I have to get smarter. It was a mistake contacting Miles. If I’m going to organize money, I’ll have to do it myself, pay in-person visits to various branches of various companies. I can hit them and be gone before anyone knows I was there, and it’s not theft if you own the place. At least, I think it isn’t.
Sirens make me go tense. Has he set the cops on me?
There’s temptation to put my foot to the accelerator, but I keep it cool, move over to the slow lane and let the highway patrol cruiser blast past me.
“Breathe, Chloe. This is a big place,” I remind myself. “And Darko isn’t everywhere. Not everybody is looking for you. You’re okay.”
But I’m not okay. I’m scared shitless. Darko is probably somewhere behind me, following me. For all I know he has eyes on me right now. What if he had a drone over the motel? Or a satellite feed? What if he’s been watching me this whole time, knowing precisely where my car is?
I have to ditch this car. I have to change my appearance. I have to go somewhere busy, like a mall and make sure that I can’t be surveilled from the air.
Fortunately for me, there are malls literally everywhere. Every off-ramp seems to lead directly to one. God bless America.
I take the closest off-ramp and head to the mall looming near the end of it. I abandon my car in the underground parking lot and slip inside the massive construction of pure commerce. I never used to go to malls. Boutiques were more my scene, usually privately closed just for me. Now I am surrounded by throngs of people who act as camouflage for me, just like I might for them. I wonder how many of them feel as I do. How many are scared and pretending not to be? How many are bored and wishing for excitement? Many of the people here are in families. Mothers. Fathers. Teenagers trying to pretend they’re not with them. Smaller offspring distracted by the shiny lights and products in the windows.
Pangs of jealousy sink through me. I never had a life like the ones playing out before me. I was never able to take simple family living for granted, because I never had it. My father and I have been living in a cage of our own making, and that cage has been getting smaller and smaller.
I go to a beauty shop and buy some hair dye. Red. It’s not exactly a stealthy color, but that’s what they’ll be looking for. I want to blend in by being brash and bold just like the other people who surround me. Muted colors and refined dress sense are not going to keep me safe. I need to look like I’d never look.
It’s time to get shopping.
Three hours later, I have my head in a public bathroom sink, washing the remnants of the dye out of my hair. The blonde I’ve lived with all my life is gone, and in its place is a fiery mane. I’m wearing new clothes. I’ve kept the jeans, but I’m wearing a much tighter, much lower-cut top. Black velvet hugs my breasts and waist, draws attention to my body and away from my face, which is smeared in bright low-end makeup just like the other young ladies I see around me.
I’m still not done. Reinventing myself is a big project, but once again, the mall can provide. I take myself off to a place labeled ‘Supercutz.’ In my previous life, I had a personal hairdresser. Today I have a lady named Sheryl who asks me what I want.
“Give me something different.”
She doesn’t ask any more questions. She takes her scissors and one bold snip cuts seven inches off my hair. I have been growing it all my life. I used to quibble over having half an inch taken off. But Sheryl doesn’t know about that. She attacks my hair with gusto, chopping off big chunks until what I’m left with isn’t quite a mullet, but also isn’t not a mullet. I hate it. It’s perfect.
I pay her the ten dollars she asks for and I head to the food court. I need to eat. And then I need to do something I had never imagined I’d ever do in my entire life.
I need to steal a car.
Chapter Nine
Chloe
The wind is blowing through what is left of my hair, making bright red strands flutter around my face.
I’m driving a very old, very clattery Camaro. I didn’t have to steal it. I did what the young men called a ‘straight swap.’ This car is older and doesn’t have air conditioning, but it also isn’t traceable in any way that I can think of. I’ve picked up a brand new cheap burner phone, and I’m back on the highway, heading up to San Francisco, where my father has another stash point or three.