He had to get rid of the truck, and fast. He wished he were a movie hero and could just head it toward a convenient cliff and fake his death by jumping out before it went over. He didn’t have the convenient cliff or athleticism to pull that off.
His next best option was to pull off the main road as soon as possible and park the truck somewhere it wouldn’t get noticed for a while. If he could do that, he might be able to buy enough time to get away from his pursuers.
In his head, he played out the fantasy of just keeping going in the huge rig. Screw roadblocks and chase helicopters. Driving an out-of-control tractor-trailer truck on a televised police chase was a much better way to go than getting stopped in a beat-up Hyundai and getting tackled five feet from the door.
Up ahead he saw a strip mall next to a car lot. If he could park the rig in the back alley behind the mall, he might have an extra few minutes. Mitchell accelerated. Hopefully the cops would drive right by before they realized that he’d taken a side street.
Mitchell jerked the wheel to the right to go down the narrow street between the car lot and the mall. The truck skidded into the turn. As soon as the truck pointed down the street, Mitchell stepped on the accelerator again liked he’d done a thousand times in his little car.
Only his little car never had a 10-ton trailer behind it with its own inertia. The back end of the trailer jackknifed into the center of the road and kept going. Burnt rubber smoke came from the wheels as the trailer swung past the rig like a pendulum.
Mitchell felt the back of the rig suddenly jerk behind him.
“
Oh, fuck.” He gripped the wheel and braced for impact.
The trailer skidded across the street and flew up onto the sidewalk in front of the car lot. It knocked down a street lamp and a power line. It kept going and burst through the chain barrier that ran around the entire lot. Mitchell heard the trailer make a loud boom as the force of the impact ripped open riveted sections.
The truck itself began to tip over as the trailer smashed into a row of new Toyotas and pulled it over with it. Mitchell watched the back of the trailer make a shower of sparks in the driver’s side mirror before it was crushed between the street and the weight of the rig. He felt pain in his shoulder as he was thrown against the driver’s side door when it became the new down.
The trailer and rig slid a few more feet, sending cars flying before it came to a stop. Mitchell could hear what sounded like hundreds of car alarms go off all around him.
That didn’t take long.
He lifted himself up off the door. Nothing felt broken or cut. While the backend of the trailer had been moving at 50 miles per hour, the truck cab was at the pivot point and moved more slowly when it rolled over. That was something to be thankful for, Mitchell thought half-heartedly.
The police were going to be on him even faster now. Mitchell had to get out of the rig. The windshield was still intact, so the only way out was the passenger side door.
Mitchell grabbed his backpack and stood up. He pulled the passenger’s side handle and pushed. The door didn’t want to move. Mitchell shoved again. The door opened a few inches and then fell shut again.
Mitchell looked around the cab interior and found his tire iron. He gave the windshield several whacks and it fell apart in thousand tiny pieces of glass. Mitchell stepped out onto the street and looked back at the damage.
The front part of the car lot was a complete wreck. A street light was crushed between the side of the trailer and row of smashed-in cars. Nearby he saw another broken pole being held up by two thick power cables. There was a loud crack as one of them gave out and the pole collapsed. The entire lot was thrown into darkness as the power went out.
Mitchell looked around. The entire neighborhood had just lost power. For several blocks in either direction, the street was covered in total darkness as the lights went out one by one. The only illumination at all was the flashing lights of the smashed cars as their alarms went off. Over the racket they made, Mitchell could hear sirens in the distance.
He guessed a blackout maybe was a good thing. It’d make it easier for him to hide if there were no street lights. Good parking job or not, Mitchell had to keep running either way.
Although the blackout could help him hide or least provide a distraction, he now had to worry about the people coming outside to have a look as they left their houses and trailers behind the strip mall. Running into them would only make things worse. He’d had enough human contact for the night.
Mitchell put his other arm into a backpack strap and ran down the dark street between the car lot and the strip mall. He wanted to go another two blocks and then take a side street and head toward the marina. It was still the best plan he had. If he couldn’t find a boat there or near there, he didn’t know what else to do, other than literally find some sewer pipe to crawl into and wait for a better idea.
As a defensive measure, he kept a tight grip on the tire iron in his right hand. It’d saved his life twice in the last few minutes. He felt safer knowing that it was ready at his side.
28
Mitchell kept a brisk pace as he headed toward the marina. He would move down one street and then go up another, heading there in a diagonal pattern. If anyone noticed him and thought he looked suspicious, he hoped moving street to street like that would make it difficult to peg down his position.
The blackout extended several more blocks and then everything returned to normalcy. Although he was in a quiet residential neighborhood, he took extra effort to make sure that he didn’t walk right into someone else out for an evening stroll. A few times cars passed him, but none of them slowed down.
As a precaution, he gripped the end of the tire iron in his right hand and shielded the bulk of it with his right arm. That way he wouldn’t look too suspicious if anyone caught a glimpse of him through an open window.
The car lot was over a half mile behind him, but he could still hear the sound of fire engines and police cars. He hoped they would be too focused on the chaos to spread out in a larger search. When he stopped for a moment to look back, he could see a police helicopter shining its spotlight in the area around the car lot.
The hundreds of cars in the lot provided a lot of hiding spaces for someone on the run. The more they focused their attention behind him, the better his odds of getting away would be.
In between some of the houses, he could see the canals that ran all around this part of South Florida. The marina was only a few blocks away. He kept an eye out for a potential boat behind the houses in case the marina didn’t work out. The odds weren’t as good targeting a single boat, but it was preferable to have some kind of backup plan.
One of the things he looked for was any house that was up for sale and looked unoccupied that had a boat in the backyard. That usually meant the owners lived elsewhere and either kept their boat berthed there or rented it out to someone else. A boat from a house like that could go missing for days before anyone noticed.
His ideal boat would be a small one no more than ten feet long, with a small engine. A bigger boat would be faster and could give him a cabin to sleep in. The problem was keeping it hidden and refueling it.
Mitch needed a boat with a gas tank that he could fill with gas siphoned from cars. There was no way he would be able to comfortably fill a large boat’s gas tank at a marina gas pump. He needed something small that he could dock without notice and make his way up the Intracoastal without calling attention to himself.
The next two blocks went by without incident. Finally, he came to the marina. Across an almost-empty parking lot, he could see the docks. He could make out several tall masts and a few luxury yachts. A slightly more upscale marina was a good thing.
When he worked at a marina, during one college summer, he got a pretty good understanding of boaters and what life was like around a marina. Many of the larger boats were lucky to get used more than a weekend a month. Owners bought them for the prestige and the potential for adventure but then grew bored with them and frustrated by the expense.
Smaller fishing boats tended to get a lot more use. The bigger luxury yachts often had at least one crew member who lived on board to take care of the boat. The kind of boat Mitchell was looking for would either be tethered to one of the larger boats or tied off at the far end of the marina.
Within the ecosystem of a marina, you had people who rented berth space for their pleasure craft or charter boats. Then you had people who rented smaller slips for boats they used to provide services to the bigger craft like boat detailing and servicing electronics.
The marina he had worked at owned two small johnboats they used to navigate around the marina and go up and down the waterway to run errands. They were usually tied off on the dock and secured with a cable that went from a metal loop attached to the boat and around a support. Often the key for the lock would be somewhere on the boat itself.
Mitchell stood by a palm tree and watched the marina for movement. The docks were separated from the parking lot by two gates. Near the closest one there was a single-story building that served as the office.
It was a tossup if there was anybody in the office watching the boats. The most common kind of crime in a marina was people pulling up in small boats and stealing things off the deck like rod holders and any kind of gear left out in the open. Boat owners tried to keep everything of value fastened down or in lockboxes.
The good thing for Mitchell was he could pop open a fiberglass lockbox pretty quickly with his tire iron. First he had to find a boat and make sure it started. There was little point doing a smash-and-grab if he couldn’t make a clean getaway.
Mitchell waited another few minutes and saw two men carrying fishing gear and heading down one of the docks toward the parking lot. They were on the opposite side of where he wanted to go and could possibly serve as a distraction as they unlocked the gate to leave.
Staying close to a low wall at the far end of the marina, Mitchell walked toward the seawall. He tried to stay in the shadows behind the lights that illuminated the parking lot. He got to the sidewalk and looked out at the boats in the marina. On the side of the dock closest to him he saw a fourteen-foot Boston Whaler. It was bigger then what he needed.
Mitchell wrestled with the idea of just trying to take that boat and switch it out for a different boat later when he noticed that tied up next to it was a smaller aluminum boat with a dark green hull. It had a 20-horsepower engine and an exposed gas tank. It also had a center console that would make steering a little easier.
That could be the one, he thought. The trick was getting to it. Mitchell looked over the edge of the seawall. It was near low tide. He could see a small concrete ledge below the rocky wall. It was only a few inches but enough for his toes to stand on. Worst-case scenario, the water was probably only three feet deep. He’d just have to keep his bag above the water if he fell in. He put the tire iron in his bag and got ready.
Mitchell looked down the sidewalk and saw the far gate swing open. The sound echoed across the quiet marina. Using that as cover, he got on all fours and lowered himself onto the lower edge.
He could feel the rough edges of the rocks on the seawall against his knees. His fingertips held onto the concrete lip as he ducked his head out of sight. His feet found the small ledge and he lowered his weight onto it.
Sliding one foot after the other, he moved his body toward the ramp that led up to the gate. He stopped for a moment when he realized he’d never bothered to check if the gate was unlocked to begin with.
He craned his neck to look up at the gate. That was when he saw a surveillance camera for the first time. The camera was aimed at anybody walking through the gate. Mitchell felt a little better about taking the indirect route.
If he could avoid being seen walking onto the dock and hopefully never be observed at the marina at all, it made his chances of a clean getaway that much better.
Mitchell slid over to the underside of the ramp. The boat he was after was about ten feet away tied to a pylon. A wire cable went from the steering wheel, through a rod holder and through the rung of a ladder that led down to it and the Boston Whaler.
The original plan was to climb up onto the dock and walk over to the boat like a civilized person. Because of the camera, Mitchell had to hang from the edge of the dock and scramble like a monkey while trying not to get his feet wet.
Halfway to the boat, Mitchell could hear footsteps on the dock. He froze. They sounded far off but getting closer. Should he stay where he was and leave his fingers in the open?
The ladder was only a few feet away. Mitchell decided to hurry toward it and hide underneath the dock behind it. He shimmied along and almost fell into the water when his hand hit an unexpected rope cleat.
He pulled himself behind the ladder and waited. The footsteps grew louder on the wooden dock above. He could also hear the sound of something being rolled. Probably a cart with gear in it.