Novel Treatments / RENDEZVOUS WITH A RUNAWAY: More Excerpts

    ”Run far, little man.  Hide deep.”
     Derek let the receiver slide down his leg.  Somewhere far below, the phone clacked against its cradle and Derek left it off the hook.
     The words kept ringing in his head.  And there was a sickening familiarity about them, as though they were part of a recurring dream.  His spine fought a chill as he sat on the floor trying to convince himself that the dizziness he was feeling wasn’t a condemned man’s fear.
    ”Bobby, you catch all that?  The nerve of him.  He says I have twenty-four hours to get out of town.  Greazy, her father took out a contract on me.”
     The Big Kid stood in the doorway, nodding slowly, watching Derek.  And Derek watched him back.  Any moment something should snap.
     Derek didn’t like the way Bobby appeared too calm.  He was only a spectator.  His mind could stay in the background playing needlepoint.  He could go on to school as though nothing ever happened.  Megan would be back home, Bobby could get back on the team, and nobody would even miss Derek.
     Megan and Bobby didn’t have to die.

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     Bobby aimed his gun as Tyler and his boy hopped out to do battle.  ”It ends here.  Prepare to die.”
    ”Guns.  They got guns,” somebody cried from behind the headlights.  ”Stay away from us, you crazy niggers.”
     Doors slammed.  Tires screeched.  The stench of rubber choked the air.
    ”Hell no you don’t,” Derek screamed.  Get your ass back here.”  One leg was already behind the wheel.  Now he felt the lust in rage.  ”Bring your punk butts here.”
     Bobby was beside Derek.  Riding shotgun with a shotgun.  His head jerked as Derek fed the fuel.  ”So what now, nigger?  Tyler is a proud fuck.  We let him go, he’ll jump right back.”
     Tyler had maybe a five second lead.  Derek flew the car through a minor intersection.  He slowed for a red, changed his mind, and plunged on through.
    ”I don’t want that big ape after me.”  Derek wouldn’t allow himself to think.  He pressed the gas as hard as he could.  ”We chose to go after him. We have to finish this.”

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     Derek knew the score.  Nothing sensuous.  Hands off all the way.  No implication there was anything between them.  Tomorrow, this never happened.  But the abusive way she had handled him . . .
     Derek, come here.  Look at my body.  I’ve got candy.
     Cool.  Calculating.  Calloused.  That’s Megan.  Well, two can play this game.  And she mustn’t be kept waiting.  Derek stared right into the eye of the tiger.  He gazed down her face to her neckline.
     They say you can always tell when someone is watching you.
     The constant awareness of her watching him drove his eyes back to hers.  Megan’s game.  But instead of running with his head between his legs he discovered her sudden vulnerability.  Behind those tough womanly eyes, her lips revealed a nervous smile.  Derek’s game.
     Immediately, his eyes dived down the sea of freckles that keyboarded into the crypts of her cleavage, and absorbed the downy fuzz that fish-scaled her belly.  His eyes watered and plunged on down.
     No stopping now.
     The room gave up all color.  The floor became a lopsided whirlpool.  A treacherous spiral into Megan’s body.  Derek gripped the doorknob, shoes digging into carpet, his conscience warning him to run the other way.
     But Megan’s flesh was a suction cup.  Her sensuality challenged his willpower.  Between the two of them, an unprecedented tug-of-war.
     Slowly . . . victoriously . . . her thighs drifted apart.

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     Both the developers and the realtors had neglected the Covington area needlessly.  Advertised as retirement condos it lacked the ingredients of the American Dream.  No schools.  No jobs.  No public transportation.  Not much of anything flowered or flowed through the new community, and interest rates were a giveaway.  The Hathaways had tiptoed through the back door at just the right moment.  No one was noticing a minority family who conducted itself in the correct manner.  A twist of financial fate and a change in political winds shot an arrow of growth into the heart of Covington, and almost overnight its DNA contained a shopping center, two Seven-Elevens, three service stations and a nursery of industrial centers with delivery routes.  The land wasn’t listening to statistical predictions.  Covington, now having its own official growth rate, was a thrift place, not only to live, but also to raise a fine sprout of kids.
     Soon to follow was an electoral board with enough trimmings to promote trouble and spread blame.  The screening process was willing and ready.  While the chin-strokers squinted atop their ethnic fences the elderly black couple with the peculiar son grew painfully more visible.  Shortly after Harold Hathaway’s death the neighborhood had a new party house.  Some nasty waves were being made.  Finally, the Big Kid was riding high with no rules in sight, and the two-piece family was marked for extraction.
     A savior and scapegoat was needed.  An unsuspecting sucker.  Along comes Derek Miller.

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Some gray matter showed up under the heading of townhouse loyalty. Mrs. Hathaway acted as though something foul had crawled into the basement and died. Derek had to spend the better part of Saturday afternoon catering to her and distracting any advance toward the world outside her bedroom walls. Too many times her eyes had laid tracks in the direction of the stairway.
In the unadulterated confines of her medicated mind . . . what was down there?

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    ”I know what you do around here all day.  Drinking and smoking weed.  Laughing and passing gas.”
     Bobby made a whining noise deep in his stomach and his big eye bulged with humor.  He was about to lose it.  A throat cleared and he quickly wiped the smile off his face.
    ”Now you see there?” Mrs. Hathaway said to her daughter.  ”You can do that with just a look.  But as soon as you’re gone our boy won’t listen.  Not to me.”
     Doctor Vanessa Hathaway raised a huge hand high over Bobby’s head and her tongue crowded the tip of her bared teeth.  ”Well, he better start.  Or he will learn.  Bobby, do I need to connect?  And I told you before.  Get those arms down.”
    ”Yes, ma’am.”
    ”Yes, who?”
    ”Yes, mother.”
     Doctor Hathaway breathed in deeply.  The blacks of her eyes rolled towards Derek.  ”Then do we have an understanding?  Bobby is not to go anywhere.  He’s not to have anyone over.  Do I make myself clear?”
     Derek nodded, more than once.  He was crossing his fingers behind his heart that nothing was mentioned about a runaway girl.
     The elder Mrs. Hathaway said, “And I gotcha.  I surely do, love.”
    ”And, Bobby, you needn’t put that look on your face.  This is something you brought about.”  The doctor handled the front door.  ”People, until further notice.  Mama, I’ll call you later.  See that your phone stays clear.”
     In the basement Megan crawled from behind the bar while Derek pressed an index finger against his lips.
    ”Shhhh.”
     Bobby showed up moments later and stood in the doorway, lips twisted with anger, cheeks forged into knots.

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    ”Now what?” Eddie asked, staring at the ceiling.
     Derek looked at Megan for clues.  ”What do mean now what?”
     Eddie’s smile was feeble.  ”Isn’t it a little late for company?   And I thought everyone was using the basement entrance.”
    ”We are,” Derek said and moved to the doorway.  ”But not everyone knows it.”
     He moved another six feet to the stairs.  Now he was listening to voices in the kitchen.  Bobby was telling someone to go ahead and do something—that he didn’t care.  He had nothing to lose.  It was okay with him if they did it every night.  Do what?  Bobby was insisting they do the whole house.  He had nothing to hide.
     Hide?
     Derek ran into the den, pointing to Megan.  ”The police again.  Get to the trunk.”
    ”Again?” Eddie said and threw back their blanket.
     Megan shot up.  She hopped in a circle wearing tee shirt and panties, trying to squeeze into jeans.
    ”Forget that,” Derek whispered.  ”No, not the trunk.  Yes, I still mean the trunk.  Just go.”
     The sight of Megan in underwear should have been either embarrassing, sexy or funny.  It was neither.  Two adult males harboring a half-naked runaway.  Right now a bomb would have been safer.
     Megan boomeranged into the den.  Her eyes were frightened and frightening.
    ”They’re on the stairs,” she whispered in a shrieking voice.  ”What do I do?”
     Eddie banged a fist against the carpet and collapsed under the pile of quilts.
     Derek held his head and closed his eyes.  Somewhere inside his fear-stricken mind a solution exploded.  ”Behind the recliner.  Head down.  Mouth shut.  Your purse!”
     As the police stepped into the room Derek was tilted forward on the couch, thumbing through a cycle magazine.  He slowly looked up to his left, struggling to control his breathing, and tried denying a loud ticking sound behind the chair on his right.
     White . . . female . . . runaway.  Derek could smell the burning fuse.