The ladies’ room smelled rank, like mold and cold pipes, and I wondered how long it had been since it was cleaned. The Frontier wasn’t the sort of bar that women hung out at, and that should have been my first tip that something was awry. The second was that no one even looked my way when I walked in the place. It’s like they were expecting me, and when a dodgy bar in Cincinnati is expecting you, you know you’re on someone else’s turf. Third thing that should have tipped me off was the pool room was in a basement and there were an awful lot of locks on that door.
But, as I balanced my boots on the rust-stained sink, I found there were no locks on the rectangular window. I slammed it open and stuck my arms out into the warm August air, finding soggy dirt under my hands as the rain came down in heavy sheets. Just perfect. I was going to become Mud Woman in a few seconds.
Mud Woman was still preferable to Dead Woman, however, and I pulled myself through the narrow window and onto the muddy ground, the cold, wet dirt seeping into my shirt and down the front of my jeans. I heard Sergei yelling his head off and pounding on the bathroom door.
This had been a close one. Way too close.
I scrambled to my feet and quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed. So far the bar looked quiet, the red lights from inside spilling through the falling rain. The street was equally quiet and lined with Audis and Mercedes that stuck out like gaudy jewelry among the decrepit meat-packing buildings. My own car, which I reluctantly called Jóse, was parked two blocks away. I may have underestimated the situation but I was glad I still had my wits about me. When an old friend emails you out of the blue and asks you to meet him at a sketchy bar late at night, you do take some precautions. It’s too bad I hadn’t clued in that it wasn’t an old lover of mine but Sergei, out for revenge.
I took advantage of not being seen and ran as fast as I could down the street, my footsteps echoing coldly. By the time I rounded the corner and saw the dark green 1970 GTO sitting on the empty street, the rain had washed the mud clean off of me.
I wiped my wet hair from my eyes and stared at the glistening Ohio license plate. It was time for that to come off, and I mentally flipped through the spare plates I had inside. I knew I’d never set foot in Cincinnati again after this, and now that I knew this had been a set-up, I couldn’t be sure they hadn’t noticed my car. I had a wad of Sergei’s money—which I’d been keeping strapped to the bottom of the driver’s seat—and apparently he was the type who’d follow up on that kind of thing. He was the type that would hunt me down. I should have figured that from our email exchanges. This wouldn’t even be about the money anymore, but the fact that I pulled a fast one on him. But what do you expect when you’re trolling for virgin brides on OKCupid?
Men and their stupid pride.
I supposed he could try and hunt me down. He could try and follow me from state to state. But I knew as soon as I got in Jóse, he wouldn’t be able to find me. I’d been hunted before and for a lot more than money.
And they still hadn’t found me.
Yet.
Hearing distant but irate voices filling the air, I quickly opened the door and hopped in. My instincts told me to just drive and never look back, and unfortunately I knew I had to listen. I had to leave my pretty apartment, my safe coffee shop job, and my yoga-infused roommate Carlee behind. It was a shame, too. After living with Carlee for six months, the flexible little thing had actually grown on me.
I’ll mail her something nice, I told myself and gunned the engine. Jóse purred to life and we shot down the street, away from the bar and from Sergei and his buddies who were now probably scouring the streets looking for me.
It didn’t matter. I was used to running and always kept a spare life in the trunk. Spare clothes, spare driver’s licenses, spare Social Security Numbers, and a spare tire. As soon as I felt like I was a comfortable distance away, I’d pull into a motel under a new name. I’d change the plates on my car. Yes, Jóse wasn’t the most inconspicuous of vehicles, but I was sentimental about the car. After all, it wasn’t even mine.
Then tomorrow, I’d figure out my budget. Figure out how long I could go before I’d need a legitimate job. Figure out that moment when I’d have to stay true to my word and make sure that this truly was the last time.
I careened around a corner then slowed as the car disappeared into traffic heading across the Ohio River. With my free hand I opened my wallet and went through my spare IDs. Now that I was going to go legit, I didn’t have much of a choice.
I took out the California license that said Ellie Watt. I’d need to change the expiration date and photo since the last time I set foot in the state was seven years ago, just after I turned nineteen. But it would do. I was Ellie Watt again.
I was finally me.
Oh joy.