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AUbrY

“Can you look again?”

I nervously flick the “Sorry we missed you” sticker while trying to vanish into the shadows. As it’s a UPS store with gigantic glass windows facing a busy road, I’m struggling.

“Of course, sir. What was the name?”

“Gene, Aubry,” I tell him, my head on an all too familiar swivel. Children painted to look like unicorns and tigers run past. Every laugh sets my heart pounding. This is exactly the kind of place they’d be hiding in, waiting for their opportunity to—

“Could it be under another name?”

“I don’t know!” I shout, my fist slamming to the counter.

Eyes dart to me from once bored customers.

The scale jiggles in place and the clerk holds it down with his hand.

I had no intention to leave my house. But a package from one of my old contacts—one they didn’t bother to deliver, just left a note for—pulled me out of my refuge.

I slouch my shoulders, trying to look less intimidating, and lean on an elbow. “Here’s the sticker they put on the door.” I try once again to hand him what I found stuck to the glass door while on patrol.

He eyes it up like I’m passing him a three-dollar bill. “I see. I will look again. But I’ll need some ID before I can hand it over.”

“Fine,” I mumble before remembering it’s not fine. There wasn’t time to stop at the DMV while hiding from a dangerous mafia that’s got my number. Well, if I grab the package and run, it’s not like he could stop me.

Once again, the only clerk in the store vanishes into the back. Exhausted and about to crawl out of my skin, I turn to face the street. Either something’s going on today, or Loomis has weekly carnivals. There’s an awful lot of purple. Something to do with the Lakers?

Smiling faces. Family. Dads pushing strollers, moms pulling carts full of sleeping toddlers. Happiness. Or at least the illusion before they all get home and crash.

I didn’t like crowds much before I ran. Now, having so much as five people around sends me itching for an exit. I couldn’t imagine going to a carnival, much less one for…

The green jacket. Exhausted parents part for only a second, but it’s enough. Bright green with wide lapels and no tie. I’d know that suit coat anywhere.

The Bells are here. Fuck.

“Here you are, sir. Now about that ID.”

Fuck! How the shit did they figure out I’m here?

I lost sight of them back in Utah, but—like a dog with a bone—they sniffed me out again.

Green is the muscle of the Bell twins, and I use that lightly.

He’s skinny as a twig but always carries a lead pipe in one pocket, and a nine ml in the other.

You don’t need a lot of the protein kind of muscle when the other guy’s swinging lead.

He’s scanning the crowd, hunting for someone six foot five or taller. I crouch as his head swings. Can he see me in here? There’s got to be another exit out the back.

Without pause, I leap over the counter. My legs kick the scale to the ground, dragging the computer with me.

“Sir,” the clerk reaches out to stop me, but I’ve got momentum on my side. Plunging forward, I ram through the door that’s not even locked. Boxes are piled up along with huge bins forming mazes. Walking to the point of nearly running, I work around them as the clerk stops in the doorway.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says as if he can stop me.

There! A fire exit. Dramatically, I raise my boot and kick the door in. It flies as if it wasn’t even locked and rams into the back wall. Not looking back, I dash out of the store.

“You forgot your package!” the clerk calls as the door slams shut behind.

Sure enough, I’m behind the strip mall in a loading zone. Leaping down, I eye up my surroundings quickly. My truck’s not too far, but I can’t take the direct approach in case they’re watching. Maybe, if I ease around the back of the alley, I can come up from behind and…

Red!

I jerk back, scraping my arms on the brick corner.

The all-red tracksuit, like he’s mimicking the boss. Rounder than his brother, he is the brains behind the muscle. For as demented as Green can be, the real psychotic orders come from Red. If he catches me, it’ll be the grill for sure.

“Daddy!” a small voice cries out as a purple balloon goes bounding on past.

Hunched at the knees, I turn out just as the family walks past and blend into them.

I have no idea where we’re going, but I can break off after we’re past the Bells.

The sounds of people and feet scraping over pavement manage to puncture through my pounding heartbeat.

I keep a constant watch from the sides of my periphery, scouring for any sign of the Bells.

Luckily, they stand out as damn near everyone’s wearing purple for some reason.

Though, that also leaves me in black looking like a dead thumb. I have to ditch this crowd fast and get back to my safe house.

We walk under a sign that I don’t lift my head to read and into mayhem. Country music twangs over the cry of children on cheap rides, the bleat of goats, and the overpowering scent of…

Of…?

I whip my head around, certain I’m imagining it. Purple balloons. Purple drinks. Purple signs in folksy handwriting. This can’t be. I am not in a—

“Welcome to the eggplant festival. Here!” A bubbly older lady with dirt under her nails thrusts an eggplant in my face.

I blink slowly. “No, thanks,” I say dumbly. “I don’t want to buy one.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s free,” she says and shoves it into my arms.

It slips off, teetering for the cement and a hundred feet pulverizing it to mush. I scramble, cradling the eggplant like a baby. Taking a deep breath, I check to make sure it’s okay, and I didn’t scar the flesh.

Is this what it feels like for normal humans to hold a monkey?

The woman keeps handing eggplants out to people who juggle them back and forth or toss them into their bags without a care.

A fire burns in my heart to rescue them all before they’re bruised, beaten, or worse.

But, as I glance over my shoulder, I catch a swath of red in the sea of purple.

Shit. I need to blend in. With one hand on the eggplant, I follow the crowds doing my best to lap them without shoving. It’s not easy as they keep stopping to ooh and aah at every little thing. Yes, it’s a llama. We’ve all seen those. Move!

“Watch your feet!” a voice shouts.

I freeze, only for a gnome-sized woman with a pruned face to run up and whack me on the knees. “You’re standing on the art!” she chides.

“Oh?” I shift my shoe to find a carrot below. In my haste, I walked into a chalk art garden. It’s beautiful with rows of carrot stalks, lettuce heads, and eggplants so realistic I can almost feel them. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t be sorry, just move,” she scolds again. “Damn tourists.”

Cowed by the four-foot gnome, I stumble back like a giant who’s had his beanstalk cut out from under him.

People surge around behind me, trying to give me a wide berth that leaves me open for the Bells.

Without thought, I turn from the chalk art into a line of stalls.

Homemade soaps and jewelry fly past. I’ve got to disguise myself somehow.

Find a way to blend in.

There!

A stand filled with trucker hats is just what I need. I pick up the first one my hand finds while I keep staring around. No sign of Green or Red so far. Maybe they didn’t see me come in here.

“That’s a bestseller,” a man says.

“How much?” I ask paying no attention to what I’m buying.

“Thirty-five.”

“Dollars?” I gasp, turning to see this gold-plated ball cap.

The sides are the same purple as everything else around here and thin as hell.

The bill feels like it’s made out of cardboard.

But what nearly makes me groan is the saying emblazoned on the front— Big Eggplant Energy with an embroidered eggplant in the middle.

I reach to put it back. Green appears just on the edge of my vision.

Ramming the hat onto my head, I drop a fifty into the guy’s hand. “Thanks, keep the change!” I cry out like I’m overcome with celebratory spirit. Pulling the flimsy brim down as far over my eyes as it can go, I duck around to the back of the stalls.

In the distance, I spot a bandstand where people are converging.

I could try to hide in the crowd. We aren’t supposed to do anything surrounded by people.

It’d draw too much attention. But then, I’ve never dealt with a traitor before so all his precious rules could be off the table.

Still, it might be my best chance. Keep with them, wait for the Bells to get bored and wander off.

Then pack and run. Maybe go north. Do they have eggplant festivals in Canada?

Tipping my chin down so far I can barely see, I hunch my shoulders, stuff my hands in my pockets, and work my way for the crowd.

Most of the time, people are trouble. Unpredictable.

The only thing more dangerous than a trained killer is a wild drunk.

I stuff down every instinct telling me to run in the other direction. Right now, I need people.

I wonder what they’re going to see. The air smells heady. Not the usual fair foods of fried anything and sugared everything else. More like… Cheese, tomato, oregano…

Eggplant.

My legs give out. I plummet to a bench tucked beside a yellow building.

They’re eating eggplant up there. Hundreds of them. Chowing down on fried eggplant. Boiled eggplant. Mashed and mutilated eggplant!

My skin recoils even as my salivary glands water at the scents. Living off of protein bars and ramen for months has me aching to sprint up there and try a piece. It’d be like eating my own finger. No!

I shake my head, trying to knock sense into my brain when I catch an eggplant. It’s being held reverently in the air like a newborn baby. I scoot across the bench, not realizing until that moment that I’m not alone.

Just as my hand lands on the back of the seat, her head turns.

“It’s you!”