Cold Snow: A Legal Thriller (8 page)

With that, she stormed out.

Jake looked worried. "Shouldn't we go after her? She doesn't have anything."

"She'll come back," Alex said offhandedly, taking another bite. "How far could she possibly get? We haven't seen the last of her."

Anthony made sure to stash the knife outside town, finding a deep snowbank and burying it under three feet of snow. He worried about thaw for a minute, but then realized that it was winter. In Niagara, you couldn't expect to see grass between October and April. It being February, he didn't see cause for concern.

Upon entering town, he noticed his shirt was wet and stained just above his left hip. Raising the shirt, he started at the amount of blood he'd already lost. Quickly, he tore off a piece of his sleeve and wrapped it around the wound.

He tossed his last cigarette into the snow on Main Street. Utterly devoid of nightlife, the streets would undoubtedly be empty. If you saw anyone out late, they were either taking a walk, something was happening, or they were up to something.

Because he had held that conception for years, he was surprised to see somebody walking towards him. It was a girl, who looked to be about eleven, and seemed part angry and part scared.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you out this late?" he asked, once she was close enough to hear him.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you bleeding?" she replied.

"None of your business."

"Then you don't need to know why I'm out here. Do you have any food?"

"Food for what?"

"A fairly long trip. I followed an idiot up here, and now I need to get back down."

"It depends. Do you have any money?"

The girl fished in her pockets. "Twenty-six dollars."

Alex and Jake had both finished eating, and felt satisfied with a meal for the first time since leaving Woodsbrook. After paying the check, Alex checked his backpack, intending to count their money. Instead he found a cruel surprise.

"It's gone!"

"What?"

"Gone! Twenty-six dollars gone! Sarah must have taken them!"

"Remember when she leaned under the table to tie her shoe?"

Alex would have come up with an angry reply, but at that moment the waiter came to pick up the check.

"Thanks for eating at Niagara Grill," he said, slipping the check into his pocket.

"You're welcome," Jake said.

The waiter smiled slightly. "I didn't think you had the money. Thought you'd offer to wash dishes or something. Where'd you get this much cash?"

"Odd jobs," Alex said, without looking up.

"Maybe I should start doing odd jobs. Seems like there's a lot of money in it."

It seemed suspicious to both of them. Maybe he's just curious, Jake thought.

*  *  *

As manager of the Grill, James Matthews made his own hours, and he'd declared them over fifteen minutes ago. Between then and closing time he liked to relax with the Woodsbrook Statesman, the nearest paper to Niagara. His friends often recommended he get the New York Times instead, but it would only come monthly to such a remote place. Besides, Matthews said, he liked the small town flair.

The Statesman came weekly, so the stories were sometimes out of date. Not much had happened in the past few months. The "World" section was always in the front, fraught with stories about economic tension and wars in Uganda. Who needs it?, thought Matthews. He liked reading the sports page and the "Town" section much better.

The town section lay aside, on his desk. He'd caught one of his employees reading it earlier, and forgot to put it back in. He picked it up. On the front page was a story about three runaway children—two from family homes, one from an orphanage. Their respective guardians were pleading for their return, except for the ones named Orson—the story didn't go into detail about them.

Matthews was rudely interrupted by one of his waiters, who burst through the door with a great aura of urgency.

"Boss! You'll never believe—"

"What? Did Smith drop another serving tray?"

"No! The Town section—in the statesman!"

"Yeah, I saw you reading that earlier. You weren't supposed to look at it."

"Boss! Those runaway kids—it said they were offering a cash reward for information!"

"Yeah, so?"

"Two of them are at table nine! The third just left!"

Matthews stood up, suddenly serious. "I'll split it, fifty-fifty."

"Sixty-forty."

"Deal," Matthews said, dialing the operator.

She picked up instantly. "May I help you?"

"Connect me to the Woodsbrook Police Department."

The Woodsbrook police chief and officer Michael Warren were the only people left at the station when they got the call. It was, of course, Friday, and most people had gone home. The chief envied them, as he was stuck doing paperwork. He'd tried several times to get a secretary, but there was so much bureaucracy involved. It gave him a headache.

Officer Warren had just returned from a job in a town five miles or so out of Woodsbrook, and was putting his gear away before leaving for the night.

Warren's phone rang, and he reluctantly picked up the receiver. "Woodsbrook police department, officer Mike Warren speaking."

"Officer, my name is James Matthews. I have some information regarding the runaways."

"Runaways? Let me check," he said, leaning under his desk, exasperated that he would have to stay late. "Alexander Matthew Orson, wanted for truancy, larceny, and illegal weapon possession. Jacob Daniel Harwell, truancy and accomplice to Orson. Sarah Rebecca Jones, truancy and theft of classified records. What do you know?"

"They're all in Niagara. Two of them are in the Niagara Grill, 7471 Main Street. The other one…I'm not sure, but probably on the street someplace."

"Thank you, sir. You'll get your hundred dollars in a few days." Officer Warren hung up the phone.

"Well?" the chief said.

"I'm working late tonight. I need to get some people from the Niagara Police to find those kids."

"Niagara? That's a long way from here. They got pretty far in two weeks."

Officer Warren cursed Alex Orson as he dialed the number.

"Twenty-six bucks?" Anthony said, surprised that a kid, besides himself, would carry this much money.

"Is it enough for food?" Sarah asked, annoyed that this guy was wasting her time.

"Just enough. Let me head back to my house and see what I can do."

"Can you make it quick? I'm kind of in a hurry."

"Be patient! You can follow me if you want to."

Sarah found herself en route to the home of an unknown kid, who may or may not be screwing her over, bargaining for food, and heading for Canada on the next boat possible.
What's happening to me?,
she thought.

Anthony's house wasn't a long way off Main Street, on a road creatively titled Falls Avenue. She elected to wait outside, keeping an eye on the back door, in case he tried to stiff her and escape.

When he entered the house, Anthony scanned for his parents. He saw them in the living room, his father probably drunk, his mother probably asleep. The only way to deal with them was to not talk to them, so he walked to the kitchen as quietly as he could.

He opened the pantry and loaded a backpack with twenty-six dollars' worth of food. Suddenly, he had an idea.
I'm not a grocer,
he thought.
I'm a proud delinquent about to get twenty-six dollars from some girl who thinks she's getting something out of me. I'm not selling any food.

Rifling through his closet, he found an identical backpack.

Sarah was about to go inside and ask him what was taking so long, when Anthony emerged, carrying a loaded backpack. He opened the first pocket to show it was full of food.

"Be right back," he said, taking the backpack. "I need to use the bathroom."

The moment Anthony closed the bathroom door, he started counting.
One…two…three…

Sarah took the money from her pocket and counted it, just to make sure nothing was missing.

Twenty-nine…thirty!
Anthony opened the door, after the amount of time anyone would spend in the bathroom. He replaced the first backpack with the second, and went outside.

"Finally!" Sarah said, handing Anthony the money. "I just counted it. It's definitely twenty-six dollars."

"Thank you," Anthony said, handing her the backpack and running off, his footsteps crunching on the snow.

That's odd, what does he need to run for?

She opened the backpack, and found…

Styrofoam pellets.

She'd been stiffed after all.

And to top it off, she heard a police siren, which in a town like this meant something was very wrong.

"Ready to go, Jake? The last boat leaves in a couple hours and I want to be sure we're on it."

"Yeah, let's go. Do we have passports?"

"Why bother? We're already criminals."

Jake sighed and got up. A police siren from the parking lot caught his attention.

"What the hell? Alex, look at this."

"Two police cars. Maybe they didn't pass the health inspection?"

"Shut up! They're starting to talk."

"Alexander Matthew Orson, and Jacob Daniel Harwell, come out with your hands up. You have the right to remain silent."

"Holy crap!" Jake shouted, his face white. "Someone must have known!"

"Head for the kitchen!"

When Officer Franklin burst into the restaurant, he found nothing but several bewildered customers and an open kitchen door.

"This is urgent police business. Did anyone see Alex Orson or Jacob Harwell in here?"

"I saw two kids run into the kitchen, but I thought they were the cook's sons or somethin'. Do I get a reward for this?"

Officer Franklin was long gone before he heard this. Running into the kitchen, pistol drawn, he spotted the two kids fleeing down the right aisle. He fired twice, shattering plates.

"Watch it, buddy! I just washed those!" yelled a man at the sink. Officer Franklin fired again, punching a hole in the door.

"Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law!" he called, racing through the kitchen and kicking open the door. Orson and Harwell were fleeing to the street now.

He fired two more shots, the sound reverberating through the dark night.

CHAPTER 6

At the Border

"This is great!" Alex exploded, once they were out of earshot. "This is just freaking great!"

"Alex, calm down!" Jake said. They were running along eastern boulevard now, and as far as they could tell, none of the police cars had seen them.

"Calm down!? I'll calm down when
you
find a way to get us out of this crap!"

"They'll hear us! Haven't you ever heard somebody tell you to not panic when you're in a dangerous situation?"

"Get over to the fences!" Alex commanded, dragging Jake with him. "And keep your head down."

"If you panic, you die. You can't think straight—" Jake went on, running to keep up.

"Alright! Alright!" Alex said, giving in. "I'll keep calm until we get somewhere safe. Then you're getting hell."

"I still don't see how it's my fault…" Jake sighed. They stopped to catch their breath behind a large wooden fence. Alex checked the police locations, while Jake reached for the backpack—the revolver might come in handy.

"God damn it! God damn it!" Alex herd Jake yell.

"What?"

"The backpack! We—we left it in the restaurant!"

When the police cars pulled up beside her, Sarah saw no point in resistance. She was no action hero—she was a young girl, who, for some mysterious reason, took two patrol cars to arrest.

"Sarah Jones, you have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law," called one of them. He switched off his bullhorn.

Sarah walked into the back seat without fighting—she knew it would just bring a resisting arrest charge.

The cop with the bullhorn got into the driver's seat. "We have to stop at the Niagara Grill for a few minutes, and get some other suspects."

Alex and Jake,
she thought.
It's a shame. I like Jake, and even though I didn't like Alex…I never wanted him arrested.