The Lovely Chocolate Mob - By Richard J. Bennett Page 0,102
Walter. He grabbed my cell phone from my belt; he took it from the pouch and opened the back, and removed the battery. “Put this battery in your pocket. Don’t lose it. If we have to call each other, let’s make it after 12 noon. Make sure you’re in a different place whenever you call. Cops can trace you through your phone.”
Walter is always three steps ahead. I’d forgotten cell phones could be used to track people. We rushed and got all of Franklin’s things together, which wasn’t very much, and threw them into the RV, and just before they took off, Franklin turned to me, took my hand, and looked directly in my eyes, and said “For all you’ve done, Thanks!”
This caught me off guard. I said, “What did I do?”
He said, “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me; I was hungry, and you fed me.” Then he turned and hopped into Walter’s RV and away they went, in a southern direction, down the street towards the back roads of town, a trail of dust rising as they hit the white gravel road at the end of my street.
Watching it disappear, I said to myself, “Maybe I did something right after all.”
I re-entered the house and turned up the television volume, turned on the lights and took the phone off the hook, locked all the windows and pulled the curtains, locked the house doors, and went for a drive towards town, keeping my car under 35 miles per hour. I didn’t want to get a ticket; they’re expensive these days.
Turning right onto Rochelle Drive, I saw police lights in the distance, coming my way. I put in a DVD and cranked it as high as it would go, with Sandy Patti singing patriotic music. I kept the windows up and watched the police caravan come my way in the left lane. Walter was right; all I could hear was the singing, and when the police cars passed me heading towards my house, I only heard the sirens then. I counted the squad cars as they went by, “One, two, three…” and on up to at least ten. The driver in the last car of the police group looked over at me for a split-second, as though he recognized me, but I turned my face toward the traffic and pretended not to notice. I saw the police car’s brake lights come on in my rear view mirror, but then it started going forward again, with the rest of the pack. Nobody followed me; I guessed they were determined to surprise me at home and find us there; this last squad car didn’t want to miss all the excitement.
The neighbors had a show. Police cars parked up and down the street, and all the policemen surrounded my house. They could hear the television blaring and used megaphones to call us out. They tried calling my home since I was listed in the phone book, but all they got were busy signals. The SWAT team was called out, shot tear gas into my home, hoping to smoke us out, but with no luck. When nobody came out, they decided to enter by force, so they got the shields and helmets and body armor and black garb and plenty of guns and ammunition. Two teams of four men each approached the front and back doors, and, through radio communication, were given the go-ahead to smash down my doors and enter the home. All of this tied up much of the city police force and fire department for about three hours, so I was told. The media had been called, and they were hoping for video of a weeping Dr. Franklin Burke being led out in shackles by victorious Lovely policemen, who had brought a thieving, murderous fugitive to justice. The rest of us (me and Walter, and maybe even David) would probably have been collateral damage and wouldn’t even earn a mention in the evening news.
It was after dark when I arrived downtown; I parked in the medical center parking lot. There would be a search for my car soon, so I deserted it there; I just got out, locked it up, and walked away. Fortunately, Miss Planter’s apartment was within walking distance. I didn’t want to involve her in this but didn’t know where else to go. Trying to not be too conspicuous while walking on the sidewalk toward her apartment building, I finally arrived at her doorstep and knocked.