Fugitive

CHAPTER 13

Life was a smooth ride for Charlie until everything went to hell on the day of the seminar at the Westmont. He hit the first bump in the road on a su

In front of the table was a line that stretched around the store. It was composed of excited customers eager to purchase Charlie’s book so they could learn how to ignite the light within them and find wealth and i

After the first few customers, Charlie went on automatic pilot. That was why it took him a second to recognize the next two men in the line.

“Hey, Charlie, long time no see,” said Gary Hass, the late Freddy Clayton’s most intelligent criminal associate. Gary was so ordinary-looking that witnesses had a hard time identifying him in a lineup. This made him markedly different from the tattooed, pierced, and steroid-inflated Werner Rollins, who stood at Gary’s shoulder and would have been perfectly at home in any barbarian horde. Unfortunately for humanity, Hass’s scarred and deformed psyche was the exact opposite of his bland appearance. A slender, if wiry, five foot seven, Gary wasn’t physically imposing but he was ruthless and he never forgot a slight, no matter how small. Gary also had the gift of patience. Get the better of him today and he would exact revenge by tying you to your bed and burning down your house long after you’d forgotten you’d ever had a run-in with him.

“Great book,” Gary said.

“Glad you liked it.”

“I liked it so much I read it more than once; especially the parts about your exciting experiences in the world of crime. Know why I had to read those parts so many times?”

“Uh, no.”

“I found them confusing, Charlie. Many of your exploits sounded both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. I mean, I seemed to remember some of those events but not exactly the way you remembered them. For me, it was like watching a science-fiction movie where people go into a parallel universe that’s a lot like the Earth we know, but different. Like where the South wins the Civil War. You know it didn’t happen that way but if the writer is very skilled it seems realistic. See what I mean?”

“Not really. Look, it’s good seeing you but there’s a long line. I’m not supposed to talk to any one customer for more than a few minutes.”

“Hey, Werner and I don’t want to be a problem so why don’t we get together for coffee when you’re finished.”

“I don’t know, Gary. I’m awfully busy.”

“I’m cool with that. If you don’t have time for coffee we’ll fly back East and see if an investigative reporter at the New York Times wants to discuss our confusion about the book over a double decaf mocha. To tell the truth though, we’d rather spend our time reminiscing with a pal about the good old days.”

Charlie felt sick. A sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. “Maybe I can spare some time when I’m done.”

“Great! There’s a restaurant two doors down. Werner and I can’t wait to hear all about the exciting life you’ve been leading. See you soon.”

“Who were those guys?” Mickey Keys asked when Gary and Werner left without buying books.

“Acquaintances from the old days. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee with them after the signing.”

“Do you want me to come along?”

“No. You and Delmar go back to the hotel.”

“You sure you want to be alone with them?”

“Positive. Believe me, Mickey, the less Gary and Werner know about you, the better off you are.”

CHARLIE FOUND THE odd couple sitting in a booth in the back of the restaurant. Gary was nursing a cup of black coffee while Werner wolfed down a slab of pie. A plate with the ca

“My man,” Gary said as Charlie slid into the booth. “You not only survived the big house but you’re looking prosperous.”

Charlie shrugged. “The book’s only been out a few weeks. There’s no telling what might happen.”

“Hey, don’t be modest. Newsweek reported you got a seven-figure deal for the book and another mil or so for the movie. Say, have you met Tom yet? What’s he like in person?”

“That stuff about Tom Cruise is Hollywood bullshit, Gary. They’re negotiating. He hasn’t committed.”

“That fucker can act,” Werner opined between mouthfuls of pie.

“Yes, well, how are you? It’s been years.”

“About five,” Gary said. “Werner and I took off after that muffed bank job. What a cluster fuck that was; one dead guard, one dead civilian, and no money.”

Gary shook his head sadly. Then he perked up. “You know, there’s an incident in your book that vaguely resembles our fiasco. Werner and I got a kick out of the part where you dive behind that car, guns blazing. It reminded me of a scene in a John Woo flick. In fact, it’s almost identical to a scene in one of his movies. Fu

“Well, you know, I had to disguise the events so the cops couldn’t use the book as a basis for an indictment.”

“Yeah, I get that. The thing is Werner and I think some big publisher might be interested in our life stories now that your book is selling so well. It can be a whole new genre, Criminal Confessions. The only thing holding us back is our concern for you. If we tell our stories, some of our reminiscences might contradict your version of events. We’d feel real bad if our success created difficulties for you.”

Charlie sighed. “Okay, Gary. Let’s stop fucking around. What do you want?”

“A small piece of the pie, an opportunity to dip a crust of bread into the gravy train, a…”

“Can you cut the crap? I get it. What do I have to do to get you and Werner to go away?”

“We don’t really want to go away, Charlie. A big star like you should have an entourage.”

Charlie snapped his head back and forth. “That’s not go

“Sure it is. We figure we can testify at these seminars about how we were terrible criminals, corrupt to our very souls, until you helped us find our i

“No way.”

Gary’s affable demeanor faded away. “Do you know what plagiarism is? Werner and I feel that you plagiarized our lives. That’s a crime, Charlie, and you know what they say: ‘If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.’ There’s also ‘Crime does not pay.’ It all boils down to the fact that there are consequences for bad acts. The consequence in your case is a tax on profits. You’ll pay a bit of it now and we’ll tag along to keep an eye on the receipts so we can decide how much the tax will be in the future.”

“I’m not go

“And how are you going to prove I made this stuff up? A reporter will want specific facts about murders, armed robberies, and other crimes that would send you away forever. But say they believe you committed these crimes. That wouldn’t prove I made up the incidents in the book. I’d just say that my crimes were different from what you say you did. In my introduction I said I made the events vague and changed names and places to protect myself from getting charged with the crimes. So do your worst.”