Fugitive

Keys ignored Charlie and turned on the television. “Watch this.”

“It better be great.”

“It’s better than great, Charlie. Now, pay attention.”

It was night on the screen. Flames could be seen flicking out of a few barred windows, and the spotlight of a police helicopter illuminated the prison grounds and the National Guard and state troopers massed before the high walls.

“Why did you need to interrupt the best fuck I’ve had all year to show me a prison? I’m trying to forget prison.”

“You’ll want to get reacquainted when you hear my idea. This is a shot of the Oregon State Penitentiary. Early this morning, a fight erupted between a Latino gang and members of the Aryan Brotherhood. When guards tried to intervene, several were taken hostage and the fight turned into a full-scale riot.”

“What’s your point?” Charlie whined, upset that his boner had begun to wilt.

“We’re going to Oregon, where you will offer your services as a negotiator to help end the insurrection at the prison.”

“Oregon? I don’t even know where the fuck that is.”

“The national press knows where it is. This is the lead story on every network and all the cable news shows.”

“Mickey, you don’t know squat about this kind of shit. The authorities aren’t going to let me anywhere near the prison.”

Mickey smiled. “That’s probably true but you’ll get tons of free publicity if they do. And if the governor won’t let you talk to the rioters, you look like a good guy who’s just trying to help. No matter how the riot ends, you come out smelling like a rose and you get tons of free air time.”

“What about the book tour?”

“I talked to your publisher. They agree that you should go. They’re already setting up a seminar at the home of a lawyer who published a book with them.”

Charlie lay back in bed. The coed was clutching a sheet to her chest and listening intently to the conversation.

“All right, when do we leave?”

“In about two hours.”

Charlie smiled at the girl. “That gives us enough time to finish what we started, sweet thing.

“Turn off the set and let me get back to my business,” Charlie told Keys.

The agent shook his head and left the room. Charlie felt under the sheets until he found a hot, soft place between the coed’s legs.

“I see you haven’t cooled down.”

The coed rolled over until she was breast-to-breast with Charlie.

“Fuck me hard, Charlie,” she whispered, “and when you’re done, take me with you to Oregon.”

“What?” Charlie said, pulling away a little.

A hand wrapped around his penis.

“I’m wasting my time in college. I’m so unhappy here. I want you to teach me the path to i

Charlie wasn’t in the mood for a philosophical discussion. He also didn’t want this broad tagging along to Oregon, even if he had been sincere when he praised her sexual abilities to Mickey Keys.

“I hear you, sister, but…” Charlie started, when the soft, rhythmic motion of her hand made him forget what he was going to say.

“Please, Charlie, let me come. I’m smart. I can help, and there are other things I can do for you.”

Charlie knew he should say no, but the girl ducked beneath the sheets and the touch of her lips banished all knowledge of the English language from his brain.

CHAPTER 12

Dunthorpe was an affluent community on the outskirts of Portland, and Charlie’s seminar had been hosted in a Tudor mansion surrounded by several acres of lawn and trees. The mansion was bigger than some he’d been in since he’d become a celebrity and smaller than others. When he was in these penthouses, mansions, and estates, he felt like Alice in Wonderland. He was rich beyond his wildest dreams, but since he’d started holding his seminars he’d met people compared to whom he was a pauper. Where did all this money come from?

There was something else that seemed surreal. Charlie had grown up poor. There were evictions, there were times when there wasn’t enough food, and there was violence in his neighborhood and his life. He’d always thought that his problems would be solved if he were rich, but these people were rich and they looked to him for help in finding happiness. He didn’t get it.

Charlie was rarely alone during his year and a half in prison or the whirlwind his life had become since regaining his freedom, and he’d come to treasure the rare moments of peace and quiet he was able to salvage from his hectic existence. As soon as he finished signing copies of his book, Charlie slipped through the French windows in the library to get a breath of fresh air. There was a flower garden on the far side of the spacious lawn. Charlie wandered across the manicured grass in its direction. Delmar Epps, a muscular ex-heavyweight boxer Mickey Keys had hired, followed far enough behind to give Charlie the illusion of privacy and close enough to fulfill his duties as a bodyguard.

Everything had gone as Mickey had predicted. The authorities had refused to let Charlie be involved in the negotiations with the prisoners, so he shared none of the blame when two guards and several inmates died in a bloody shoot-out. Charlie was able to go on television and pontificate about the way things might have ended if he had been allowed to bring i

After initially bitching and moaning about having to fly to the boonies, Charlie had finally conceded that he was glad Mickey had dragged him to Portland. Oregon had been a revelation for a man who had been reared in bleak, urban poverty and had just emerged from the gray of prison to take up residence in the concrete caverns of Manhattan. There were clear blue skies here, emerald green grass, and a never-ending vista of trees and flowers. The summer air was warm and unpolluted, and Charlie breathed it in, savoring a gentle breeze as he crossed the lawn.

A high hedge of arborvitae divided the lawn from the garden and muffled a spirited conversation. Charlie wanted to be alone, so he started to change direction. He stopped when a woman’s voice rose in anger. Charlie took a step into the garden and peered around the hedge. A man in tan slacks and a forest green polo shirt was arguing with a woman in a light blue dress held up by spaghetti straps.

The man, who looked to be in his late twenties, was tan and fit, with the wide shoulders and slender waist of an athlete. Charlie didn’t recognize him. But the woman was definitely familiar. She’d stood behind most of the guests at the seminar, wearing a bemused smile that told him she wasn’t buying one word of his bullshit. Charlie also remembered the woman because she was stu

“You’re not listening, Tony,” the woman snapped. “I don’t want you bothering me. Do I have to talk to someone at the club to get you to leave me alone?”

The woman started to leave, but Tony grabbed her wrist.

“Brushing me off isn’t going to be that easy, Sally.”

Sally stopped and turned slowly until her face was inches from his.

“Take your hands off of me,” she said, emphasizing each word in an icy tone that would have frozen fire.

Emboldened by Delmar’s presence and the possibility of getting in the blonde’s pants, Charlie decided to inject himself into this volatile situation.

“Yeah, motherfucker,” Charlie said in his best prison don’t fuck-with-me voice. “Unhand the lady.”

Tony took one look at Charlie’s unimposing appearance and laughed.

“‘Motherfucker’? My, my, and here I thought you were in favor of peace and love, Swami.”