The Easy Way Out

11

Dropping off Rachel at the apartment was the right thing to do. Though Blake played it off, they both knew that he was headed toward a potentially perilous mission. There was no sense in endangering her. On his way to the garage, his only companions were his laptop, the rigged garage door opener, and his raging anxiety.

Blake slowed when he saw Tom's Diner coming up on his right, silhouettes of customers filling the front windows. He made a left into Simon's Used Cars' dark lot, shut off the headlights, and drove past the line of familiar pre-owned cars toward the driveway at the other end of the lot.

Before descending to the garage, he stopped to steel himself. The dark rectangular cinderblock building sat silently in the lower lot like a sunken ship on the floor of the sea. In contrast to the typical daytime racket of hydraulic tools, hammers, and air guns, the night was eerily quiet.

He recalled Rachel's words. "We're not those kinds of people." It was one thing to talk about committing a crime but quite another to actually perpetrate it. He'd come this far, he may as well conduct his reconnaissance.

He coasted down the steep driveway. Despite his familiarity with the location, navigating without headlights proved challenging. It reminded him of being a kid, jumping off the dock and landing deep in murky lake water, moving in slow motion through an unfamiliar environment where you couldn't see but could feel aquatic creatures circling nearby watching you.

He drove through the vacant parking lot then to the rear of the building. He stopped the car about fifteen feet from the garage doors on a patch of gravel littered with cigarette butts.

He opened the laptop, then, with a shaky hand, pointed the remote toward the nearest ten-foot-tall, ribbed metal door. The cracking codes rolled up and down the computer screen. Neither garage door budged. He tried again with the same result.

"C'mon... C'mon," he muttered.

He closed his laptop and took a deep breath. He unplugged the USB cable, jammed the cable back into the port, and opened his laptop. He aimed the remote and squeezed.

The list of cracking codes scrolled and then the laptop beeped. INPUT DETECTED.

One of the ancient commercial garage doors shrieked as it climbed its way up the shaky rails like a screeching siren.

Motion in the shadows caught his attention. Blake noticed two figures studying him from the depths of the dark lot. He squeezed his eyes but he couldn't clearly see them. He watched, defenseless, his heart racing.

His mind went to the most likely suspects, Pat and Karas. But why weren't they moving? Where was their Lincoln? If the last image he would ever process before drawing his final breath was his windshield erupting from shotgun blasts, he wanted the satisfaction of identifying the triggermen, to put faces to his executioners. He reached for the headlight switch. The moment the beams cut the darkness, two figures charged, flying past the driver's window. The remote jumped from his hand, clattering to the floor.

He froze, unable to produce enough saliva to swallow. As he watched them in the rearview mirror, he identified the silhouettes of two deer, apparently spooked by the ear-splitting racket.

He found the remote, fumbled it, then aimed it at the garage. The door's metal ribs rattled as it descended. Blake stomped the Honda's gas pedal to the floor, desperate to evacuate the premises.

########

An hour later, he lay in bed, wired, jittery, and anxious, Rachel nestled beside him. Scattered thoughts spun through his mind.

"Babe," she said. "I don't think you should do it."

With his eyes on the ceiling, he whispered, "We're so close."

She squeezed his hand.

"If they know the garage door was opened, Damon will tell me," he said. "And if they know, that's the end of it."

"Right. But even if they don't know, you still think we should do this?"

"Why not?"

"You're the one going in there. It's totally up to you."

His chest rose and fell slowly as he exhaled a deep breath. "It would solve so many problems."

"You got until Tuesday to decide."

"If Damon says we're good, I think we should do it. I mean I should do it."

"There's a lot to think about."

He didn't respond. He'd be happier if he could stop thinking about it.

"I mean, once this goes down," Rachel said softly, "there's no way we can run."

He turned to face her.

"If we disappear," she said, "they'll know it's us. We need to live our lives just like before. The same routine, like nothing ever happened."

Before the full weight of her assessment had a chance to settle she added, "Is that gonna be a problem? With everybody freakin' out at work?"

Blake shook his head, drawing commas on the bedsheet with the tip of his finger.

"You sure?"

"Totally sure."

"When everything calms down, we quietly fade away." She kissed his cheek. "You and me."

An unexpected smile slowly drew his lips, confirmation that she'd successfully hijacked his thoughts.

"What?" she asked.

"You are so..." He kissed her. "Beautiful."

########

Seven-year-old Ashley's disposition soured when she turned from the sidewalk onto her walkway, dragging her bookbag. On the front porch with faded white paint peeling from the posts, she spotted a handsome young man chatting amiably with her mother. The man's t-shirt clung to his brawny torso with perspiration.

Seeing the little girl approaching, the man crossed the broad porch, descended the wooden steps, ruffling Ashley's hair on his way past. She was not amused.

Faye, looking uncharacteristically disheveled, swept the auburn hair from her face. Her cheeks were flushed. "Warm one today," she said to her daughter as she blotted her damp forehead with a forearm.

"Not that warm." Ashley stomped into the house.

Faye followed her daughter inside then drew a glass of water at the sink. Ashley set her book bag on the table then kicked off her shoes.

"How was school today?" She cut off her question with a long drink of water.

"Fine." She noticed that the breakfast dishes stacked on the counter hadn't been moved an inch since she left for school hours ago.

Faye dabbed the corners of her mouth with a dish towel, waiting for her daughter to expand on the topic.

Ashley did not.

"Mister Pruitt came by to fix our washing machine," Faye chirped. "Wasn't that thoughtful?"

"You're not keeping company with Mister Pruitt, are you?"

"For goodness sake, child!"

Ashley gave her mom the side-eye.

Watching her reflection in the window, Faye adjusted her hair. "A good-looking man with no money is practically useless. And he's unpredictable. You never know what he might do. It's a foolish girl who gives her heart to some no account dandy."

She went into the adjoining bathroom, leaving the door open as she recoated her lips with lipstick. "If you're going to go to all the trouble of falling in love with a man, you can just as easily pick a man of means."

"I'm never gonna fall in love with no man."

Faye dabbed a makeup brush across her eyelids. "I hope that's true, baby. Sometimes, it's hard to see it coming."