On the other hand, it makes it hard to get out, too. If the feds wanted to choke-point any fleeing villains, they’d only have three points they needed to choke.
Just past ten that night, the lone Explorer pulled into a Sheetz gas station not far past the Virginia state line. I waited until it stopped near the convenience store, then I pulled alongside an eighteen-wheeler at the other end. My un-Bovaroesque car, far more noticeable in a small-town environment, became progressively more troublesome to camouflage.
That stop served as my only opportunity to replenish water, cigs, and something—anything—to eat. I slipped out, still wearing my ball cap, my head tipped down, and stood by the front of the eighteen-wheeler as though I were its pilot. The Explorer remained running and idle, and only after a minute did someone emerge: a single, bulked-up marshal who looked like he could’ve been my law-abiding and law-enforcing twin, right down to a baseball cap and heavy jacket and jeans. His walk, his sway as he surveyed his surroundings without so much as a twist of the neck, the way one hand always seemed semi-balled into a fist, his heavy footsteps, distinguished him from the other patrons. Assessing your adversary is not half the battle; it’s the entire thing. This guy was not Willie, not a toddler, not a hoodlum. Not someone I would take down with a single blow.
I waited a moment, hoping the marshal was merely checking out the convenience store before letting his traveler enter for a bathroom break. I needed to duck in and out as well, arm myself with the necessary objects to satisfy thirst and hunger and a fierce addiction to nicotine.
Through the glass, I watched the marshal turn a corner near the back of the store toward the restroom, where the length of his disappearance suggested he was using the facility rather than checking it out. He went through the store and grabbed several bottles of water and a few small packages of junk food, did so with a speed possible only by knowing their exact locations, as though the facility was more familiar to him than his own office. He rushed to the counter, paid, left.
As I heard the door slam on the Explorer, now certain Melody (or whoever) was not going to surface, I made my quick play for the convenience store, giving myself no more than a thirty-second delay so I could catch them again. I hustled in, grabbed an armful of junk: pretzels, chips, a trio of energy bars, two bottles of water—and rushed back to the front, tossed my items on the counter. But here is where the weight of addiction becomes so heavy you have no choice but to curse it; my speed was only as fast as the clerk opening the cabinet behind him to get my smokes.
The cashier, an older man dressed well enough to suggest he might be the owner, tossed four packs on the counter next to my pretzels, and just as I reached into my pocket for some cash, the marshal returned to the store. I tipped my head down so that my chin touched my jacket, pretended to count money. My twin walked to a specific spot with purpose, as though he’d left something behind. I held my money in my hand, faked peeling off bills while the fed surveyed a display; he was looking for a product, not a person. And as I slid two twenties across the counter, I could hear the marshal mumbling under his breath, complaining. All I understood was this: babysitter.
I nodded when the cashier offered to put all my stuff in a bag, my chin still pressed to my chest, cap down over my forehead, partly covered my face as I pretended to adjust my glasses. And as my purchases were bagged, the marshal made his way up front, the man who could take me down on the spot, legally put a bullet in my head if he judged me to be any threat at all, stood right behind me in line no less than eighteen inches away.
The cashier handed over my bag and change, thanked me; I did not respond, did not want my voice to be heard. I slowly turned around, and the marshal quickly slid up, nearly bumped into me he was in such a hurry to pay. And as I pretended to check the contents of my bag, I tilted my head to catch a