Thin Luck

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

California - Penal Code 207

Abduction

THE MAN SITTING next to me on the bus was snoring the full resounding snores of my father. Drunken snores. He tried to make some conversation as we left Vallejo, but I did my best to ignore him. I noticed the diabetic kit, almost accidentally, while digging through his bag. It was at the bottom, under the tightie whitie underwear. I hoped they were clean underwear at least, but from the faint brown streaks I didn't want to wonder too much. I put the insulin and set of needles in my purse.

The window was cool against my temples. I took deep cleansing breaths off the window.

I woke up to the bus' breaks screeching. It was foggy in San Francisco, with bumper-to-bumper traffic. They say it is almost always foggy in San Francisco. There was always traffic in big cities. The combination must be suicidal. I'd hoped to see the famous Golden Gate Bridge, but the haze of the evening fog and sheets of drizzle doused my hopes.

Not too far from the bus station I walked into a bar. I pointed at a tap when the bar tender asked what I wanted. Bars had televisions, and I'd hoped to see Nick's house on the television. Some clue in the background might help me find him.

Through two beers I watched the basketball game. Sweaty men ran back and forth shoving an orange ball through a hoop. No one cheered or got remotely exited when the ball went through the hoop. I didn't see the entertainment, but I watched intensely for teasers of the local news. People really started to pay attention to the game in its final minutes. There was cheering mostly when the little orange ball didn't make it through the hoop, or when one tattooed, sweaty man skittered across the floor and another tattooed, sweaty man stood over him in triumph. Most of the bar hung their heads when the game ended. Two people in the corner leapt up like they, personally, were responsible for the win.

When the news came on the bartender turned off the sound, but kept the news on one of the televisions. The other televisions changed to a bloody cage match full of other tattooed, sweaty men. I tried to concentrate on the local news, but the cage match hung heavy in my peripheral vision. I wondered if they mined the fighters from prison. I'd seen plenty of fights there, without the cage.

The weatherman was first in the late news line up. He was energetic, with a wild polka dot tie. With the weather in San Francisco he needed to maintain a positive attitude. His persona was bubbling over with happiness, he predicted a sun-filled day tomorrow.

The next story was about me, or as the media called me, 'Bonnie.' I wanted to beg the bartender for sound, but I didn't want to call any attention to myself. I watched in silence. The camera switched to a live local report on the scene in front of Nick's house. I stared into the television, but couldn't make out the house number. I looked for street signs in the background, maybe something in the skyline to help me find the house, but nearly missed the scroll at the bottom: "Seward Park neighborhood on high alert after 'Bonnie' reported in Yuba City."

Now I not only knew what neighborhood Nick was in, but that the neighbors, reporters, and cops would be looking for me.

I walked the streets of San Francisco in the rain until my feet hurt. I knew the way to Seward Park from the helpful real estate guide I picked up from a plastic bin. Each step I took toward Seward Park steeled my resolve even further.

The rain turned to an icy sleet as I walked up the steep incline. When I turned my head away from a car driving by me my foot slipped. I fell onto the concrete knee first. "Fuck."

"Who's that?" A man's voice called out from the dark.

"Nobody." I called back.

"It's 3:00 a.m. what are you doing out there? You want me to call the cops?"