There was a whimper from the little girl as she stared out at the rugged landscape that the bus crawled over.
“Mommy, I have to go potty.” The young girl wiggled in her seat. The mother cradled her close to her side and whispered something to her.
The mother turned toward the hooded man at the back. “My daughter has to use the bathroom.”
“She’ll just have to hold it.”
“What?” Indignation filled the mother’s words. “She’s seven. That is not feasible.” She started to rise, but the man was up and stalking toward her before she was even out of her seat.
“Then let her pee her pants.” He hissed, his breath hot and stale in her face.
“Jesus, man! The bathroom is right back there. Let the poor kid go.” It was the young man who seemed to have recovered from his morning stupor.
“The bathroom is out of order. No one goes in.” He spun and moved back to his seat, placing his right leg high on the seat diagonally in front of him to block any entrance to the small toilet cubicle.
Tyler glanced around for any type of container for the little girl to relieve herself. There was nothing.
He shrugged with regret at the young woman and shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t see anything she can use.” He whispered across the aisle.
Julia nodded her acceptance at this fact and then turned toward her daughter. “Can you hold on, Lizzy?”
The child’s eyes filled with big tears that spilled over onto her chubby cheeks. “Not long, Mommy.”
“Well, if you have an accident, it’s okay, honey. I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do to help you.”
“Here, Miss.” The older woman handed her a plastic bag. “It’s not much, but at least your daughter won’t embarrass herself and sit in wet underwear.”
“Thank you.” Gratitude filled her face.
“I’ll block the view from the aisle.” The young man was now standing and turned his back to the mother and daughter.
“Sit down!” The driver yelled.
“Go fuck yourself!” Tyler had had enough. “The girl needs to pee and she needs some privacy.”
The man from the back sprung from his seat and marched toward Tyler. He brandished a knife and swiped it under Tyler’s nose. “You hard of hearing?” The point nicked his cheek and a drop of blood surfaced.
“It’s okay. Please sit down, mister. I don’t want you to get hurt. I can block the aisle while I help my daughter.”
