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I can’t catch my breath.
Two more shots ricochet off the door as I glimpse a skinny man in a skimpy suit holding his cap. He tosses his gun while running away.
“Donny!”
He groans as I exit the car. There’s commotion all around me. Some people are running, others are trying to understand where the gunshots came from.
The open air smacks my face. And for the first time… I can taste it. Freedom.
I’m near the corner. I can just run and disappear forever. Twenty feet away, and no one will ever know.
I’ll go to a distant state this time and retreat from anything I ever knew. I’ll get plastic surgery and shave my head if I have to. Wigs are all the rage these days.
But that’s not what my heart tells me to do.
I run around the car instead and slide on my knees to help Donny up.
I don’t care if he’s my warden. I love him.
He’s groaning and bleeding bad. I can’t tell where.
“Donny. Donny.” I make him look at me.
“You could’ve run,” he says weakly and tries to use the car to get up.
His white dress shirt is almost all red on one side.
“I can’t run. I love you, Donny.”
He frames my face with his good hand. “I love you too.”
“I’m taking you to the hospital.” I try to lift him to no avail. “You have to help me a little. C’mon.”
He winces as he pushes with me. “N—no hospital.”
“What do you mean, no hospital?” I strain. My arms are shaking from trying to handle half his weight. My hands are drenched in his blood.
“Ah.” He winces as his butt finally slides onto the seat.
I keep pushing him so he’ll roll to the passenger’s side. “C’mon, Donny. Move.” I push hard until he rolls awkwardly over.
I fall into the seat, shut the shot-up door, and start the car.
My hands stick to the wheel from all the blood, and my yoga pants are soaking up more. I worry for Donny. His face looks sallow. His breathing is labored.
“Bastard, pricks,” he wheezes, inspecting himself. “Fucking Lucrazis. I knew they gave in too easy. That’s what I get for not trusting my gut. Fuck.”
I zoom down the block trying to activate the GPS. Of course it doesn’t work. He clipped himself from any useful technology for fear of being found out. Now he might die because of it.
No…
He can’t die.
“Donny! Tell me where to go. Stay awake!” I scream.
He grimaces while reaching for something. “No hospital,” he repeats and slaps a phone in my lap. “Call Dice. Tell him. He’ll know.”
I swerve one way and the next, barely caring if I run over any of the mobsters crowding the streets. Then I look to my lap, to an unlocked phone. With one bloody hand, I dial ‘Dice’ and click ‘call.’
