Innocent on the run. Part 29.

The car was now headed away from the house and he kept his foot down to the floorboards, fishtailing like mad, determined to escape before they shot him in the back. He needn't have bothered, as the three inside the house heard nothing, and they slumbered on, oblivious to it all. Ricky was finding it difficult to steer the car at the terrific speed that he was doing, so he eased his foot off the accelerator. The road was very uneven with large pot holes in places, but he kept going at a steady pace until he came to the main road. He had no idea which direction to travel, so he mentally tossed up and it came down heads. He turned right and remembered to keep to the right hand lane. It was the middle of the night and he didn't want to get stopped by the police, so he kept the car moving below the speed limit. He'd found the light switch halfway down the dirt road, by pulling and pushing every knob he could find, and now the lights were blazing away, lighting up the road ahead of him. It looked like a secondary road, but it was wide enough and there was no traffic about, so he kept driving, putting as many miles as he could between himself and the three men. After an hour by the clock on the dashboard, he came to a large sign which welcomed him to Galveston, and he continued in to the suburbs and then on to the city. He thought that he could mingle in the city and not be noticed. He'd have to get rid of the car, though, that was a certainty. It was five thirty when he drove into an all night diner and parked the car, pulling up at the furthest corner of the car park. He would have to wait until the shops opened to buy some clothes as the overalls were a dead give away. He took the holdall around to the back of the car and opened the boot. There was a check jacket in the boot, and he put it on before locking the holdall safely inside. The coat was a bit big, but at least it covered the overalls. He crossed to the diner and went inside. It was deserted except for an elderly man behind the counter, who was dozing with his head on his folded arms. He woke with a start when the door opened and the warning bell rang. 'Ah, morning.' he said, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. 'What can I get you.' Ricky put on what he hoped was an American accent, 'Coffee.' The old man turned and took a cup from the shelf, filling it from the coffee pot on the heater. He put it down in front of Ricky. 'Going to be a hot one, I reckon.' he said, referring to the weather. 'Mmm.' 'You come far ?' he asked. 'Yeah, long way.' 'That's a Canadian accent aint it ?' 'Yeah.' 'Thought so. I was in Canada once. Toronto. Sure is a beautiful city. You from Toronto?' 'No.' Ricky racked his brain, trying to remember his geography, but he couldn't even think of another city. The old man carried on. 'Sure gets cold up there, don't it ?' 'Yeah.' Ricky was saved from further conversation by a group of four men who came in. They all wanted cooked breakfasts, so he escaped to a table in the corner, while the old man was taking their orders. He hoped there was a docks at Galveston, where he could get a ship. He really ought to hand the money in to the police but he was afraid of what they would do to him. After all he was an accessory to bank robbery, and even if he gave the money back and explained everything, they wouldn't believe him. They had ways of making you confess to crimes you hadn't committed, so what would they do to him when he confessed to a crime that he had committed? He was as guilty as hell, and they would surely put him in jail for a long time. Maybe he could mail the money to the police. Anonymously. No, some crooked cop would steal it, and if they ever caught him, they would still blame him for stealing the money. It was a problem! He decided the best thing to do was play it by ear, and see how things turned out. The food that the men were eating smelled wonderful and he was starving. He went back to the counter and ordered the same as the men had. The old man brought it across to him when it was done, and he looked down at two eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, beans and toast. His cup was filled with coffee again and he tucked in, eating hungrily. The fried breakfast reminded him of Dottie and Chip, and he felt quite sad that he'd not gone back to their flat. He didn't even know their address, so he couldn't send them a postcard. Maybe one day he'd come back to Houston and he could look them up. He needed to thank them for all that they'd done for him, and to apologise for not going back there last night. Last night. Was it really only yesterday that he'd been kidnapped? It seemed like it happened ages ago. He finished his breakfast and looked at the clock on the wall. Six thirty. He couldn't really hang around much longer without raising suspicion, so he went to the counter and paid. 'So long,' the old chap shouted at him as he went out through the door. The car started up with the first turn of the key, and he rolled out of the car park on to the highway. He would have to be very careful now, with it being full daylight, and he drove slowly into Galveston, with no idea of where to go. If he kept heading south he thought he would eventually come to the sea, so it was with a lightened heart that he eventually spotted some cranes and masts, which could only mean one thing. The docks. The signs on the side of the road told him that Texas City was to the left. He couldn't see any large ships masts, so he cruised on along Highway 75, across the bridge separating Galveston Island from the mainland. After a few miles, he spotted the docks with large ships tied up at the Piers, so decided it was safe to try for a ship here. During the drive he had already decided that if he found a port, he would not leave the car anywhere near it. The men who would be surely following him by now, knew that he wanted to get a ship, so the first place they would look would be Galveston Docks. With the docks behind him, he drove until he spotted a large car park, about four miles from the port. Driving in and paying for all day parking he parked the car at the furthest point from the road, and collected the holdall from the boot. He walked back into the town and found a clothing store that had just opened. Taking some money from the holdall, he bought two pairs of jeans, two shirts, some underwear and a pair of good quality cowboy boots. A new holdall was next, and he stuffed his purchases into it and went in search of a place to change his clothes. There was a diner a few blocks down the road so he went into their rest room. Transferring the money to the new holdall, he carried the two bags outside again got rid of the old clothes and bag in a garbage bin on the pavement, then walked through the crowds on the Strand, a wide shopping boulevard, with a new confidence, blending in with the other passers by. His priority was a British ship, and he walked across the Strand and on to the piers, keeping a very wary eye open for any sign of the three bank robbers. He smiled as he wondered what their reaction had been when they found him missing, and the money gone. Their hangovers must be killing them. One thing was certain, if they ever laid hands on him, he was dead. There were ships of all different Nationalities in the docks, but after an hour he still hadn't found one flying the British Merchant Flag, the Red Duster. Keeping to the shadows of buildings as much as possible, he walked on in the ever increasing heat, sweat pouring out of him. The docks were very busy, with oil tankers and grain ships loading up to take their cargoes worldwide. There were ships registered in Greece, Panama, Liberia and many other countries that he didn't recognise. American flags, French, German and Swiss flew on dozens of vessels, but there was not one Union Jack. On pier 21 he admired the restored iron barque Elissa, and read on the board at the gangway that she was built in 1877, and belonged to the Texas Seaport Museum. He searched the piers all day for a vessel, without any luck, and at one time almost decided to try a foreign ship, but language would be the problem. He may not be able to make them understand what he was doing on their ship. His plan had been to find a British vessel, ask one of the dockers when she was sailing, and then sneak aboard and stow away in the darkness, before she sailed. In the early evening, he gave up, deciding to get some sleep and try again the following day. It was maddening, to get this far and then be held up because there was no ship available. The longer he stayed around here, the more chance there was of being discovered and murdered. He walked away from the docks with a sinking feeling in his stomach, tired and depressed. Once away from the docks area, he went into a crowded diner and ate a meal. There was a motel next to the diner and he booked a room and climbed into bed, exhausted. A persistent knocking on the door wakened him and he swung his legs out of bed and crossed to the door. 'Who's there,' he called. 'It's the maid, Sir, I need to clean the room.' 'What time is it, please?' 'Twelve noon.' Damn, he must have been tired. 'Won't be a minute, ' he called through the door, pulling his trousers on. When he was dressed he opened the door for the maid to come in. She was a little coloured girl with a big grin on her face. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I overslept.' 'That's O.K. Sir, no problem.' and she busied herself stripping the bed. Ricky went into the bathroom and washed. He must get a watch, and he'd also forgotten a toothbrush, paste and a comb. Wetting his hair and smoothing it down with his hands, he picked up his holdall, said goodbye to the maid and left. It was hot again, the sun directly overhead, beating down mercilessly. Nearer to the docks, Ricky went into a Drug store and bought toothbrush, paste and a comb. He sat at the counter and had a hamburger and a milk shake for breakfast. Next door there was a jewellery store and he bought a decent watch, one of the automatic ones that wound itself. Feeling a lot better than he had the previous day, he renewed his search for a British ship. He was filled with hope, and he strode out, humming to himself. It was a long job searching the docks, and by mid afternoon he was feeling a bit dejected. He was still keeping to the shade of buildings, and observing ships from a distance when his stomach gave a lurch. Shifty was talking to one of the dockers near an American ship. Copyright Deric Barry 2005. Deric's hubs: http://scarytaff.hubpages.com