She recognized him.
Names fled easily, but faces were her prisoners for life. When she'd danced it became a way of numbing herself. She'd studied the faces. She'd memorize them, classify them by their level of boredom and enjoyment, try to remember how many times they'd been there. It had been a mental exercise, a way to distract herself.
Adam Yates had been to Clyde's club.
She may have hesitated or maybe Cal Dollinger was just attuned to what was going on around him. She was about to flee, just start running until her legs gave out, but Dollinger put a firm hand on her arm. He squeezed the spot above her elbow just hard enough to get her attention. She tried to pull away, but it was like pulling your arm out of a concrete block.
She couldn't move.
They were almost at the car now. Cal picked up speed. Olivia's eyes skimmed the street, pausing on Lawrence. He was standing on the corner, swaying with another man she didn't know. Both of them had brown paper bags in their hand. Lawrence looked at her and started to raise his hand to wave.
Olivia mouthed the words: Help me.
Lawrence's face didn't change. There was no reaction at all. The other man made a joke. Lawrence laughed long and hard and slapped his thigh.
He hadn't seen her.
They approached the car. Olivia's mind raced. She did not want to get in with them. She tried to slow her walk. Dollinger gave her arm a quick, painful pinch.
"Keep moving," the big man told her.
They reached the back door. Dollinger opened it. She tried to hold her ground, but his grip was simply too strong. He pushed her into the backseat.
"Yo, got a dollar?"
The big man took a quick glance. It was Lawrence. Dollinger started turning away, dismissing the panhandler, but Lawrence grabbed his shoulder.
"Yo, man, I'm hungry. Got a dollar?"
"Buzz off."
Lawrence put his hands on the big man's chest. "I'm just asking for a dollar, man."
"Let go of me."
"A dollar. Is that too much to-"
And that was when Dollinger let go of her arm.
Olivia hesitated but not for long. When both of Dollinger's hands gripped Lawrence by the front of his shirt, she was ready. She jumped up and started to run.
"Run, Liv!"
Lawrence didn't have to tell her twice.
Dollinger dropped Lawrence and spun around. Lawrence jumped on the big man's back. Dollinger shrugged him off like dandruff. Then Lawrence did something truly foolish. He hit Dollinger with the brown bag. Olivia could hear the clunk from the beer bottle inside. Dollinger turned around and punched Lawrence in the sternum. Lawrence went down hard.
Dollinger shouted, "Stop! FBI!"
I don't think so, big man.
Olivia heard the car take off. The tires squealed as Yates peeled out. She glanced behind her.
Dollinger was catching up to her. And he had a gun in his hand.
Her lead was maybe fifty feet. She ran as hard as she could. This was her neighborhood. She'd have the advantage, right? She cut down a back alley. It was empty- nobody else in sight. Dollinger followed. She risked a look back. He was gaining on her and didn't look the least bit put out.
She spun forward and ran harder, pumping her arms.
A bullet whizzed by her. Then another.
Oh, God. He's shooting!
She had to get out of the alley. Had to find people. He wouldn't just shoot her in front of a lot of people.
Would he?
She veered right back onto the street. The car was there. Yates sped toward her. She rolled over a parked car and onto the sidewalk. They were at the old Pabst Blue Ribbon factory. Soon it would be gone, replaced with yet another no-personality shopping center. But right now the broken-down ruins could be a haven.
Wait, where was that old tavern?
She swerved to the left. It was down the second alley. She remembered that. Olivia did not dare look behind her, but she could hear his footsteps now. He was gaining.
"Stop!"
Like hell, she thought. The tavern. Where the hell was that tavern?
She turned right.
Bingo, there it was!
The door was on the right. She wasn't far from it. She ran hard. She grabbed the handle as Dollinger made the turn. She pulled the door open and fell inside.
"Help!"
There was one person inside. He was cleaning glasses behind the bar. He looked up in surprise. Olivia stood and quickly threw the bolt.
"Hey," the bartender shouted, "what's going on here?"
"Someone is trying to kill me."
The door shook. "FBI. Open up!"
Olivia shook her head. The bartender hesitated, then gestured toward the back room with his head. She ran for it. The bartender picked up a shotgun as Dollinger kicked the door open.
The bartender was startled by the size of the man. "Jesus H. Christ!"
"FBI! Drop it."
"Let's just slow down, buddy…"
Dollinger pointed his gun at the bartender and fired twice.
The bartender went down, leaving only a splash of blood on the wall behind him.
Oh my God oh my God oh my God!
Olivia wanted to scream.
No. Go. Hurry.
She thought about the baby inside her. It gave her the extra spurt. She dove into the back room where the bartender had gestured.
Gunfire raked the wall behind her. Olivia dropped to the floor.
She crawled toward the back door. It was made of heavy metal. There was a key in the lock. In one move she pulled the door open and twisted the key so hard that it broke in the knob. She rolled back into the sunlight. The door closed and locked automatically behind her.
She heard him twisting the knob. When that didn't work, he began to pound on the door. This time the door would not give way easily. Olivia ran, keeping off the main streets, looking out for both Yates's car and Dollinger on foot.
She saw neither. Time to get the hell out of here.
Olivia walk-jogged for another two miles. When a bus drove by, she hopped on, not much caring where it took her. She got off in the center of Elizabeth. Taxis were lined up by the depot.
"Where to?" the driver asked her.
She tried to catch her breath. "Newark Airport, please."
Chapter 50
AS MATT CROSSED into Pennsylvania in the white Isuzu, he was amazed at how much of what he'd thought of as useless information he'd retained from prison. Of course, prison is not the great education in all things crime many thought it was. You have to keep in mind that the inhabitants had all been, well, caught, and thus any claimed expertise had something of a shadow cast over it.
He had also never listened too closely. Criminal activities did not interest him. His plan, which he'd maintained for nine years, was to stay away from anything even remotely unlawful.
That had changed.
Saul's stolen car method had borne fruit. And now Matt remembered other law-evading lessons from his time behind bars. He stopped in the parking lot of a Great Western off Route 80. No security, no surprise. He did not want to steal another car, just a license plate. He wanted a license plate with the letter P in it. He got lucky. There was a car in the employee lot with a plate that began with the letter P. The employee car would work well, he thought. It was eleven A.M. Most places would be in early- to mid-shift by then. The employee owner would probably be inside for several more hours at a minimum.
He stopped in a Home Depot and bought thin black electric tape, the kind you use to repair phone cords. Making sure no one was watching, he ripped a strip and put it on the letter P, turning it into the letter B. It wouldn't hold up under close scrutiny, but it should be good enough to get him where he was going.
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
There was no choice. Matt had to get to Reno. That meant flying on an airplane. He knew that would be risky. The prison tips for evading detection, even if good in their heyday, were all pre-9/11. Security had changed a lot since then, but there were still methods. He just had to think it through, move fast, and be more than a little lucky.