Con Escape

Dean Sawyer wiped the grime from his forehead and concentrated on his task. He had never really hot-wired a car, or more appropriately, a truck, - which happened to be the only available vehicle in the gas station- but he had seen one of his high school buddies, Kevin, do it a couple of times. It shouldn't be as difficult as this, it had never looked difficult when Kevin did it. He touched the open end of two wires together and frowned when nothing happened again. Frustration edging towards desperation and panic, he tried again. No spark.

  Nothing.

"Perfect." He muttered and glanced quickly out the window of the truck to the empty gas station. It was a gray drizzling morning, hardly the weather he needed for his spectacular, haphazardly planned escape, but any thing would do. If only this damn truck would start. No one was out yet, which was a blessing. He couldn't imagine what a passer by or worse, the owner of the truck would do if they found a prison guard, - at least that was what he hoped he looked like with the uniform he was wearing - caked with mud and wiring a truck.

Unimaginable, he told himself firmly. He had better not get caught, he had gone this far and if hot-wiring a truck was what he needed to get as far away from prison and whoever was trying to kill him as possible, then he'd damn well do it.

  Beads of sweat ran down his mud-covered face, his neck and into the uniform, sliding down his back with irritating speed. He blew out his sweat and mud slicked hair from his mouth and tried starting the truck with another pair of wires.

The truck gave a spluttering sound and stopped. That was something. He touched the wires together, and then released a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding when the engine roared to life.

"Atta truck." Dean said, immensely grateful and drove out of the station, away from the prison and hopefully, away whoever was bent on killing him.



  ************

  "What have you done?" Jeff Scott squealed gently, as he bustled into his large condo, pulling Dean in with him. He shut the door and bolted it in two places. Rushed towards the windows and closed the drapes, all the while shaking his head like he was about to have a seizure. "What were you thinking, Dean? What, what, what?! You have a few more months to serve..." He paused, his deep set set eyes running over Dean, "Now, I'm harboring a criminal - not that i say you are - but you know..." he left the rest hanging and slumped on one of his expensively decorated cushions, mopping his face fervently.

Dean stood rooted in front of the door and watched his friend. A little above six feet and saddled with excess flesh or fat lodged in his shoulders and stomach. What was left of his hair was dark with a little sprinkle of gray just surrounding the bald area in the middle of his head. He had changed a lot in the past years outwardly, but inside Jeff Scott was still the same.

  He panicked to hyperventilation -. sometimes, to wetting his trouser - at the mere mention of law breaking.They'd had series of disagreements when they were younger on issues that had to do with anything illegal, Dean could totally imagine what haboring an escaped convict looked like.

  But he had no choice. He had to spend the night somewhere before he could properly coordinate himself and decide just where he could bury his head. And eight now, Jeff’s house was the best hiding place, coupled with the fact that he had a large chunk of money he needed to get.

"Dean," Jeff called. "Are you listening to me at all?"

"What! Sorry. I... I didn't get it... what did you say?" Dean asked, still standing in front of the door. He was sinfully dirty; his beard was thick with grime, his clothes were heavy with dried mud, and because he didn't have the heart to soil Jeff's plush carpets or  sofa, he leaned against the door frame and watched his friend.

  "Who did you say tried to kill you? How come you didn't report to a prison guard or the warden or somebody? If the cops get a hold of you they'd double your sentence. And you know that."

Like gears changing in his head, Dean had a quick sudden flash of himself doubled over, retching everything he had eaten, feeling so miserable he begged to die. Or the doctor with the horse like teeth telling him he'd 'consumed poison'. A worse image crept into his mind; odd Stephan, Dean's cell mate, raising a knife and slashing it down. If Dean had not moved fast, he wouldn't be standing in front of Jeff’s door right now. He had a long fresh wound at his side to show for it.

  A lot of luckily escaped attempts after, Dean requested to see the warden and explained everything. But the Warden had only scoffed and said Dean was looking for special treatment; there was no threat whatsoever on anyone's life. And that was that.

  Dean finally decided to run for his life when a guard accosted him in the bathroom...

  "Dean?" Jeff called again.

  "Look, I know this is sudden and all. You love the law, I break it. We are not exactly five and six, but I'm dirty, I feel like crap. My tongue is so thick with dust I think I'm gonna saw it off. Why don't you just let me take a bath, clean up, get a couple of aspirin, change my clothes..."

  "You mean the prison guards uniform?" Jeff countered, mopping sweat from his bald head. "Did you kill a guard? Jesus, there's an escaped con -"

"- who happens to be one of your closest friends' Dean cut in.

"That's why you're still in my kitchen, drinking my beer, and wearing my shirt. Believe me, I don't do this for everyone that escapes from prison."





********

  A few minutes later, his hair still wet from the shower, fully cleaned up and eating hot crispy pizza with cold beer, Dean sat in Jeff's meticulously clean kitchen and listening to Jeff yap about what a dangerous criminal Dean had becomr

  Dean grimaced. Dangerous criminal? Hell, the only dangerous thing he did was counterfeiting. Who knew making hundreds of dollars was dangerous? The bills had always been good, and even with the circumstance he later found himself, Dean was mightily proud of himself.

"How do I get my money?"

Jeff blinked at the sudden change of topic and gave a relieved sigh when he comprehended the meaning of what Dean just said. "I must say, I'm glad you mentioned it. Why did you all decide to dump the money on me? Lord, I had sleepless nights just thinking of it... "

"It's clean," Dean pointed out wearily.

"Yes I know, but... It's so much and I was a little suspicious when five of you voted to put the money in my account. In my name. I just wanna get rid of it."

None of them talked for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. Eating pizza and drinking beer as if they'd just returned from football practice. Jeff's phone rang startling the both of them out of their reverie and breaking the silence.

Jeff held a finger to silence Dean, flipped the cell open and spoke in his most professional voice.

"Scott."

Dean watched and listened as the facade disappeared and Jeff went pale. This wasn't good.

"Who was that?" He asked immediately Jeff shut the cell.

"Kevin." Jeff answered flatly. "Jon and Sara were killed this morning. The cops just found their bo...body. Phillip's car was blown up..."

"Damn!" Dean muttered, burying his face in his opened palms. "Was Phillip in the car?"

Jeff shook his head slowly. "No he was not inside. Jesus, Jon and Sara. The son of a bitch used a knife on them." he shuddered, rose and went over to the fridge to

"Damn," Dean cursed softly again. "It's the money, Jeff. They are trying to kill us because of the money."

"Now wait a minute..."

"Don't be a fool, Jeff!" Dean said hotly, dropped his hands to his sides and went back to his chair. "Four attempts on my life in two weeks, Jon and Sara dead. Phillip was almost killed. Do the math and believe it or not someone is after us. And whosoever he is, he'll be back. For all of us. You and Kevin included. Why? Because it happens that we've sold our multi-million dollar company and someone is not ready to part with the money.

Jeff's face went white. As white as snow, his lips trembled

"Kevin and Phillip are on their way. This is crazy. Why are they coming here? Here! Lord..." Jeff made a funny sound and clamped his hand to his mouth. "I think I'm going to throw up" he said and rushed out.

Dean gave a long, suffering sigh and closed his itchy eyes. He wished he could stay that way for 10 hours without thinking. The police were looking for him, somebody was trying to get them all killed and Jeff was being... Well... Jeff.

He didn't know how long he spent in that position, but his eyes flew open when he heard a car pull in the driveway. He rose to his feet quietly and peeped through the windows. Then with a grin splitting his face, he threw the door open.

Both Kevin and Phillip stared in shock.

Kevin found his voice first. "The counterfeit criminal found his way out of prison?"

"The thief hasn't found his way in there yet?" Dean teased back and winced as Kevin gave him a hard slap on his back.

"I'm so glad you don't have anything orange on you, man." Phillip said lightly from behind, tapping Dean on the shoulder as he moved in, his dark boots bringing in a host of dirt Dean was to considerate to do. "How come you are out, thought you had six more to go?"

"Four months." Dean answered, he closed the door and bolted it the way he had seen Jeff do earlier and turned to look at the tired faces of his friend. He smiled lightly "They tried to kill me too."

"Shit." both men groaned. Then Kevin asked, "Who?"

"Dunno. But whosoever it was had the security and the warden on his side." He opened the fridge and brought a couple of beers. Handing one to each of his friends. He pulled the cap off one and took a swig too. "'Twas scary."

"So you broke out?" Phillip asked without opening his own beer.

Dean lifted his shoulder in an helpless gesture. "I didn't want to die. No other choice."

"It's the money. I knew it would be a problem I just knew it but, Jeez, I didn't know it could be this bad. They killed Jon and Sara. I saw them and it was gruesome." Phillip shoved his hands through his hair and finally opened his bottle. "They're going to come back. We should call the cops. Tell them everything."

"My thoughts exactly." Jeff said from the doorway, three heads turned to look at him. He still appeared white, but he was more stable than before. "I don't wanna sound bad or something, but I don't wanna be the next person to die. I can't have anyone blowing up my car or poisoning my food. Hell, I was just a silent partner, I don't have any criminal records beneath my belt..."

Dean raised an hand to silence Jeff and pressed the other to his forehead. "Jeff, we don't need your hysterics or self appraisal now. We're gonna call the cops tomorrow. Vista Co'op was our sweat, money and blood, we shouldn’t be killed 'cos we want it liquidated."

"Fine. Tomorrow then." Phillip said and yawned.

Kevin and Jeff nodded. But Jeff still had a worried look in his eyes. He wanted them to have protection in the house before they went to sleep, but Phillip said that wasn't necessary. He agreed grudgingly.

*******

01:34a.m

Dean raised his head from the pillow and strained his ear to hear better. He seemed to have heard a noise twice but couldn't quite place it. Nothing. He dropped his head and sighed. Must be in his head.

He was sleeping in one of the rooms off the large hallway; Kevin had agreed to bunk with Jeff because Jeff was to shaken to sleep alone, and Phillip - sprawled on the sofa after an excess consumption of beer - was left to sleep in the living room because no one was ready to hoist his large frame on their shoulder and walk up a flight of stairs.

He tried not to think of what tomorrow would bring. The police would either listen to his story, search for the killer and send him back to complete his time in prison, or listen to his story, call him a lying bastard and add four more years to his term. He sighed, whichever way, he didn’t want to be in prison with a killer lurking in his shadows.

His only hope was proving there was a killer, and if possible, catching the killer.

A soft thump sounded from somewhere else in the large house. It was as though a heavy object had fallen to a carpeted floor. Someone is out there , was his first thought. He rolled to the edge of the bed and fell on the hard floor below.

He switched off the bedside lamp and plung the room into total darkness.

"Now, how do I find my way to the door?" Dean muttered grimly, stood up and held his hands in front of him, hoping to hit the hard solid wall or better still, the door.

He felt the wall and moved his hands around it. There. The door, the knob...

He closed his shaky hands on the knob but didn't turn it. He waited, pressing his ear to the door, listening for another sound. But everywhere had gone silent again. He stepped back from the door, frowning. Maybe he didn’t hear anything after all. Stupid reflexes.

He made his way back to the bed and stopped when he heard a muffled groan. Sound of struggle. Then silence. Phillip!

The silence seemed loud. Something dangerous was out there. He could feel it... sense it. His heart beat, faster than it did when he was sliding under the prison walls for freedom. Yes, something dangerous was out there. He turned around and hoped for any kind of weapon. The room was bare, the only objects in it was just the medium sized bed pushed to one end of the wall and two overstuffed chairs under the window. Window...

He looked up quickly and rushed to the window. It was bared with a burglar proof metal. Dean groaned inwardly, who else but an insecure idiot like Jeff would use metal to bar the windows.

He stepped away and looked around the room again. The cupboard opened easily, but it was filled with old clothes, books, newspaper clippings and... Bingo! A scissors.

He slipped the scissors in his brief and winced as the cold metal touched his skin. He returned to his spot in behind the door and pressed his ears to the door again. Listening intently. He heard footsteps. Slow, steady and approaching steps on the stairs. Dean fought a brief moment of panic as his mind registered what was going on.

The killer was probably done with Phillip and he was coming for the rest of them.

What now? He asked himself. Should he just wait for the killer to come into the room or… Dean pressed his hands on the doorknob, closing his eyes and willing the door to open soundlessly. He was lucky Jeff lubricated the hinges regularly.

The hallway was pitch-dark which was just perfect. Dean put his ear in the crack between the door and the jamb, listening for footsteps. He heard it clearly now. The killer was close to the head of the stairs and Dean told himself to move.

Before he could change his mind, he fell flat on his stomach and pushed the door wide enough to allow him slide out. He looked to the side quickly and rolled over to the wall directly opposite the door. He pressed his back to the wall and watched as dark brown leather boots walked towards and stopped in front of him. He held his breath not daring to move or blink. Then after a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity, the killer opened the door to Dean’s room and slowly stepped inside.

Dean didn’t wait an extra second. He rose to a crouch and ran as quick and as quiet his legs would allow, down the stairs and into the living room. A dim light was on, so he didn’t have trouble spotting the tracks of blood on the floor.

Then he saw Phillips. He walked closer to him and then took two involuntary steps back. Both eyelids had been cut off, leaving Phillips eyeball bloody, inside a bared socket. Blood dripped from his eyes like tears; it ran in rivulets down his face and pooled to join the other macabre on his laps. Phillip had been gutted from his neck down to the stomach. His intestines spilled into his lap. A horrible metallic outhouse scent assaile Dean's nostrils. He gagged; then raised his hand to cover his mouth.

Grief, cold, hard and fierce welled up inside Dean, spreading through his stomach. His eyes burned but he tried to repress any emotion. Cry later, he told himself firmly, act now. Still in a crouching position, he made to run for the kitchen and then halted his steps.

Jeff and Kevin.

Kevin was a deep sleeper, but with Jeff by his side they should be able to rouse Kevin without causing so much noise. He ran to Jeff’s room and opened it. The stench of blood drew him short and almost had him retching. He looked at the figures at the far end of the bed and shook his head. Dead too.

He backed out of the room slowly and waited for the first wave of pain that coursed through him to pass. Hot tears burnt the back of his eyes. He felt grief for the friends that had been butchered in sleep without a means of defending themselves.

“Coward.” He murmured and continued down the hall silently. He entered the bathroom Jeff had directed him to in what seemed like a million years ago and sat wearily on the toilet seat.

What now? Come on you bastard. Come on in. He thought, rage fueling his anger; but when the door to the bathroom opened and Dean spotted dark brown boots walking in, fear had him shaking. The boots walked further in, and the person wearing it flicked on the light.

Shock, worse than he could imagine knocked Dean speechless.

“Looking for me?” The killer asked lightly and made to sit on the bath, pointing a gun at Dean’s head. “You were always the strong stubborn one. Look at all the trouble you put me through.” He made a disapproving sound, like one would use when cautioning a naughty child.

“Jeff?” Dean said astonished. All traces of fear flew from his face. “Why… God, Jeff?”

Jeff chuckled softly. “Surprised. Ain’t ya? You ought to have seen the look on Kevin’s face when I woke him up. It was worth all the trouble. I compensated him for it though. Dressed him up nicely. You should see him before I start with you," He stretched his legs. “No one would have thought it."

“Why?” Dean whispered, his throat painfully dry.

Jeff smiled sweetly. “Why? Hmmm… let me see. Well, I got sick of it all. Do you know how frustrated I've been? Since highschool? But no, you wouldn’t know, you and the others were busy playing the best, getting the best girls, best scores. Same thing all through college and now, I just got sick.”

“But you could have told us. You could have talked to me. I always had our back. And you know it” Dean said.

Jeff scoffed again. “No you never did. You always had your back. And what was the worst, you made me a silent partner in the company. My company.”

Dean shook his head. "You told me you didn’t want to face the public"

“Couldn’t you have convinced me to? It was a test buddy, and you failed it. You gladly put me at the bottom of the box again but this time…” A mad twinkle appeared in his eyes “…with twenty million dollars in my name, you can all go to hell. I’m gonna rule the world.”

“It’s twenty five,” Dean corrected flatly.

Jeff laughed. “Where do you think I got the money to pay the  warden? From my meager earnings?” he stood up and crouched in front of Dean, so that they were almost eye to eye, his gun planted in the middle of Dean’s head. “Fools all of you. Putting the money in my care. What were you thinking? Oh, don’t tell me I know. ‘Jeffery, the slow poke would never think of running. Well, here’s the headlight. I’m the smartest amongst all of you. I won and all of you lost. All of you. Dean, Phillip, Jon, Sara, Kevin…”

Dean kept his hand on the handle of the scissors and wondered what he would do with it. “What are you going to do with the money. The cops are going to come after you.” He said reasonably and watched the smirk slip a little from Jeff’s face.

“Of course, I know they will. I’m going out the country. Change my name, my looks… it’s pretty easy when I have so much money.”

  Jeff rose again. “I had the best plans for you buddy. Die in prison, without much pain but you decided to run towards something me… so, I’m not going to shoot you first. That’s too quick. I’d use my knife, “ He turned around to pick up the knife he’d dropped when he rose from the bath and Dean found his opportunity.

With a cry that pierced his own ears, Dean lunged forward and raised the pointed end of his scissors, but Jeff was faster. He whirled around, bent and shove is head in Deans midsection sending Dean flying back and hitting his already injured side on the wall.

Jeff moved over to him, picked up the scissors and plunged the tip in Dean's hands.

  "So stubborn," He panted." The others didn't try that prank with me. Maybe I should cut off those..."

A loud bang had Jeff queitened.

  Jeff had a look of dazed surprise on his face. Then, Dean watched in awe as blood tricked out of Jeff's stomach. At the doorway, a dark haired woman stood, holding a shot gun. She wore a dazed expression similar to Jeffs', her eyes were wide in shock and she jumped back when Jeff fell - face down - with a loud thump.

"Phillip called me." she said as way of explanation after a couple of seconds. "I've called the cops."

Dean nodded weakly.

"I..I've never shot any one before."

"You saved my life," Dean said, still struggling to get his heartbeat back to normal.

  She nodded, then pressed a hand tightly over her trembling lips, silent tears running down her face. "We - we were going to get married."

Dean didn't know what to say, he was too shocked, too grief-stricken to speak. He held out his hand for the now-silently-weeping lady. "Thank you." Dean said, for lack of anything better to say. He walked over Jeff's lifeless bidy, picked up the gun that had fallen and kicked the knife aside. He thought of emptying the bullets in his friend's skull but stopped when he heard the cacophony of siren.

“Get a life in hell buddy.’