The Gambit (14 page)

“I can’t just take that. You stole it. How much is that?” I heard curiosity in his voice.

“Well, apparently, it’s more than you make in a year. Twenty-thousand dollars.”

He began choking on air, or maybe saliva. He coughed until he regained composure.

“Larry, this is not blood money. No one died when I took this today. It is yours. Think of it as a thank you for helping me. Now, on the other hand, if you turn me in, and if they
were
to give you that money, which I highly doubt—
that
would be blood money.”

I sensed some form of understanding from what I had just said. It made sense to him.

“Take it,” I demanded and pushed the money closer to him.

He walked into the back and came back out with a laundry bag. He put the two bundles inside and quietly made my keys. He handed them to me and looked me straight in the eyes. This time,
without
fear.

“Breakfast starts at six and ends at ten. Our restaurant is limited. I could heat up a pizza for you later.”

He was so calm it was almost disturbing. I wondered if he would betray me.

“Larry, you promise that you’ll keep your word, only if it be for tonight? Tomorrow you can rat me out, I don’t care. Just let me sleep tonight, please.”

He blinked and pursed his lips. I saw a smile emerge, and he nodded.

“Checkout is at ten, Mr. Smith.”

I took the keys and returned his nod. I walked out of registration and looked down at my key packet. Room 107. First floor. I wandered around the perimeter of the property and followed the numbers until I found mine.

As I opened the door, I smelled the faint smell of cigarette smoke. The linens were outdated, and so was the room…but it was perfect. I plopped down on the king bed and put the money in the safe that was sitting in the closet. The black, blank screen of the TV faced me, and I could see my reflection in it. The irony was, that even if I were to turn it on—I would still be able to see myself…

I awoke, still bundled up in my riding jacket. The room was too warm, and I could feel sweat on my chest and back. I unzipped it and freed myself from the restricting clothes. I glanced down at my watch—7:46 p.m. I had passed out for a little over two hours. I needed the rest, though. Robbing the bank had drained all my energy.

My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten in twelve hours.

“Our restaurant is limited. I can heat up a pizza for you later
.”

I recalled Larry’s earlier statement in the lobby.

Judging by the motel, the food would most likely be mediocre…but with my predicament, it would be safer not to go out in public.

I had no clothes besides what I was wearing. Only my riding gear, helmet, and 100K. I walked to the safe and knelt down. I took out twenty or so of the hundred dollar bills. After what happened during registration, I might need it for bribery again.

I left my room and shuddered at how cold it was outside. The sky was empty, and a breeze blew every few seconds. When I neared the lobby, I peered through the glass to see if anyone was inside—no one. The parking lot was barren. Everything seemed low-risk, which was what I was aiming for. It then struck me that Larry must have kept his promise. No feds. I sighed in relief.

I entered from the side door, and when I approached the counter, there was no one. I cleared my throat to signal my arrival. Larry walked out from the back office and came to the desk.

“How can I help you, Mr. Smith?” he asked, smiling.

I couldn’t help but to return his grin.

“At check-in, you mentioned something about a pizza.”

“Yes, are you hungry?”

“
Very,
” I answered.

“I can do pepperoni or cheese. They are ten dollars each.”

With all this cash, the price wasn’t a factor.

“Here is a hundred,” I put it on the counter and smirked. “Keep the change.”

Larry shook his head in disbelief. “You’re too kind.”

“No, honestly, it’s the least I can do to repay you.”

“With everything you already have given me, now I feel like I’m the one who owes
you
.”

I dismissed his statement. “No, of course not. Don’t worry. It’s well appreciated.”

“So…about that pizza,” he laughed.

“I’ll take cheese.”

He grabbed the hundred. “It’ll be about fifteen minutes. I’ll bring it out to you. The restaurant area is right around the corner.” He pointed to my left.

I walked towards the restaurant, in the direction he indicated, and I saw the floral carpet begin. It was old, faded, and stained. The dining room was more like a hallway—shaped like a lowercase L. The chairs and tables were a stained faux-mahogany. A few of them had paint peeling off of the legs. I sat down in a two-top table, facing the doorway from which I had come.

A table across from me, an old Asian woman sat with her back against the wall at a four-top table. It was as if she was waiting for her family to join her for dinner…but by the looks of this motel, I doubted that was the case.

I sat in silence for minutes. I had the urge to pull out my phone, maybe go on Facebook or text someone. I had nothing but money. Which was useless, when all I felt was alone. The Asian woman had a plate in front of her, and there was nothing but pizza crust on it. She glanced over at me and smiled. I saw a few of her teeth were yellowish, and one was missing. I returned her smile. She was wearing nylon purple sweatpants and a vibrant green windbreaker. It looked like the eighties had regurgitated all of its worst fashion onto this woman. Then again, it might have been all she was able to afford. This
was
Post-Confinement America we were living in.

There was a TV in the corner of the restaurant. The channels were changing, and I noticed she was holding a small black remote in her left hand.

Suddenly, Larry came around the corner with a steaming pizza. He set it down in front of me and laid a roll of silverware beside the plate.

“Holler if you need me,” he said.

I nodded at him with a smile.

Disregarding the silverware, I ate the pizza with my hands. I spent the past year and a half eating at formal dinner parties, with so much silverware on each side of the plate I had to have Cole help me distinguish which were to be used. It was reminiscent of college—pizza. With the first bite I realized Larry wasn’t lying when he had offered to ‘
heat up
’ a pizza for me. This was not made fresh, but rather popped into an oven. Regardless, it was enough to satiate my rumbling stomach.

The channel switched to a newscast. I glanced up and saw CNN. I slowed my eating.

“…Owen Marina was last seen by the police chopper getting off of I-95 and heading west on I-40, towards Raleigh. Authorities are saying he is most likely hiding out somewhere in that area. Please remember to call 1-888-FIND HIM. The FBI is offering a fifty-thousand dollar reward for his capture…”

I swallowed hard. The pizza slid down my throat.

The Asian lady turned to me, blinking, and then turned back to the TV. She turned to me
again
, and this time pointed at me. My heart raced, and then she moved her index finger towards the TV, and back to me again. A complete stranger now knew
who
I was. I couldn’t just sit back and watch her have this realization without
saying
anything.

I stood up, left my half-eaten pizza, and sat down in the seat diagonal to her. She stared straight at me, expressionless. Being so close, I could now see her in detail. Her skin resembled a grape that had pruned out in the sun all day. She had full cheeks and olive-colored skin. She then pointed at the TV once more and nodded to me. As if she was silently saying, “
Look, it’s you
.”

This time,
I
pointed at the TV, and then back at myself.

“I didn’t do it,” I said. “I am innocent.”

She didn’t respond. Just stared at me, blinking. Through her narrow eyes, I couldn’t tell if she had even absorbed what I said.

“Do you understand me?” I asked her slowly, pronouncing every word individually.

She laughed. “Just because I Asian doesn’t mean I don’t know English. Dumb white boy.”

I couldn’t help but display a shocked look with her response. I felt bad.

“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have assumed so quickly.”

She cackled. Her old voice cracked with each laugh. She sounded like a long-time smoker. She didn’t respond. Just looked back up at the TV for a moment, staring at the video of me on I-95 and the photo from my license in the corner of the screen.

She pointed at the screen again, then turned to me and suddenly placed her hand on top of mine on the table. I had an urge to pull back, but she leaned in towards me. With her free hand, she used her index finger to tap my chest, right around my heart.

“
God
has
eyes
,” she whispered, stretching out the words.

I was speechless. She nodded behind her in the direction of the TV.

“They bad people.
Same
people who took us from our homes. You…
You
good.”

I shook my head. I didn’t understand.

“How? How do you know I’m good?”

She threw her hands up in a shrug, smiling.

“Because I know!” she cackled once again, her voice raspy.

“What does that mean? God has eyes…”

She came in closer to me again.

“When I was little girl, I live in California. My parents came with me from Laos. Father always say to me,
‘God has eyes
,
Laura.’
I never understand. Then, one day, I come home from school and homeless man ask me for money. I have no money. I was ten, maybe. But, I have lunchbox with extra food from school. I give him my food.”

I listened intently to her story. Through her broken English, I sensed a lifetime of wisdom behind her rough appearance.

She paused.

“I get home. My dad was on porch. He saw what I did. He saw I gave my food. Then, he point to homeless man eating on street. He smiled, and say, ‘Now you understand, Laura?
God has eyes
. God
sees
through your eyes. When young, the soul pure. God does work through the young.’”

My mouth was agape. I had no words.

“What, am I that ugly?” she asked, laughing at my sudden stupor.

“No, no—what you said. It was so deep.”

She rested her hand on top of mine again.

“The ocean deep, too. Remember, most people drown in water too deep. They scared to go away from shallow water. They see the horizon but will never know what lies past.”

Confused from her riddle, my face contorted.

“What do those words mean to me?”

With her hand still on mine, she lifted her index finger to point at the TV.

“What they say on the news. That is shallow water. If someone were to shine a light, they would see under the surface is lies. Their water not deep enough to hide truth for long.”

“With all due respect, Laura, I think their water is deep enough to sink me to the bottom of the ocean and I’d never be seen again.”

She shook her head no.

“You don’t get it. It may
seem
like they have lots of water. Like a whole ocean…but, it’s all shallow. They spread their water too thin.”

“Hmm…” I mumbled.

“Owen, right?” she asked.

“Shh—not so loud.”

Her raspy voice cracked in laughter. “What, you worried about local hooker telling on you?” her smile was so wide it revealed her deteriorating teeth.

“No,” I laughed, “I’m just trying to be careful.”

Her eyes became softer.

“Owen…” This time, her voice was lower.

“Yes,” I murmured back.

“I remember when you first came on TV. Your nice suit and excitement in eyes. Our country had many problem. You came on stage like you had answer—a secret you had to share.”