Whirlwind

41

Garland, Texas

A lush grove of oak trees gave Remy and Mason cool sanctuary at the edge of the I-30 truck stop southwest of Garland.

They were nearly out of sight, sitting back in the shade on the soft grass. The baby was content lying on their blanket. Remy had just fed him and was engrossed in the news reports she was reading on her laptop. Mason was studying a new map that he’d folded precisely. Take-out wrappers, drink cups and grease-stained bags dotted the blanket.

They’d been driving across the Metroplex for the past few hours.

Their pickup truck was the only vehicle at the far end of the lot. To anyone who saw them, they were a young family enjoying a private picnic.

The hum of freeway traffic rushing along the causeway over Lake Ray Hubbard was punctuated by the growl and grind of rigs wheeling in an out of the Exxon station. Remy lifted her face to the ensuing breezes. It calmed her and she paused, allowing herself to believe that she and Mason were really on their way now. They were really closer to their dream. She reached for Caleb to stroke his cheek lovingly. But touching him underscored her aching emptiness, her overwhelming sadness over the baby she’d lost and all that she’d been through.

Remy battled her painful maternal feelings as she gazed at Caleb.

Your mother does not deserve you. No one deserves you more than me. I saved you. It was all meant to be. You’re MY angel.

Yes, it’s all meant to be.

Just like it was with Mason, the way he knew, absolutely knew that we had to get out of the motel at the right time. Thank God he talked some sense into me. I was not thinking right when I walked to the park. He was so smart to get us out of our motel before the police found us.

Remy went back to the news stories about the SWAT action at the Tumbleweed Motel. It was such a close call. Still, she didn’t think that the police sketches accompanying the reports looked much like her and Mason. He’d let his beard grow, wore sunglasses and long sleeves to cover his tattoos. She touched her short dark hair while considering other ways to ensure that she didn’t resemble the wanted woman in the sketches in any way.

Remy found a new story by the Associated Press, which reported that the FBI was still relying heavily on the public’s help in the tornado baby case. Agents had little information on the two people using the aliases of Luke and Ashley Johnson of Houston. Remy knew that Mason had changed their plate again after they’d pulled away from the motel. He’d been careful, even lining up a place for them to go and, judging by everything that she’d read, she and Mason still had an advantage.

“We were lucky to get out of the motel when we did. It was a good call, babe,” Remy said.

“Damn straight, it was.” Mason lifted his attention from the map, but when he saw her caressing the baby his jaw tensed. “Stop that,” he said.

“Stop what?”

Mason slapped Remy’s hand away from Caleb.

“Hey!” she said.

“You’re not keeping him, so don’t get attached.”

“Don’t you ever, ever hit me!” Remy’s breathing quickened as she glared at Mason. Since they’d left the motel, he was tense, irritable and sweating, which signaled that he needed his drugs. She hated it when he got that way. She glanced at the bulge in the blanket near him where he’d put his gun. She also hated it when he carried that thing around.

He stared at her for a long, cool, moment.

“We’re under a lot of pressure,” he said. “Once we get to my friend’s place we’ll be totally off the grid. That’s when we’ll call the agency, close this deal, get our money and be gone. I know a guy who’ll help us get new identities, good ones with social security, passports, everything. We’ll freakin’ disappear.” Mason looked at his cell phone on the blanket next to his soda then pursed his lips. “Lamont better damn well give up the location. I gave that mother a lot of money.”

Mason glanced around at the tractor trailers and rubbed his lips.

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up,” he said. “Sooner or later they’ll get on to us, and if your agency in Chicago finds out, there’s no way they’ll take the kid. We’ve got to get off the grid to keep the heat off.”

“I don’t think those drawings look like us.” Remy was working on her laptop. “Besides, I thought of something I can do to help. It’s a bit risky but if you keep your cool, you can pull it off.”

She turned her screen to him and he approved of what he saw.

“All right, that’s near here. Let’s go,” he said.

Less than two miles from the truck stop, Mason and Remy turned into the parking lot of a strip mall. Sandwiched between Aunt Marva’s Donuts and On-the-Spot Payday Loans was Flo’s Fabulous Hair Emporium. Remy stayed in the truck with the baby while Mason entered the hair shop.

Bells chimed on the transom.

Scores of blank faces of mannequin heads crowned with every style and color of hair you could think of stared at Mason from displays and shelves.

It was creepy.

The store wasn’t busy. A woman was behind the counter replacing paper in a small credit card terminal. She had long straight black hair, a dark tan and revealed bright white teeth when she smiled.

“How can I help you today, sir?”

“Well, I’d like to get a couple of wigs for my wife.”

“You’ve come to the right place. Is she going to be joining you?”

“No. She told me what to get.”

“Well, what color and style is she looking for? Short, long, curly, straight?”

“She said she wanted a blond, sorta long and wavy and an auburn one about the same and curly, sorta.”

“Hmm.” The woman left the counter and led Mason to a side display. Mason detected a hint of citrus-scented perfume. “Do you know if she prefers synthetic or human hair?”

“What’s the difference?”

“They’re both nice, but with top-of-the-line synthetic the curls keep, even in the rain, while human hair is more natural.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter then.”

The woman reached for a head with a blond wig.

“How about this one? It’s got layered spiral curls, about fourteen inches, that’s shoulder length, and it’s got a stretch skin cap. It’s synthetic fiber.”

“Looks good. I’ll take it.”

“That was easy.” She then moved down the row and picked up a head wearing a dark-colored wig, which was shorter but fuller.

“This one is auburn, synthetic, styled in a layered bob with sweeping bangs and-” she turned the head “-soft curls in the back.”

“I like it. I’ll take that one, too.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to see some others?”

“No, these two are good.”

“All right, let me package this all up for you.”

The woman took the two heads bearing the wigs, set them on the front counter then glanced through her storefront to the parking lot at the pickup truck parked out front.

“Is that your wife in the truck with the baby?”

Mason turned to follow her attention then saw Remy and the baby. “Oh, yes.”

She hesitated as if stopping to address a sudden concern.

“Is there a problem?” Mason asked.

“Um, no.” The woman smiled, shifting her concentration back to the counter. “Most women want to be custom fitted. Are you sure your wife doesn’t want to come in for a custom fit and style? It comes with the wigs at no charge.”

“No, I think we’re good that way.”

Mason watched her closely as she shifted her focus back to the sale.

“Okay. I’ll just get some foam heads and box these up for you. They’re one-fifty each, plus tax. But if you’re military or hit by the tornado, we’ll give you twenty percent off.”

“I’m not military-my dad was. But we did get caught in the storm.”

“Is everybody okay?”

“We’re still a bit shaky, but I need to get going.”

“Of course. And how would you like to pay, sir?”

“Is cash all right?

“It certainly is.”

Mason left with the woman watching him through the window. For an instant, as he reached for the truck’s door, they exchanged a glance.

As the customer got into the cab of his truck, the clerk bit her lip.

That was very weird, she thought.

Then she reached for her phone and searched for the news story about the baby kidnapped in the storm.

She found the number for the police tip line.

Maybe she should call.

No. She put her phone down. But that was definitely odd.

Mason returned to the truck, gave the boxes to Remy, who was fussing over the baby in his car seat. Before turning the ignition, Mason checked his phone and cursed it. No messages from Lamont. Mason took a moment to think where they could go then started the truck and pulled away from the strip mall.

Remy opened the boxes with the wigs.

“Oh, these are nice. They’re gonna work fine, babe.”

But Mason wasn’t listening.

He was a little worried about the strange look from the saleswoman at the wig store but shook it off. He had bigger problems, chiefly the fact that Lamont still hadn’t contacted him. Mason speculated on the reason. Did Lamont rip him off? Did he turn him in? Mason ran the back of his hand across his mouth. They had gone about six blocks and turned from a quiet street onto a busy thoroughfare.

That’s when they heard the wail of a siren behind them.