Innocent on the run. part 31.

The thought of being shot in a dirty back alley galvanised him into action, and he raced along in the dark, knowing that the path ahead was clear. Another shot rang out and the bullet thumped into the wooden building at his side, terrifying him. He scooted up an alley to be out of the line of fire, and raced in full view the last hundred yards to the dock gates. Running out into the flow of traffic, he raced along in the direction the cars were going, using them as cover. When he came to a side street, he ran up it and saw a taxi with people just getting out. He jumped in to the back seat as the man was still paying his fare. 'Quick.' he shouted. 'Quick, let's go.' 'Hold your horses.' the cabbie said, giving the man his change. He turned to Ricky. 'Where to, bud?' Ricky looked at him. 'Where to ?' he asked. 'That's what I just said.' 'Paradise Motel.' he answered, naming one of the motels he'd stayed in. 'Okay,' the driver turned, slid the car into gear and moved off. Ricky turned and looked through the back window, keeping low. Shifty was at the entrance to the street, looking around him. He must have seen the man paying the cab and thought it was empty. He lay back on the seat, sweating. That did it. There was no way that he could stay in Galveston or anywhere near now. He'd have to move on a bit further afield, and tonight. 'Where are the other ports on this coast?' he asked the driver. 'Not close. There's Houston, then Port Arthur to the East and Corpus Christi to the West.' 'How far is Corpus Christi ?' 'About two hundred miles.' That was it, then. He would have to go to Corpus Christi. The cab pulled up outside the motel and Ricky got out, watching until the cab had disappeared. There was a telephone kiosk outside the motel and he used it to call up another cab from the list of numbers written inside. He waited in the shadows until the cab arrived and he got in and asked the cabbie to take him to a different motel. 'Don't like this one, huh,?' he asked. 'I just had a phone call, telling me I have to be in Corpus Christi tomorrow, so I need to go a bit further West.' 'Okay,' he replied. 'I can take you all the way if you want, or I can drop you at a motel on the highway.' 'A motel's fine, thanks.' He didn't want anyone to be able to check that a cab took someone to Corpus Christi, so when he spotted a motel about five miles further on, he asked the driver to pull in there. 'There's lots more motels further on I can take you to.' he said. 'No, thanks, this one's fine. I'll have plenty of time tomorrow.' He paid the cabbie and went in to the motel. The disinterested clerk behind the counter was sat down reading a book. He didn't look up when Ricky asked for a room, just asked him to sign the book on the counter, said 'Five bucks.' and threw a key across. Ricky dropped the money on the counter, picked up the key and went outside to find his room. The room was typical of motels, a double bed, chest of drawers and a shower and toilet. Ricky sat down on the bed with his head in his hands. Christ, it got worse. He was almost on that ship and away. He was sure they would have been watching the ship, but he had to take a chance. They'd tried to kill him as well. Reaction set in and he started shaking, so he crawled under the covers fully clothed. After a while he dozed off, waking once in the night, when he dreamed that he was tied to a target in the middle of a field, and a man with a gun was firing at him. In the morning, he showered, then changed into his new clothes. He was starving so he breakfasted on bread, cheese and tomatoes, and hoped that he was far enough out of town to hitch hike, counting on the three men to be still guarding the docks at Galveston. Telling himself that he was lucky to be alive, he left the key in the door and walked up to the highway. He started hitch hiking, but after half an hour a bus came along and stopped a few yards away from him, so he ran and jumped on it. He didn't care where it was going as long as it went in the direction on Corpus Christi. The driver told him that he didn't go as far as Corpus Christi, but he could get another bus from Palacios, which was about half way, down route 35. He sat in the front looking at the countryside. One thing was for sure. He'd make certain those three didn't get the money now, after trying to kill him, even if he had to burn it ! He would try to take it home with him. His Dad would know what to do with it. They might be able to hand it in to the Police at home and claim a reward. Home. How marvellous it would be to be at home now. He'd never felt so lonely. It was one thing to want to go to sea, and he'd always known that he would one day, but he'd never in his wildest dreams imagined being chased across America by people who wanted to kill him. The bus sped on down the arrow straight highway, clocking up the miles. There was a haze in front of them, caused by the heat shimmering off the road, but inside the bus it was cool, as the air conditioning kept it at a constant 45 degrees fahrenheit. They passed the huge fields of wheat, sweetcorn tall and green, and fields of workers bending low, cutting melons. They passed cattle ranches with herds of cows numbering thousands, spread out across the plains, with cowboys on horseback tending them. Ricky dozed off and was surprised when the driver shook him and said, 'End of the line. Palacios.' Ricky picked up his holdall and got off the bus, after the driver had told him where the Corpus Christi bus would leave from. The heat was tremendous, and he moved into the shelter of the bus station and crossed to the other bus. It was waiting, half filled with passengers and he paid the fare and sat down. After fifteen minutes the bus pulled out, and he was on his way. He saw signs for Lavaca Bay and Port O'Connor, and wondered if there were sea going ships there or just fishing vessels. They crossed San Antonio Bay and saw the many acres of marsh lands, huge lagoons teeming with many varieties of wildlife. Road signs warned them when they were nearing the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, home to whooping cranes, waterfowl, wild boar, alligators, wolves and deer. The bus stopped briefly at Fulton and Rockport, before starting the last leg of the trip to Corpus Christi. They pulled in to the bus depot in the early evening, and Ricky was glad the journey was over, he was stiff from sitting all day. He got off the bus and stretched his legs, walking uptown to the shopping precincts and hotel complexes. There was a trolley bus that could have taken him, but he preferred to walk. There were some beautiful old buildings on the route, with shops and restaurants selling everything to do with the sea, and he promised himself a meal at a seafood restaurant later that evening. He could see signs pointing to McGee beach, Cole Park and Padre Island. His spirits rose as he saw that there was a docks with ocean going ships as well as fishing boats. He turned off towards the beach and marina, and gazed out into the Gulf of Mexico watching the shipping activity. Loads of fishing boats were coming and going, small one man inshore boats, right up to ocean going trawlers, all bustling about. He sat on a bench and dreamed of jumping on a plane at the Corpus Christie airport, and flying home, but of course that was out of the question. Then he suddenly realised that he could get internal flights without needing a passport, so if there was no ship available for him to stow away on, at least he could go to one of the large shipping ports where there must be thousands of British ships. There was a restaurant with a fine view of the marina, called The Lighthouse, a seafood restaurant, so he went in and sat at a table admiring the view. The menu told him that the seafood on offer was Yellowfin Tuna, swordfish, grouper, snapper, flounder, as well as sweet shrimp, crabs, and oysters. He didn't know where to start, so he asked the waiter's opinion and he recommended the barbecued crabs followed by grouper with a side salad. The crabs were delicious and he cracked the shells and scooped the meat out, sucking the claws at the end, making a thorough mess. The grouper was a bit different to the cod that he was used to, being a bit more coarse in texture, but it was still good, and he ate every scrap. A coca cola finished the meal off and he sat and looked at the view, hoping that his luck was changing and that he would soon be homeward bound. When it grew dusk, Ricky left the restaurant and went in search of a motel. He found one called the Sea Shell Inn further up the beach. It had it's own swimming pool and private beach, and he got a room overlooking the sea. It was a beautiful setting and he could listen to the sea crashing up onto the shoreline. This room had a radio and for the first time in a long time, he was able to listen to some music. They played almost non- stop jazz music, with advertisements and news bulletins at regular intervals. It was nice to relax for a change, without having to worry about the three men. Surely they could have no way of knowing that he'd made the trip to Corpus Christi. He had a cooling shower and washed out some of his underclothes, draping them outside the room on the balcony to dry. He felt a little bit safer here, and he went to bed to listen to the radio for a while. The jazz was good, although he didn't recognise any of the bands, but it was totally different to the music they played at home. Of course at home there was only the Light programme or the Home service on their Radio Relay set. Here they had dozens of stations to choose from, some of them local radio stations. He listened with amusement to something that they called bee bop, fast, light hearted music, played with a big bands, saxophones and trombones blasting out. The advertisements were funny, selling everything imaginable from cars to aspirin. Fast talking salesmen bombarded your eardrums every few minutes, trying to convince you that their product was best. The music stopped while they went over to a news bulletin, and he heard of fatal car crashes, crime, boat accidents and local government decisions. The announcer went on to say that police were still trying to trace the three men and a boy who robbed the First Statesman Bank in Houston. The search had shifted to Galveston where banknotes from the robbery had been circulating. Ricky lay in bed stunned. They could trace the banknotes, and he'd been passing them everywhere. He'd even paid for his meal tonight with a new ten dollar bill. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.