The First Councel

I look out the back window. Both agents are closing in. The decision’s easy. I’m not going to be a prisoner. Out here, I still have a chance. And if I give myself up, I’ll never find the truth.

I kick open the door and scramble out. Knowing that there’s only a few dollars left in my wallet, I tear off my presidential cufflinks, toss them in the cabbie’s window, and take off. Unsure of where to go, I dart farther up the driveway and around the side of the house. Behind me, the cab driver pulls backwards at a 45-degree angle-just enough to block the driveway and get in the agents’ way.

“Get this piece of crap out of here!” one of the agents yells as I tear into the backyard. I grab two posts of the wooden fence surrounding the yard and hoist myself over. Landing in the backyard of the abutting house, I hear the FBI climbing over the cab, their shoes thunking against its metal hood.

“He’s in the other backyard!” one of the agents shouts.

I dash out toward the front of the house and find myself on a neighboring block. Rushing across the street, I run up a driveway toward the backyard of a third house. In this yard, the fence at the rear of the property is too high to scale, but the ones at the sides are shorter. I go over one into the backyard on the right. From there I hurdle the back fence and exit out onto another new block. From the quick look I got as they ran toward the cab, both agents appeared to be in their early forties. I’m twenty-nine. That should be all it takes.

“Give it up, Garrick!” one of them shouts, only a backyard behind.

That’s when I remember I’m a lawyer.

House by house, he’s closing in. I feel it at each fence. His voice keeps getting louder. When I started running, he was at least a minute behind. Now it’s less than thirty seconds. But as I land in the backyard of a beige Tudor-style home, I look up just in time to see my best way out: an enormous blue-and-white Metro bus blows past the driveway trailing a smokescreen of black exhaust. As it passes, its brakes scream. It’s stopping! I sprint down the driveway. Sure enough, as I turn onto the street, it’s waiting at the corner.

“Hold it!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

On board, an old woman carrying a mesh bag of groceries is teetering down the stairs.

I’m running full speed; it’s almost within reach. She reaches the sidewalk and waves goodbye to the bus driver. My hand brushes against the bus’s back right tire as I lunge for the door.

“FBI!” the agent shouts behind me. “Don’t let him in!”

I reach out my hand… almost there… If I make it in, I’m as good as-

The door slams before I get there. That’s the end. I missed it… I can’t believe I missed it. The bus lurches forward, kicking a cloud of black smoke in my face. I turn around and spot the FBI agent less than fifty feet up the block. I’m too out of breath… I can’t… But there’s no choice. I dash across the street and up the driveway of the nearest house. Within seconds, I’m in the backyard. Unlike the others, this yard is enclosed by a black wrought iron gate. At six feet, it’s too high to climb. I look for another way out. The agent’s already in the driveway. Nowhere to go but up.

Grabbing a nearby patio table, I shove it against the back of the fence and hop on top of it. It’s just the boost I need. From this height, I wrap my hands around two of the black metal spikes and pull myself up. Behind me, the agent’s closing in. As I cautiously maneuver my body over the fleur-de-lis-shaped spikes, I feel them pressing against my thigh. Slowly… slowly…

“Got you!” the agent shouts. He grabs my ankle as I straddle the tall fence.

I lash out and kick him directly in the face. He reels backwards and lets go just as I clear the fence, but as I hop down to the ground I’m off balance. I land on my ankle and it twists below me. A hot spasm shoots up my left leg. Stumbling to my feet, I ignore the pain and limp forward. On the other side of the fence, the agent’s already on the table.

My ankle’s throbbing, but I run. Keep running.

He scurries up the fence in a mad dash and throws one leg over. He’s wobbling, but all he has to do is-

“Aaaaah!” he screams.

I spin around. On top of the fence, he’s got a spike straight through his thigh. Blood’s slowly running down his leg. I cringe just looking at it.

“Are you okay?” I call out.

He doesn’t answer; his face is contorted in pain.

In the distance, I hear the second agent. “Lou, are you there? Lou!?” He’ll find his partner soon enough. Time for me to leave.

Throwing all my weight on my good leg, I limp out of there as fast as I can. Five blocks later, I spot another bus. This time, I make it on board. As the doors slap shut, I hear the howl of a nearby ambulance. That was fast. Standing at the front of the bus, I stare out the windshield and watch the flashing lights head our way.

“You gonna pay the fare, or what?” the bus driver asks, snapping me back to reality.