The Hardest Thing by James Lear

Author:James Lear
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2013-05-16T22:00:00+00:00

The Abduction 8

Buffalo, Cleveland, Chicago, the west…

That’s what I said. Wasn’t it? Well, we made it as far as Buffalo.

Jody mellowed out after our little bathroom interlude. Any jealous suspicions he’d been harboring about Kenny seemed to have been soothed by ten inches of Viking dick up his ass. As for me, I’m not the jealous type. Never had the chance to be. Maybe if I’d seen another officer making a move on Will Laurence, I’d have killed him—but at the time my only fear was being found out. And now? How did I feel watching the man I was beginning to love get ploughed in a grungy gas station? Pass. Next question. It’s hard to feel jealous when your dick’s up someone else’s ass. The only regret I had was that we’d wasted time. I don’t like digressions. I like to stick to the plan. What happened back there was gratuitous.

But hell, we might both die tomorrow.

We drove for hours, well into the night. I should have been tired—Jody was asleep within twenty minutes— but I was wide awake, and while I felt that way I wanted to put a couple of hundred miles behind me. I do my best thinking when I’m driving. I like the distraction of the road, the mechanical business of accelerator and brakes—and, in the case of this old rust-bucket, stick shift. If the practical part of my brain is engaged, the other stuff just works itself out nicely.

I had two objectives: stay alive, and get revenge on the bastards who tried to kill us. The first one was fine; I had a much better chance of survival if I got as far out of Marshall’s reach as possible. As for the second—well, I didn’t have a fucking clue. What would you do? Get tooled up like Rambo and go blasting into the offices of Marshall Land wearing an oil-stained vest? “Eat lead, motherfuckers,” bang, crash, roll credits? Fine, go ahead. But like I said, I have a taste for liberty. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life on death row.

So I thought—Chicago. Big city, and I had a couple of old service buddies out that way. People who would put me up for a couple of nights, not ask too many questions—even if I was with Jody. Tough guys, like me. Useful if there was trouble. Talk to the Chicago cops, put Jody under their protection.

Establish base. Consolidate forces. Plan and execute.

Textbook stuff.

And then my mind wandered as I drove through the night, heading toward Albany where I’d pick up Route 90. We’d sleep somewhere—a rest area, a parking lot, didn’t matter—and set off as soon as I’d found coffee. Probably sounds like hell to some people, but it’s familiar territory to me. Roughing it is sleeping in the open, under fire. A truck with doors and seats? Luxury.

What would be better than that? A bed, yeah, okay. A bed and a bathroom and a door with a lock. Peace and privacy.

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