Chapter 7
It was one-thirty in the morning.
The storm passed, and the star-filled night peeked through the clouds. The Orlando streets were empty and quiet, with an occasional car that appeared.
Joey wore his hat while he moped down the sidewalk, exhausted with his backpack on his back. He didn’t know where he was going – he’s just wandered down the Orlando in a dazed state of mind.
He walked a little farther down the sidewalk and saw the “Florida Turnpike” signs for North and South ramps up ahead about one hundred feet.
He stopped and thought for a second. Then it dawned on him. He knew where he could hide to have the time to sort things out.
Joey looked, and he saw a Shell station nearby with a dumpster with cardboard boxes by the side of its building.
He rushed over there.
At the dumpster, he grabbed a cardboard box and ripped off part of it.
He removed his backpack, unzipped the side pocket, and removed a pen. He was a geek, so he always kept a couple of pens in his backpack.
He scribbled “Columbus, Georgia” on the cardboard.
Then something bugged Joey. He removed his wallet and looked at the cash he had – twenty-two dollars. He frowned and wondered what to do. He looked at his ATM card. He had to take a chance.
Joey walked into the Shell station and avoided eye contact with the young male clerk behind the counter.
The clerk could care less about Joey as he wished he were at his friend’s party instead of working the night shift.
Joey walked over the ATM and inserted his card. He removed two hundred dollars and shoved it in his wallet.
He rushed out of the store.
He stood by the street and removed his iPhone. He started to make a phone call then he decided he better not because they might trace his call.
He saw a payphone at the corner of the Shell station.
He reached back inside his pocket. No change.
He went back to the Shell station and bought a bottle of water and got some change.
He went back outside and rushed over to the payphone.
He removed his iPhone and opened up his address book. He looked up the phone number for Wally.
He deposited some coins and made a call.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not available. Please leave a message,” said Wally’s answering machine followed by a beep.
“Wally, it’s Joey. I’m on my way to see you and should be there in the morning if I can catch a ride. I screwed up big time and need a place to stay until I sort things out.”
Thirty minutes later, Joey still wore his hat while he sat along the Florida Turnpike North entrance ramp, with his backpack behind him. He looked ever so depressed and ready to nod off at a moments notice.
A car drove down the street and turned down the entrance ramp. Joey flashed his “Columbus, Georgia” cardboard sign at the car.
The car raced up the ramp.
Another car drove down the road, turned into the ramp. The car drove through a puddle of dirty water. It splashed all over Joey, then the car raced up the ramp without a worry in the world.
Joey put down his sign, reached behind and unzipped his backpack. He removed a shirt and wiped off the water from his clothes.
He shoved it back in his backpack and zipped it up.
He sat there like it was the end of the world.
It was two-thirty in the morning.
Joey sat in the grass along the entrance ramp to the Florida Turnpike, droopy-eyed and dried from his previous encounter with that puddle.
His Columbus, Georgia signed was propped up against his knee and backpack behind him. He dozed off.
A Peterbilt semi-truck with trailer, dirty from a week on the road with trucker girl mudflaps, drove down the street.
It slowed down and pulled into the ramp.
The Peterbilt drove up to the ramp and stopped by Joey.
The passenger door read “Howard Bronson’s Trucking Service.”
The passenger door opened and Howard, fifty-five years old, pot-bellied good old country boy, with Georgia twang accent, appeared as he leaned over the passenger seat.
“Hey buddy, I’m going to Columbus. Hop on in,” Howard offered with a friendly smile.
Joey looked relieved as he saw Howard with a friendly smile on his face.
He jumped up, climbed up, and got inside the Peterbilt. Joey closed the passenger door.
Howard drove his truck up to the ramp to the turnpike.
Joey didn’t realize he left his backpack behind in the grass.
“My name is Howard Bronson,” he said while he shoved his hand at Joey to shake as he drove his truck up to the ramp to the turnpike.
“I’m, ah, I’m, ah…” Joey hesitated for a second to figure out an alias while he looked at Howard. “I’m Ian Moody,” he said then shook Howard’s hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ian Moody,” Howard said with a good old boy warm smile.
Joey rested his head against the door window and looked depressed.
Howard glanced over at Joey and noticed.
“You don’t look like a typical hitchhiker. What’s your story?” Howard asked curiously.
Joey stared out the window for a second, looked back at Howard. “I lost my job and girlfriend, so I'm going to Columbus to stay with my uncle. Hopefully, I'll find a job and new life,” Joey told him.
Howard felt sorry for Joey.
“I know what you mean. It's a dog eat dog world out there. But we're lucky it's not a dog sniff dog's butt world out there.”
Howard slapped Joey’s thigh while he laughed. Joey jumped up startled then stared out his window.
“Don't worry kid. Everything has a way of working out for the best,” Howard said with a reassuring tone in his voice.
Joey looked at Howard, forced out a smile. He stared out his window and watched the Florida countryside as Howard drove down the turnpike. Then his eyes widened as he remembered he forgot his backpack.
“Ah, man!” Joey said.
“What’s the matter?” said looking concerned.
“I left my backpack on the ramp.”
“We can get off this exit up ahead and go back and get it. I have plenty of time,” Howard offered.
Joey was about to agree, but a Florida State Trooper car passed the truck in the left lane.
The Trooper moved into the right lane in front of Howard’s truck.
The Trooper turned on his right turn signal and headed to the exit up ahead.
“Nah. That’s all right. I can get a new backpack in Columbus. I had nothing but old clothes in it, and I could use some new ones anyway,” Joey said as he watched the Trooper’s car drive down the exit.
“If that’s what you want,” Howard said then reached over and turned on his radio and Clint Black’s song Heartaches played.
“Here come those heartaches again…” Howard sang along with Clint.
Howard lifted his left butt cheek and farted. It was a thunderous and smelly fart that filled the cab of Howard’s truck. “Woohoo! Where did that barking spider come from?” Howard said then bellowed out a huge laugh.
Joey pinched off his nose, looked out his passenger window. His eyes welled up, hating his new life.
Back at the Florida Turnpike entrance ramp where Joey sat, an Orlando police car stopped on the ramp where Joey’s backpack laid in the grass.
The police officer turned on his lights.
The officer got out of the car, walked over, and checked out Joey’s backpack.
He saw Joey’s nametag with the address on it. He picked up Joey’s backpack and walked it back to his car.
He got inside and backed his car down the ramp.
He backed into the street and drove off.
Back in Howard’s truck, Joey rested his head against his seat. His eyes drooped, as he’s exhausted from being a fugitive all day. His eyes closed, and he slept.
A few minutes later, Joey had a dream.
Joey’s dream…
It was night in some city in America.
A dumpster was in an alley behind a strip mall.
Inside the dumpster, was Joey, now forty-five years old. He had long black greasy hair with long stringy beard. He wore clothes he got out of the Salvation Army five years ago. He hadn’t bathed in four months as being homeless makes it difficult to find a shower every day.
Joey searched through the dumpster for his evening's meal. “Alright!” Joey yelled, and it echoed a little inside the dumpster. He found a half-eaten roast beef sub from Subway. He gulped the sub down.
Joey climbed out of the dumpster, satisfied that he found something to eat.
Joey walked down the rear of the strip mall. He saw a pile of old newspapers by the door of a store. Joey rummaged through the collection of newspapers. His eyes widen in fear when he saw a four-day-old newspaper with “ORLANDO BANK ROBBER STILL SOUGHT BY POLICE” headlines with the picture of him in the Sun Trust drive-thru.
A bullet zinged by Joey’s feet.
He looked down the strip mall and saw a police officer with his revolver aimed at Joey. The officer fired his revolver, and another bulled zinged by Joey’s head and missed him by inches.
He turned and ran down the alley. Bullets zinged around Joey’s holey shoes while he ran away.
Joey ran to the corner of the strip mall. He rounded the corner, and there was a truck that drove straight at Joey. He was inches from being killed.
Back to reality…
Joey screamed. Howard jumped out of his seat, startled. He looked over at Joey.
“What’s wrong?” he said concerned again.
Joey looked around, and for a few seconds, he didn’t know where he was. Then he saw they were close to Gainesville exit 382 of the Turnpike. Reality returned. “I had a dream I was a homeless bum,” Joey said and then wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“My boy, Rodney, lost his job last year at some chemical plant up in Mobile, Alabama. He was unemployed for nine months until another chemical plant in Mobile hired him. You’ll find a job. Don’t worry,” Howard said.
Howard pondered for a second, then his eyes widen with an idea. “I’ll have a talk with Chuck Roland over at Toms Foods in Columbus. He’s a super guy. He’ll find you something,” Howard said as he patted Joey’s shoulder for comfort.
“Thanks,” Joey said.
Joey closed his eyes and slept.
It was eight in the morning back in Orlando.
Angie arrived at her desk with a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato in hand.
She sat down and opened up her laptop. She took a sip of Macchiato while she hit the power button on the laptop.
On the desk was a framed picture of her seven-year-old daughter Lela and forty-year-old husband, Wayne. It was a snapshot of a great family day at Disney.
Angie sipped her Macchiato while she checked her email.
A female deputy walked up to Angie with two pieces of papers in hand.
“Austin accessed an ATM machine thirty minutes after robbing the bank at a Publix. Then he accessed another ATM last night at a Shell station near one of the Florida Turnpike ramps,” the deputy informed Angie.
“He put the loot in his bank account by way of an ATM?” Angie said and thought that was odd, but criminals often do strange things.
“No, he removed forty dollars at the Publix,” the deputy, replied. The deputy reread the papers. “He also removed two hundred dollars in cash from the Shell station,” she added.
“What? That doesn’t make any sense,” Angie said while she grabbed the bank statement out of the deputy’s hand.
Angie read the papers. “Why would a guy rob a bank of forty thousand dollars, then go to the ATM and withdrawal two hundred and forty dollars of his own money? It doesn’t make sense,” Angie said then looked baffled and continued to read the papers.
“Plus he has a checking account balance of fifteen thousand and six hundred and eight three dollars,” she said then read some more. “And over forty thousand in his savings account,” she said then put the paper down and pondered for a second. “Why would he need to rob a bank?” she said and tried to understand his motive.
“Maybe that’s how he got all that money? By robbing banks,” the female deputy said.
Angie looked at the paper again. “No. Weekly deposits from his employer,” she said.
“That is strange,” the female deputy said then remembered the other paper in her hand. “Oh, here are Austin’s cell phone records. The only calls he made was to a pizza delivery place last night,” The deputy said then handed Angie another the paper. “They said they didn’t deliver any pizza to his apartment. But two hang-ups at that time,” she added.
Angie read the records. “Let me know if he makes any more calls,” she requested. The female deputy nodded she would and walked away.
A male deputy walked up to Angie with Joey’s backpack in hand.
“The Orlando PD found this by a turnpike north entrance ramp,” the deputy said while he put Joey’s backpack on Angie’s desk.
Angie looked the backpack over and saw “Property of Joey Austin, 5692 Lee Ave, Orlando, Florida” tag.
She unzipped the backpack and removed Joey’s clothes and shirt with mud stains. She looked bothered. “He’s probably running north,” she said.
“Or it could be a diversion,” the male deputy said.
“How’s that?” Angie asked curiously.
“He used his credit card at a local hotel last night,” the male deputy replied.
Angie looked curious.
Way north of Orlando, Howard drove his semi down I-75 north near Valdosta, Georgia.
Joey slept with his head against the window. His mouth is open, and drool dripped down to his shirt and left a huge wet spot.
Howard leaned over and shook Joey's arm. “Rise and shine sleepyhead,” Howard said.
Joey jumped up, dazed and confused. “Where the am I?” he asked.
“Near Valdosta, Georgia,” Howard replied.
Then reality sunk in, as Joey remembered his life was still screwed up. Joey felt the wetness of his drool on his shirt. He looked down and frowned at his old habit.
“Want some breakfast? It's my treat,” Howard offered.
Joey’s stomach growled, and Howard heard it.
“I take that as a yes,” Howard chuckled and drove his semi-truck down exit 16’s ramp.
Thirty minutes later, inside the Big Foot Travel Center.
Howard and Joey sat at the counter of the restaurant.
Joey wolfed down his ham, bacon and cheese omelet.
Howard watched as he drank his cup of coffee and munched on a piece of bacon that came with his scrambled eggs.
“Sakes alive. You sure are hungry,” Howard told Joey.
Joey smiled in agreement as this omelet sure hit the spot.
A Georgia State Trooper, Bob Walker, forty-year-old, good ole boy with Georgia accent. Bob was six-four with a crew cut and two hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle.
He walked up to Howard and Joey.
“Hey Howard,” he said while he slapped Howard’s shoulder.
Bob watched as Joey finished his breakfast.
Joey chewed on a piece of bacon while he turned around and saw Bob. He choked.
Bob patted Joey on his back. “Take it, easy boy,” he told Joey.
“How's it going, Howard? Haven't seen you around lately?” Bob asked as he looked at Howard.
Visions of prison life ran through Joey’s mind as he waited for Bob to slap the handcuffs on him.
“Hey, Bob. I've been doing runs to Dallas, Texas for the past three months,” said Howard.
“Where you headed now?” Bob asked, curiously.
“I got a load to drop off at Tom's Food in Columbus. Then I’m back home in Valdosta for two weeks,” said Howard.
A waitress walked up to them at the counter and gave Bob a smile. “Good morning, Bob. What can I get you this morning?” the waitress said.
“I’m in a rush today. I'll just have some coffee to go and why don't you throw in a couple of those tasty looking donuts,” Bob replied with a wink.
“Sure baby doll,” she said and walked away to the coffee pot.
“Where’s speedy here going?” Bob asked.
“Ian's on his way to be with his uncle in Columbus. The boy lost his job and sweetie in Florida,” Howard said while Joey cringed that Bob may not buy the bullshit story.
The waitress walked back up and handed Bob some coffee in a Styrofoam cup and two donuts in a bag.
“Too bad. Well, I’ll see ya later, Howard. Keep it at the speed limit, or I’ll get ya,” Bob told Howard. “Don’t choke boy” Bob preached to Joey then patted his shoulder.
Bob walked away towards the front entrance.
Joey looked relieved.
At the same time, Room 28 from the shabby hotel was quiet with the morning sun shined through the window.
The room door slammed open.
Angie entered with two Orange County deputies and two Orlando police officers. They all had their 9mm revolvers aimed and ready to shoot.
They scanned around the room.
“Maybe he ran?” said one of the Orlando police officers while he slowly walked to the closet.
The officer cautiously opened the closet door.
A cockroach scampered across the floor out from the closet.
“Yeah, he ran,” said Angie.
They left Room 28 and walked down the hallway.
Howard drove his semi-truck north on I-75 where traffic got thick. From his seat, Joey watched the Georgia countryside and tried to figure how his next move once he hooked up with Wally.
Back in Orlando, Roger Lane, fifty-five years old was a Captain with the Orange County Sheriff’s department. He worked at his desk with tons of paperwork and hated it. Many times he wished he were back patrolling Orange County. He ran a tight ship and always fought budget issues with the Sheriff.
Angie knocked on Lane’s door.
Lane looked up from his work. “Good Morning, Angie. Come in,” he motioned her to sit down in front of his desk.
Angie entered and sat down in front of his desk.
“Give me an update on the Sun Trust robbery with that Austin suspect,” Lane asked.
“We still haven’t found the cash, except for one of the one hundred dollar bills found on the under the passenger seat of his car. We thought we had him in a seedy local hotel, but he wasn’t there. Then Orlando PD found his backpack on a north entrance ramp to the Florida Turnpike,” Angie updated Lane.
“Sounds like he’s running north,” Lane responded.
“Where up north, we don’t know yet,” Angie said.
“Okay, let’s notify our neighbors up there,” Lane ordered.
“Will do,” Angie replied then she got up and walked out of his office.
Fours later, Howard drove his Peterbilt through the streets of Columbus, Georgia.
Fifteen minutes later, Howard stopped his semi-truck on the street outside the front entrance to the Ridgewood apartment complex.
“Good luck, my friend. I know you’ll find a new job and eventually a new girlfriend. One who will appreciate and love you,” Howard said from inside his truck.
“Thanks, Howard for the ride and breakfast.”
“My pleasure son,” Howard said.
Joey opened the passenger door and stepped out of the passenger side of the truck in his hat and sunglasses.
Joey closed the passenger door.
Howard drove his Peterbilt down the street with a toot on his horn as a final good-bye.
Joey removed his iPhone from his belt.
He touched the screen and opened up his address book.
He opened up Wally’s address.
He got Wally’s apartment just in time, as a low battery message flashed on the screen and his iPhone turned off.
Joey walked down the entrance of Wally’s apartment complex.
Joey walked up to the stairs to Wally’s second-floor apartment. He smiled as he knew Wally would have some suggestions on how to get out of this mess. Wally was always a good source for advice during their days at UIC.
He arrived at apartment 2598.
Joey removed his hat, sunglasses, and knocked on Wally’s apartment door. At that nearby apartment, those two nosey neighbors peeked out their living room window and spied on Joey.
Wally’s door opened. Wally’s sister, Kathy Spencer, twenty-seven-year-old with short strawberry blond hair appeared in the door opening.
She’s drop-dead sexy and was evident she worked out at the gym to keep her body hot. She always wore blue jeans and a tee-shirt that often had a Harley Davidson theme. There was also a butterfly tattoo on the upper part of her right B-cup breast. Kathy was a little more on the wild side as compared to Wally, but she loved her older brother will all her heart.
“Can I help you?” Kathy asked with an air of caution, as she looked Joey over.
“I’m Joey Austin. Is Wally home?” he told her.
Kathy looked suspicious. Then she remembered. “That’s right, you left a message. What do you want?” she asked.
“We were best friends at the University of Illinois,” said Joey.
Kathy looked at Joey, then something about him started to become familiar. Her eyes widened when it dawned on her. “Now I remember, you came to our parents funeral,” Kathy told him.
“Oh yeah, Wally’s younger sister, Kathy. It’s a shame about that car accident,” said Joey when he remembered that day.
Kathy looked sad,“ I take you didn’t hear about Wally?”
“No, what happened?” Joey asked with a worried look thinking Wally was killed in a car accident.
Kathy’s eyes welled up, which made Joey think of the worst-case scenario.