The Fleeing Felon

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The Fleeing Felon - book excerpt

Chapter 1

Party

Scottsdale, Arizona

Present Day

2 a.m.

The blaring music inundated the crowd as the various partygoers gyrated uncontrollably to the rhythm. Those not dancing talked louder so that their partners could hear. Yellow and blue lights scattered throughout the room in random sequences illuminating the darkened presidential suite. The smell of sweat and alcohol permeated the air, filling it with a sense of excitement. In the far corner was Fredrick, alone. His smile was beaming in an immature way as he gazed into the crowd with amazement. Nevertheless, he was having fun.

“Pass me some chips,” a dark-haired woman wearing a sleek dress said as she winked innocently at Fredrick. She stood about six inches taller than Fredrick who was of average height.

“What did you say?”

He barely heard her voice. Fredrick wasn’t sure if it was the loud music drowning the hotel suite or if it was because she spoke softly in a sultry voice. A part of him secretly hoped it was the latter, but that was just the vanity of youth.

She drew near and spoke into his ear, “I said pass me some chips.”

This time her voice sounded perturbed.

Fredrick nodded, turned towards the banquet table near him, and grabbed the chip bowl. He ate a few chips himself and then passed her the bowl.

“Thanks. What are you doing here?” she inquired as if his presence was out of the ordinary at the luxurious Regal Phoenix Resort and Spa.

In fact, Fredrick was out of place and he was keenly aware of it. He wore faded jeans with a blue linen shirt; its collar was slightly askew. His rugged boots rounded out his wardrobe. Fredrick didn’t mind. He was accustomed to not fitting in with the upscale crowds at similar resorts. But fitting in wasn’t his purpose. His purpose was, “entertainment” of sorts. Well, that’s how he described it to family members and friends. He never told them the truth.

He went to upscale parties, graduations, birthdays, weddings, and other events to sell drugs. His family wouldn’t approve of Fredrick selling drugs again especially after he spent the last two years in prison in Florence, Arizona. That killed them. At least the prison was close to the reservation where Fredrick’s family lived. His family lobbied for Fredrick not to be housed in the state prison in Winslow, Arizona.

Winslow was a three-hour drive from their reservation near Scottsdale, Arizona. Florence was only an hour away. Fredrick’s mother and father easily visited him throughout the day and after work and then went back to the family home. They frequently visited him despite the initial awkwardness.

While in prison, Fredrick swore up and down that he was finished with dealing drugs. He realized that his now four-year-old daughter, Maleah, needed him. She was a fragile two-year-old when he first went to prison. Her mother, Caitlin, was disgusted when she learned that her boyfriend sold cocaine and meth. Despite her family’s protests, Caitlin relented to Fredrick’s pleas and stayed with him mainly for Maleah’s sake.

“She needs a father, not useless gifts,” Caitlin would say.“My father is rich. We don’t need your money.”

Fredrick’s words of reassurance that he wouldn’t sell drugs rung hollow in Caitlin’s mind. She feared that the fast money was too irresistible. Unbeknownst to her, she was right. Soon after he was released from prison, Fredrick convinced himself that it was okay to sell marijuana because he was no longer selling hard drugs.

“It’s just marijuana,” he frequently repeated to himself. “No one is harmed by a little weed. It’s for medicinal purposes.”

He reassured himself that he was doing the right thing for his family. But, in reality, Caitlin’s words stung deeply. Fredrick knew that he could never provide for his family the way Caitlin’s father did. Her father was a millionaire of sorts, making money by importing merchandise from all over the world.

Maleah lived with Caitlin at her parents’ house— a large, six-bedroom home in the rich neighborhood of Arcadia near Camelback Mountain. Maleah was taken care of by live-in maids and taught Mandarin and Spanish by exotic tutors. Her every need was met. But Fredrick insisted that he and Caitlin live on their own once he was released. That decision caused a lot of conflict between Caitlin and her parents.

Fredrick’s drug money could never compete with millions but at least it was his money, made from the efforts of his own hands. Also gnawing at him was his pride. He didn’t want a non-native telling him what he could do and how to do it, especially when it came to his own family. Fredrick’s parents and friends would never respect him if he wasn’t his own man. He convinced himself that this was his true motive for moving Caitlin and Maleah out of her parent’s house

Fredrick’s only solace in his tumultuous relationship with Caitlin was that his parents unconditionally accepted his daughter. They loved her as if she was their own daughter. All they asked was that Fredrick not sell drugs to his own people on or off the reservation. He reluctantly agreed.

The Regal Phoenix Resort and Spa was a stone’s throw from the reservation and, to his knowledge, none of the party-goers were natives or at least not from his tribe. So, in Fredrick’s mind, he was honoring both his parents’ and his girlfriend’s wishes.

Well, almost all of it.

“I’m having fun. Are you?” he answered the woman next to him, still grinning subconsciously.

She glared at him and then eyed his body up and down in disapproval.

“Hey, you want some weed?” he asked as she stormed off.

When she didn’t respond Fredrick shrugged and continued eating chips.

His sales skills were rusty. He no longer had the flair and debonair attitude he used to have while selling drugs before prison sullied him. Maybe he lost that edge now that he was twenty-three years old and becoming a real man. Fredrick didn’t know why he was striking out. But he knew that he needed to start selling and make the most of the party.

He looked around the room and saw two men approach in a half-drunken stupor. They stumbled towards him laughing and carrying on. Fredrick watched attentively as the two neared the banquet table.

“I need food, bro,” the taller male said as he stared greedily into the eyes of the other male. He shoved him slightly to emphasize his point.

“No, need to tell me. I’m there with you.”

The two laughed heartily and then noticed Fredrick’s gaze from across the floor.

“Hey man. What are you staring at?” the taller man asked.

“Hi, guys,” Fredrick said. “Nothing. Just—”

“Well mind your business,” the man snapped.

“I am man,” Fredrick said. “No harm. No foul. I’m just here to entertain.”

“Entertain?” The other male gave Fredrick a puzzled look. “You don’t look like the entertainment. Where’s your costume?”

“No man. Not like that.” Fredrick pulled out a small bag of weed from his pocket and showed it to them.“I’m talking about the ganja.”

He gently shook the bag to focus their attention.

“Got anything strong than that?” the taller male asked with a sense of disappointment.

“Yeah, we need something stronger,” the other male said.

“Nah, man. This is it. Tell me how much you need.”

Although the men were disappointed with the inventory, they purchased two bags from Fredrick and moved on. He was pleased with his first sale. It had been a slow two weeks, but things were looking up. With added confidence, Fredrick strolled through the crowd with his contagious grin. He sold more product once the partygoers realized his purpose there.

His cellphone buzzed while he was completing his latest transaction with a young teenager. Fredrick looked at the caller ID and noticed that Caitlin called.

His heart dropped.

Chapter 2

Assignment

Tempe, Arizona

Earlier That Day

Midnight

Kirby walked into the conference room of TransAde and opened his inbox on the table at the back of the room. He was looking for his assignment for that morning so that he could have a safety meeting with his crew.

After grabbing the barricade plan and briefly reviewing it, Kirby went to the coffee machine to dispense a cup. Alcohol still lingered on his breath. Not only did he need a pick-me-up so that he could work the graveyard shift, but he also needed to disguise the smell of five whiskey shots he quickly drank at his neighborhood bar before coming to work. The whiskey burned his throat while it went down but Kirby liked the hurt. It toughened him up and reminded him of those long nights on the oil rigs off the coast of Louisiana in the Gulf of Mexico.

Those days were long gone. Kirby loved the quick money, the salty air, and the booze and fast women that came with the job, but not the long hours or the innumerable days away from home. He could no longer work as an oil driller after punching his boss in the face for making fun of Kirby’s shortstature in front of the other workers. The company couldn’t have cared less about why Kirby assaulted his supervisor. The important thing was that they had a zero-tolerance policy. Unfortunately, that meant Kirby had to find another career. He was blackballed as an oil driller and knew that no company would hire him.

So, Kirby turned to his old profession in the barricade business and moved to Arizona. He was lucky enough to land a job at a competitor. TransAde was good to him. They promoted him quickly to team leader after having been with the company for only a year. Kirby Wilson was a natural leader. He exuded confidence in himself and encouraged others to rise to the occasion. The company manager, Danny Lopez, liked that about Kirby and often overlooked his frequent tardiness and the stench of alcohol that protruded from his clothes like cheap perfume. Wearing shades at night was also a dead giveaway.

But Kirby was on the straight and narrow. After three years at TransAde, things were looking up. He hoped to get another promotion soon and didn’t want to mess things up. Last night’s drinking didn’t help. Kirby wished that he asked the bartender for whiskey on the rocks or had it mixed with something like club soda or ginger ale to dull some of the whiskey’s tooth. It was cheap whiskey, not the kind he could afford when he worked as an oil driller. But it drowned his pain just as well.

“Hey boss, when’s the safety meeting?” Ivan asked. He was eager to get on the road and get the job started.

“Is everyone here?” Kirby replied as he quickly scanned the room for his crew while taking another sip of coffee. “Looks like Chris isn’t here yet.”

Carlos approached and interjected, “He’s in the toilet. He’s got the runs. Chris said the misses made some extra spicy enchiladas and, well, his stomach isn’t liking it.”

The trio laughed as they pictured Chris’s derrière burning on the porcelain throne as he squirmed for relief.

“Boss, I’ll fill him in on the ride over. Looks like I’m driving the VP truck tonight.”

Ivan came in early and always checked the assignments so that he would be on top of things before the safety meeting started. He anticipated that Kirby would be promoted shortly and wanted to step into the team leader position. Ivan hoped that Kirby would recommend him as a natural successor. The other team members just saw him as a suck-up but no longer cared as long as they got their weekly paycheck.

“Thanks. We got the Tempe Ironman coming up and several ramp closures on the Loop 202. Four to be exact. Center/Priest both eastbound and westbound.” Kirby checked the barricade plan again before continuing. His haze was completely gone. “We also have to close the Scottsdale Road and McClintock off-ramps.”

“Both sides?” Carlos asked.

Kirby nodded.

When Chris approached the crew, he interjected, “Sounds like a lot of work.” He was still tucking his shirt into his faded jeans. “Just the four of us.”

“Yeah. Mike’s not in today. They’re counting on us to do a thorough job. We also need to put up pre-warning signs. I’ll drive the sign truck. Carlos, you can drive the crash truck.”

“Alright. I love driving the crash truck—”

“We’ll all convoy to the first off-ramp,” Kirby interrupted ignoring Carlos’ youthful enthusiasm.

Carlos was nearly 20-years old but didn’t garner the respect that he longed for from his older crew members. Chris, his brother-in-law, had gotten him the job after he was fired from his previous position. The rest of the crew didn’t appreciate the nepotism nor his lack of experience. They wanted Carlos to prove himself because they were risking their lives on a treacherous assignment.

“Chris, when we start work, I need you to call ADOT and let them know to turn on the DMS boards to indicate that the ramps are closed.” Kirby eyed him seriously. “You also need to tell them how long the ramps will be closed so that drivers are warned long enough.”

“How long is that?” he inquired.

Kirby flipped through the paperwork and answered, “Monday. To be safe, tell them Tuesday by 10 a.m.”

Kirby always liked to overestimate the amount of time to complete the jobs. That way all the safety measures would be in place well after the job was finished. It also avoided concerns about any miscommunications or missteps.

“Anything else?” Ivan wanted to make sure the crew was fully informed about the assignment before leaving the company headquarters.

“No, that’s it. Let’s be safe out there, guys. We want to makes sure the boss knows we’re the best crew.”

Chris, Ivan, and Carlos scattered towards their vehicles. Kirby took a large swill of coffee. He regretted not bringing his thermos so that he could fill it up. A mug would have to suffice. Luckily, he felt more awake and sharper than when he first arrived at work. The cool, early morning air would increase his circulation and rejuvenate him even further.