Page 69 of Jonesing for a Spy

trigger master

Strider

When school was almost out for summer when I was a kid, there was a palpable energy in the air. The anticipation and excitement is not unlike the day before Christmas or a birthday. It’s the same buzz I have today.

I thought about flying out this morning, getting a head start, but I stopped myself. The swelling around my eye is much better, but the bruise is still prominent, despite the miracle the arnica is performing.

Mom checking on me would be sweet if it weren’t so overbearing. I don’t mind her caring, but the only thing I need is something she can’t offer—time. Time will lessen the bruising. Time can heal my vocal chords. Time is the only thing that could stop my adrenaline response from being attacked.

The good news is that it’s an exceptional football day and Mirren was frisky on the phone last night. That is, until she fell asleep, mid-sentence. I listened to her breathe until any longer would’ve made me a creeper, and whispered, “Good night.”

We’re deep in the fourth quarter of the first game of rivalry Friday football when Dad calls.

“Hey.” I work to keep the exasperation from my voice.

“Strider, are you home?” he asks urgently.

I take a pull off my bottle of beer. “Yeah.” Where else would I be?

“I don’t know how to say this,” he starts. His voice grave, and his words are hurried. Everything about this is unlike him.

“Say what? Is everyone okay?”

“Gene called me this morning.” Eugene Clasky is the Police Chief and is in Rotary Club with Dad. Why would he be calling?

“Because?”

“Because he heard about you and wanted to check in.” He pauses with a deep sigh. “And because when he got to work this morning, Price O’Neill wasn’t there.”

I shoot straight up to my feet. “What? He bailed out? Aren’t they supposed to notify me in that case?”

“No.” The word stretches longer than I’ve ever heard my dad utter. “No bail was set. No judge was in to take the case until this morning. He didn’t bail out. He broke out.”

What the fuck?

“This isn’t some two-bit town with rubber bars on their cells. How does a person break out of jail to begin with, much less with staff in the building?”

“With a key. And someone with strings.”

My pacing abruptly stops. “You mean…” A thought forms. “You mean political clout or connections that trump a Chief of Police in one of the biggest cities in Illinois.”

“That’s what Gene thinks.”

“He doesn’t know?” My strained voice rises high enough that I have to take a minute to reset. “The man strangled me, and the police don’t know how he’s out? Do they know where he is?”

The pause in the conversation is telling, and the silence stretches against the roar of football cheering—putting me on edge.

“Dad?”

His words rush out, quiet and fraught with concern. “They have no idea where he is. There’s no paper trail. The cell was unlocked from the outside, and the security feed was wiped clean. It happened early yesterday morning.”

Yesterday. I’ve been a sitting duck for more than twenty-four hours, and no one told me. If what Dad is saying is true, I’m not just a sitting duck, I’m prey on the wrong end of a high-powered rifle, and the trigger master is in complete control.

Fuck.

Mirren

My phone ringing wakes me from an afternoon nap. And the alert isn’t the one I was hoping for. The name scrolling across the screen says Uncle Alpha.