Dead Wrong (9 page)

“Can I do anything to help?” the mom asked.

“Maybe.” Lynnette looked at the woman’s face, crossed her fingers and hoped she carried all that makeup in her purse. “My bruises. Do you have anything that will cover them?”

“Oh, sure.” The woman opened her bag, dug around until she’d produced liquid foundation, eye shadow and mascara.

A female janitor with ROSA embroidered on her pocket strolled in and unlocked a supply closet near the exit. An oversized black trash bag tumbled out. She dragged it toward the door and propped it against the wall. Rosa pulled a bottle of spray liquid cleaner from the closet, took a handful of paper towels, and wiped down the sinks. When she glanced at the two women in the mirror and saw the image of Lynnette’s face, she set her cleaner and towels on the counter and stared. “Oh, baby, that’s a man that deserves some serious punishment. I hope you runnin’ away.”

“Yeah. He’s out there now,” Lynnette said. “He thinks I’m in the station, but he doesn’t know for sure. I don’t know what to do.”
Why did I lie?
Lynnette swallowed the temptation to spill the whole story. Time was running out. Any minute, the fat man might convince the cop to check out the restroom.

“Honey, the Lord must have sent us in here at this very minute just to get you out of trouble. You two hurry up and get that mess on her face covered up.”

It only took a few minutes, but by the time they were finished, Lynnette looked like a different person. Except for the puffy eye. She didn’t know what she could do about that. Wearing her sunglasses inside would be way too obvious. The bags were a different matter. She explained her idea to the two women as she placed her carry-on and the laptop case on the counter.

Within seconds, she’d transferred most of her clothes and toiletries into her laundry bag and handed it to Rosa. Lynnette stowed the fat man’s case inside the carry-on and zipped it closed, fastening the locks with garbage bag ties as she usually did. She realized at the last moment that red yarn marked the handles of her black luggage. He might have noticed. Lynnette picked at the knots until the yarn came free, set the carry-on on the floor, and stuffed the yarn in the trash can. Rosa put the laundry bag on the floor under the towel dispenser.

Lynnette dug around inside the bag until she found her bottle of Tums. She shook four into her hand and chewed them all at once. After tossing the bottle back inside, she entered one of the stalls and sat on the toilet with her head in her hands, leaving the other two women to watch her things. She had to admit, she didn’t have the slightest idea how to get away from the fat guy.

She retrieved a pair of jeans, another shirt and sweater, a red-hooded sweatshirt, and her brown Reeboks from the laundry bag. Extra underwear and socks went into her purse. She changed as fast as she could, adding layers to plump up her lean body, knowing she had to get out of there in a hurry.

The image in the mirror frightened her. Her swollen eye stood out like a neon sign flashing, “Look, look,” even with her hood covering her head. If she pulled it too far over her face, she’d call even more attention to herself, especially with all the makeup.

“I have an idea,” Rosa said. “I got that whole big bag of mops that I already took off the handles, and now they need toting outdoors to the curb for the laundry truck. Hold that bag up so’s the man can’t see your face, walk out the door, and then take off like your pants was on fire.

“Look at you,” she continued. “Don’t you have a coat? That little sweatshirt ain’t gonna keep you warm enough once the sun goes down.”

“I know. I don’t have a coat. I thought I was going to California, not Colorado.” What she said sounded stupid, as though she’d jumped on the wrong plane, or jumped off a bus in the wrong city. She sighed. “It would take too long to explain.”

Rosa returned to her supply closet and took a purple ski jacket with dirty cuffs from the wall hook. “I got this one. It ain’t fancy, but it’ll keep you warm. There’s gloves in the pocket too. You take it.”

“I can’t do that. You’ll need your coat.”

“Nah, this is my old one. I’ll call my old man and tell him to bring my new one when he picks me up.” She pushed the old jacket at Lynnette. “I mean it now. You put this on and then git that bag out to the curb.”

“What about my carry-on?”

“I’ll take it,” the mom said. “I’ll walk across the station to the other side and go on out the door.” She pointed toward the direction she’d take, then she pointed the other direction, toward the side of the station where the buses parked, and moved her arm in an arc to show Lynnette where to go. “When you get outside, you trot around the corner, grab your suitcase, and head downtown.”

“Your kids—”

“They’re okay. They’re with my sister. And look, I have plenty more makeup at home. You better keep this stuff.” She shoved a bottle of liquid makeup and a plastic case with four shades of eye shadow into Lynnette’s hands.

Rosa’s plan seemed too simple to Lynnette. Surely the fat man wouldn’t be fooled, but what else could she do? She thanked Rosa and the mom, and stashed the makeup in a zippered section of her bag. Grabbing Rosa’s hand, Lynnette pulled the hood up, hooked her purse strap over her head and across her shoulder, and put on the jacket. With her hands in the gloves and the mop bag propped on her left shoulder, her right arm across her face, she left the restroom, adding her own final touch to her disguise. She limped across the station with the stiff gait of someone with one bum knee. She didn’t look for the fat guy until she was on the sidewalk.

By the time she reached the front of the station, the mom was waiting. Lynnette peered around the corner to make sure the fat man hadn’t spotted her. She dropped the bag of mops at the curb, put her arm around the mom’s shoulders and gave her a hug. “What’s your name?” she asked. “I can’t let you go without knowing your name.”

“Ann. Yours?”

“Lynnette.”

“Good luck, Lynnette. Now go.”

Lynnette took the handle of her carry-on and headed toward the 16
^th
Street Mall. She figured it wouldn’t be a good place to hang out for long, not in the middle of the night. But she also couldn’t go to the nearest hotel. Even if they’d take her, looking the way she did—like a tramp who should be sleeping at a shelter. A shelter! She’d bet her bottom dollar she’d find a shelter for the homeless in downtown Denver. Would she find one that wasn’t already full? Maybe she’d get lucky. She walked a little faster.

While Sammy waited for the guard to send someone into the restroom to look for Lynnette Hudson, he turned and checked out each person in the waiting room. Satisfied, he watched the door of the women’s restroom, sure he would recognize her if she came out, even more positive he’d recognize his laptop case.

A woman and two kids had gone in earlier. They came out, but the woman left her kids with someone else and returned to the bathroom. Then a janitor went in. Someone with a limp came out with a big trash bag. Then that woman who’d been with the kids earlier came strutting out wheeling a carry-on bag and walked out the front door.

What the hell?
Sammy turned to check out the kids. They stood in line by the boarding door. He glanced toward the front door, frowned, then watched the ticket counter clerk stroll across the waiting area and enter the restroom. Within a few seconds, the clerk returned with the janitor and joined the security guard, who now leaned against the ticket counter.

Twisting around the other way so he could see better, Sammy watched the three as they talked. The guard turned once and pointed toward Sammy, and they all stared at him for a minute. The janitor shook her head and returned to the restroom. Sammy faced the front doors just as the woman who’d been with the kids walked back into the station. She no longer pulled the carry-on suitcase behind her.

“Son of a bitch!” Sammy yelled as he jumped up. “You,” he screamed at the woman as she walked past, “I need to talk to you.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the guard run in his direction. He noticed the shocked expression on the woman’s face. He felt cold. His hand throbbed. When he glanced down, he saw his fingernails were blue. An odd sensation like a huge rubber band snapping across his upper back took his breath away and melted his legs. He tried to grab for the bench as he went down, but his hand went numb. The last thing he saw was Hudson’s laptop case, which rested a couple of inches from his nose.

Denver, Colorado
Thursday, January 23

A strange assortment of people congregated in the darkness outside the front doors of the women’s shelter, most sucking on cigarettes, most underdressed for the chill that had crept into the air at sundown. A little old lady in a sassy red beret, stained sweatpants and sweatshirt, and battered tennis shoes chatted with a younger woman whose layered dress, slacks, shirts, and sweaters made her body look rotund even though her face and neck were scrawny. The younger one leaned against her grocery cart full of trash bags and shook her finger at the red beret. The little old lady backed away and disappeared through the shelter doors.

Lynnette stepped away from the shadow of a nearby building where she’d lingered to see if the fat man had followed her. He had not. She guessed he’d check the downtown hotels first. Limping again, she crossed the street toward the shelter, her purse strap over her neck and shoulder and gripped tightly by her left hand. She pulled her carry-on behind her. Once inside the shelter, she’d stay out of sight in case he showed up later. With her wig and makeup, he’d be less likely to spot her, especially if she kept her purse and suitcase out of sight.

The shelter looked nothing like she had imagined. Two desks sat by the entrance, one at either side of the door. One large room lay beyond the desks. Cots filled three-quarters of the room, most less than six inches apart. Lynnette guessed thirty or forty of them. A woman with a pillow and a blanket occupied each cot.

Carts and baskets on wheels filled much of the remaining space, some parked next to the women who slept on the floor. A few rested on thick mats while others sat on benches set against the walls. Others waited in lines at what appeared to be restrooms. It was quiet considering the number of people in the room.

This is unbelievable.
She had expected maybe a dozen or so homeless in a shelter. She glanced around. There had to be more than fifty women in that room. A female security guard strolled through the area, her hands clasped behind her back.

Lynnette didn’t have to say anything as she approached a lady who sat at one of the front desks and shook her head. “No beds. We’re full.” She waved toward the packed facility to indicate the truth behind her words.

Lynnette pointed toward the area where women slept on the floor “What about there?”

“We’re out of mats. You’d have to sleep on the floor.” She looked Lynnette over, her gaze lingering for a moment on the wig, glanced at her purse and her carry-on, then finally studied Lynnette’s face. “Shouldn’t you be at the safehouse? They’ll come get you if I give them a call.”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that. I just need to get out of the cold for a few hours, ’til my bus leaves in the morning. If I can use the restroom, rest over there on the floor, I’ll be out of here in no time.”

“No smoking inside,” the lady said. “No talking or loud noises. Watch your stuff or it’ll be gone. There’s water and coffee in the back. If you’re still here at five, we pass out muffins and bagels.”

Lynnette nodded. “There aren’t any kids here.”

“Family shelters are separate.” The lady didn’t volunteer any additional information.

Lynnette got in one of the restroom lines. She received a few curious looks from others as she passed, still towing her carryon, but no one spoke to her. By the time she came out, very little space remained. With her arm around her carry-on and her purse stuffed between her suitcase and her stomach, Lynnette rested on her side as far toward the rear of the room as she could get. With a couple of grocery carts blocking her view of the doors, she felt hidden and unlikely to attract attention. She was restless, worried about whether Grace was safe with Blue. When she closed her eyes, the smell reminded her of a women’s locker room after a losing game. Soft weeping, unwashed body odor, an air of defeat and humiliation. Lynnette fell asleep within minutes, in spite of her tears.

Los Angeles, California
Thursday, January 23

Benny Ortega woke with a start and checked his watch. He’d dozed off in the hotel room’s easy chair while waiting to hear from Fat Ass Sammy Grick.
Grick the Prick. Where was he?
He should have shown up more than an hour ago. Benny checked his phone to see if he’d had any messages, wondering if he’d slept through a phone call. Nothing. A call to Sammy went straight to voice mail.

Something’s wrong.
Benny called his techie guru in Miami.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me,” Benny said. “I need to know where my guy is.”

“Uh, what time is it?”

“What difference does it make? This is urgent.”

“Okay. I got it. Hang on. I need to bring up the tracking program.”

Benny paced the room as he waited. Three minutes passed. Four. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.

“Okay, okay. I got it. He’s in Denver.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Hang on, maybe I can get a fix on his exact location.”

Again Benny waited.

“Here it comes,” the tracker said. “He’s moving along 16
^th
Street in downtown Denver. The log says he was at the bus station before that.”

“Stay on it. I want to know every step that son of a bitch takes. I’ll get back to you.”

Benny hung up and dialed the phone again. “Getz, where are you? Didn’t I tell you to be here before Sammy Grick shows up?”

“I am here, Mr. Ortega. I’m in the lobby. Do you want me to come up?”

“Damn it, doesn’t anybody listen to me? Didn’t I tell you I wanted you to be here when Sammy arrived?”

“Yes, sir. I thought you meant here in the building. Surely you don’t want me to handle this in your room.”