“Are you sure?” the deputy asked.
“It’s my pleasure. Thank you for your service.”
“Thank you,” the deputy said.
A moment later, he left the bakery.
“That was nice of you,” the cashier said.
“I’m a helluva guy.” I turned to Skarda. “So, Dave. See anything you like?”
“I don’t feel well.”
And he didn’t feel well again until I got him outside, into the Jeep Cherokee, and fifteen miles down the road.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I froze back there.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s just, after everything that’s happened today, seeing the deputy appear out of nowhere like that … I’m not usually that easily frightened.”
“Forget it. I wasn’t exactly calm myself, especially after I learned his name.”
“His name?”
“The deputy back there, his name was Pat Garrett. Do you believe that?”
“Who’s Pat Garrett?”
“The lawman who gunned down Billy the Kid.”
“Oh God, I’m going to be sick.”
“You know Dave, I don’t think you’re cut out for this line of work.”
We needed to eat, which was fine with Skarda as long as we didn’t leave the car, so I stopped at the first fast-food joint we found with a drive-thru window. Skarda said he felt better after consuming a couple of Quarter Pounders with Cheese, although I couldn’t say the same. Note to self, my inner voice told me. Biggest drawback about being on the run, the food sucks.
Afterward, we located a Target store, where I bought a $29.99 cell phone and a prepaid phone card with 160 minutes on it. Unfortunately, this required driving to a coffeehouse that allowed us to use an electrical outlet to charge the phone and activate it. There’s a lot to be said about hiding in plain sight, although our last brush with honest, tax-paying citizens didn’t exactly fill either of us with confidence. By then, however, Skarda was feeling better, so much so that he protested when I ordered a couple of straight-ahead black coffees. He wanted something called a caramel macchiato—when the hell did that become coffee? I turned him down, partly out of principle and partly because, after paying for the key, treating the deputy, and buying the cell phone, minutes card, fast food, and coffee—not to mention sales tax—I was down to exactly $59.35 in my pocket, a fact that I shared with Skarda.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll get your money.”
“Do I look worried?”
“I don’t know. It’s kinda hard to tell.”
“This Josie, is she your wife?”
“My sister.”
“Is she a member of your crew?”
“Yes, yes she is.”
I slid the cell phone across the table. “I think it’s time to call her. Tell her to get my money together.”
Skarda took the phone, flipped it open, and completed the call.
“Put it on speaker,” I said, and he did after first glancing around him to see if anyone else could hear.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice said.
“Josie? It’s Dave.”
“Dad said you called. Are you okay? Are you safe? Where are you?”
“Near Duluth. Have the cops been around?”
“No.”
“No?” I said.
“At least none have knocked on the door and searched the place or anything,” Josie said. “Is that Dyson?”
“Yes,” Skarda said.
“Good evening, Mr. Dyson.”
“Good evening, Ms. Skarda,” I said. “Is that correct, your last name?”
“Yes. JoEllen Skarda. My friends call me Josie.”
“May I call you Josie?”
“Please do.”
“Josie, the police have you staked out. Could be they’re watching to see if you go to your brother or he comes to you.”
“This isn’t the Cities, Mr. Dyson. There’s not a lot of people, not a lot of traffic; not a lot of places you can hang around up here and not be noticed. If we were being watched, I think we would know it.”
“Let’s pretend, for safety’s sake, that you are being watched and watched closely. Where could we meet?”
“The cabin. He’ll take you to the cabin, but I have to ask—why do we need to meet?”
“Josie, your brother owes me fifty thousand dollars. He says you’re good for it.”
“What?”
“Wait,” Skarda said. “I thought you said twenty-five thousand.”
“What?”
“I’ll accept twenty-five if you have the cash on hand,” I said, “and I don’t have to wait for it.”
“What are you talking about?” Josie asked.
I leaned away from the table and gestured at the cell. Skarda took that as his cue to explain himself. When he finished, he said, “We’ll pay him off at the cabin, okay, sis?”
“Are you sure?”
“Kinda between a rock and a hard place, you know?”
Josie sighed deeply. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you there. When?”
“Two hours. Maybe a little less.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Love you, sis.”
“Love you, too.”
“Josie,” I said.
“Yes, Mr. Dyson?”
“I don’t have to threaten you, do I?”
She paused for a moment and said, “No, Mr. Dyson.”