Born to Run

Chapter 50

It was officially “last call” at Sparky’s Tavern, and Theo was wiping down the cracked linoleum bar top.

The band had packed up at 2:00 A.M., but the tavern was emptying out slowly. Theo had started the night at Cy’s Place, his jazz club where music was the priority. The typical crowd at Sparky’s would rather line-dance to “The Electric Slide” than listen to Duke Ellington reincarnated. It had been a good night, nonetheless, and it was winding down to the usual suspects: a handful of regulars and some Keys-bound college kids who’d challenged a couple of bikers to a game of eight ball. Not smart. They’d lost their shirts. Literally, they were stripped down to their waists. If it didn’t end soon, they’d be walking out stark naked.

“You’re cute,” said the leggy blonde on the bar stool.

Theo hadn’t arrived till 1:00 A.M., and by his count she was on her third martini. He had no intention of serving her a fourth.

“Cute?” said Theo as he rinsed another beer glass in the sink. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m Mia,” she said. “Mia from Miami.”

Theo smiled and shook her hand. “Now that’s cute.”

“My ex-husband’s name is Phil. He was from Philadelphia. Mia from Miami, and Phil from Philadelphia. Isn’t that too funny?”

“Funny, yeah,” said Theo.

“Where you from, hon?”

“Never-bed-the-last-chick-in-the-bar…berg.”

“What?” she said, smiling as if she wasn’t quite sure she should be.

“It’s a little town in Sweden near-ah, never mind.”

She tried to rest her elbow on the bar and missed. “Hey,” she said, regaining her balance. “Do you ever watch anything but ESPN here?”

Theo glanced up at the TV behind him. “Nope.”

“How many times do we have to see the same highlights?”

They were showing the Ohio State Buckeyes’ game-winning goal-line stand-for the fifth time of the night. Theo grabbed the remote and scrolled down quickly through the cable news channels. He soon realized that they all had the same coverage, and when he finally stopped surfing to check out the “breaking story,” his mouth fell open.

“Jack?” he said.

“You know that guy?”

Theo ignored her and turned up the volume to hear the live update from outside the studio.

“We are now well into our third hour of a tense hostage crisis here at Action News studio,” the reporter said.

Theo stepped closer to the television, not quite believing, as the report continued. Jack and another hostage, whom Theo recognized as the Action News anchor, were on the left side of the split screen, their hands tied behind their backs. On the right side, a camera outside the studio was zooming in on what appeared to be Jack’s demolished Mustang in the rubble.

“Not the ’stang,” said Theo.

“More on this story,” said the newscaster, “after this commercial break.”

Theo checked his cell. There was a call from Andie just before midnight that he’d missed. He speed-dialed a return call, but it went to her voice mail. He left a quick message, and the time flashed on his phone: 2:52 A.M. Not quite closing time, but close enough. He rounded people up, starting with Mia from Miami, and herded them toward the door.

“That’s it folks, we’re locking up.”

A few grumbled, but even first-timers at Sparky’s seemed to grasp that when Theo Knight said it was time to go, you went.

“Call me,” said Mia on her way out the door.

“Sure thing,” said Theo.

He pushed the last customer out, locked the door, and ran to the back office. His uncle was sound asleep on the couch, snoring like a grizzly bear. Theo shook him till he woke.

“Cy, I need your help.”

His eyes blinked open, but he was still half asleep.

“Jack’s in trouble,” said Theo.

Cy yawned into his fist. “What else is new?”

“I’m serious. I need you to close up for me.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes! Can you do it?”

Another yawn. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Theo grabbed his car keys and ran from the room before Cy could change his mind. He went out the front, locked it with his extra key, and started toward the parking lot. A voice in the darkness stopped him in his tracks.

“Mr. Knight?”

It was a woman’s voice, definitely not Mia from Miami. He turned, but it was too dark to see anything but a silhouette.

“Who are you?”

She stepped out from the shadows, and the face fit the voice-that of an older woman.

“My name is Sofia,” she said, “and I want to help your friend.”