I turned the corner into an alley. An old man walked along the sidewalk opposite me, eyeing me warily. In all honesty, he was right to be wary. I walked over to him and asked, "Excuse me, sir, do you know where I can find a seven-eleven?" "No, sorry, but the local supermarket is just 2 blocks from here, " he said. While he said this, I fished his wallet out of his pocket, silently apologizing in advance for what I was doing. He had been so helpful, nothing but honest and kind to me. I felt so guilty. "Thank you, " I said, not making eye contact. With that, I pinched the back of his neck, and he fell to the floor, unconscious. "I'm so sorry," I whispered. I turned the next corner and broke into a run. I found the local supermarket and went inside a toilet cubicle. I opened the poor guy's wallet and found his ID card, $150, a credit card, a house key, and a pen. His name was Holden Walker, and he lived on 98 Fisher Street. That was where I would stay the night. Mr Walker would be in hospital until tomorrow at the very least. If they even found him. Another pang of guilt flooded me.
Don't think about it. It's either them or you. I told myself. I walked out of the toilet cubicle and walked into the supermarket. I grabbed a loaf of bread, an apple and a jar of jam. That way, I wouldn't have spent too much of Mr Walker's money. I would leave his wallet in his house when I left. I paid for the meager rations of food that I bought and left to go to 98 Fisher Street. I knew Brooklyn like the back of my hand. I knew exactly where Fisher Street was. It was perpendicular to the mayor's house. I would be stealing again tonight. Attempt number #128.
YOU ARE READING
The Fugitive
Mystery / ThrillerOld rivalries and high school drama comes back to haunt an unlikely duo. A mayor and a criminal. Torn apart by lies, these two women will stop at nothing to get their revenge. Who will come out on top?
