Chapter 8: THE GETAWAY - PART 1

Ritchie's chubby fingers latched onto Max's arm,

"Dive."

"Wha . . . what . . . dive?"

"The man is back," he whispered.

"I know, Rich. I can see for myself."

The boys flattened their bodies onto the velvety knoll. Ritchie lay as flat as a pancake, but his feet jiggled nervously. Max gently kicked him on the side of his leg.

"Move closer to the bush," he whispered in the boy's ear.

"Okay, okay."

Max looked over his shoulder to check on Ritchie, who was now shaking; that he had all his body parts concealed. Not an easy thing to do for an overweight boy. Noticing that Ritchie's feet still jutted out in plain view, he elbowed a warning to him and nodded in that direction signaling for him to move them up. Ritchie tucked himself into the fetal position while Max held onto the lower branches of the bush to pull himself in closer to get a better view of the stranger.

As the man's footsteps grew heavier, Ritchie began hyperventilating, and Max was furious, wishing he hadn't pressured Ritchie into being his sidekick. He gave an anxious tug on his arm and leaned in close to his friend. "I can hear you breathing."

In the distance, another flash of lightning skittered across the sky then crackled into a loud bang. Max covered the recorder with his backpack, knowing the rain would pour down any minute and recalled the last time he and Ritchie were in a lightning storm. Ritchie had freaked out with fear. He looked over at him now and noticed Ritchie's head buried inside the well of his crossed arms. Frightened, Ritchie's body continued to shake uncontrollably. Seeing Ritchie's distress, Max felt a tinge of sympathy and draped his arm across Ritchie's back to let him know he wasn't alone. As the man got closer, Max felt another adrenaline rush. Being an amateur detective was so much fun.

The man's footsteps became rushed and more pronounced. Curious, Max moved in closer to the bush pulling on the undergrowth this time, causing the bush to rustle. The tension in Max's body stiffened when the man stopped again, surveying the area with wariness. When a sudden gust of wind kicked up, Max blew out a breath of air, relieved God helped him out again. The man's face creased into a smirk, and he quickly jogged past the boys.

A flicker of apprehension shot through Max, wondering if the man saw them when he passed by. But wouldn't he have stopped? Max brushed off the thought but not without saying a silent prayer first.

There was no way he'd leave his post despite the large sleet-like drops pelting against his body. When the rain increased, Max readjusted himself over the recorder. A non-functional recorder with water spots on it would be a dead giveaway when his father picked up the equipment from the house. Max turned his attention back to the man and watched him click on his key fob to unlock the car doors, then scoot behind the steering wheel in one quick shot. As soon as he started the engine, the windows fogged within seconds. Refusing to take his eyes off him, Max watched as the driver's side window suddenly lowered. A few minutes later, the rain came down even more forcefully, but Max was determined to tough it out, regardless.

When the man's car was out of sight, Max opened the back of the recorder to see if he'd recorded anything and smiled when he saw the reel was thicker on the recording side. Satisfied, he jumped to his feet and frantically shoved the recorder into his backpack and zipped it back up. "C'mon, Rich, let's get out of here."

"Why are you acting so scared all of a sudden?" Ritchie asked wide-eyed. "You think he saw us don't you?" the boy demanded, his voice climbing to a higher pitch.

"I'm not scared," he said casually and ignored Ritchie's question about the man seeing them. "All I know is, I'm soaking wet." Ritchie watched as Max pulled his T-shirt over his head, twisted it to squeeze the water out, then used it as a towel to wipe his head. After squeezing the rainwater out of the shirt again, he slipped it back on.

"Do you think he saw us?" Ritchie asked again, his red hair tightly curled around his face, his freckled nose, and deep blue eyes now bug-eyed with fear.

"I have no clue," Max answered calmly, but that didn't mean he wasn't scared. He was just better at hiding it. "Stop worrying. If he saw us, he would have stopped. Maybe even offered us a ride."

"Yeah, right." Rich shook his head

"You didn't look up, did you?"

"No."

"Okay, then we're fine." Max puffed his cheeks up with air and blew it out in one steady stream. He didn't have the heart to tell Ritchie he had looked up, and the man did look in his direction. Maybe the man saw his face. Or maybe he was just paranoid. "C'mon, let's get out of here," Max said.

"Hey, you have to go back in and get the microphone."

"Forget it. Dad will figure it's been misplaced."

"Now, you know he's going to blame you, Max."

"Crap, Ritchie, you sound just like him."

Ritchie ignored Max's sarcasm and launched back into questioning. "Did that man look familiar to you?"

"Yes, but I can't figure out how or where I've seen him."

"Oh, crap," Ritchie said in a shaky voice, "that scares me even more." He jiggled nervously in place.

"What difference does it make?" Max shouted impatiently. "He doesn't know who we are anyway. Besides, he zipped past us too fast to even get a look."

"Are you sure?" Ritchie stood wide-eyed. "I'm scared."

"Scared of what? The man? Or getting caught?"

"Both . . . I guess." Ritchie kicked a stray stone on the sidewalk with the tip of his sneaker. When the rain stopped abruptly, both boys sighed simultaneously.

"But it's too late to be thinking about that now." Max grabbed the end of his T-shirt and wiped the raindrops running down the sides of his face. "We better get home before it rains again, Rich."

"But, you have to get the microphone."

"Nuh-uh," Max shook his head emphatically. "That means I'll have to confess some bogus sin if I get caught in the confessional. I just went to confession last week. Why don't you go for me, and if Father opens the screen, you confess your sins?"

"I'm not Catholic, you bonehead."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I could tell you how to do it." Max could see by the expression on Ritchie's face he wasn't about to budge. Max scratched his head, disappointed his friend wouldn't do it for him. He took a step back and tried to figure out a way to return to the confessional for the microphone without being noticed. He rubbed a hand over his chin as he thought about it. "I guess I could just go back in and make something up."

"Won't you go to hell if you do that?"

"If I lie, you mean?" Max asked.

"Yeah, if you lie. Doesn't God keep a list of your lies?"

"Why are you asking me such stupid questions? I don't know."

Ritchie pointed his finger in Max's face. "If you're worried about having something to confess, you can always tell the priest the truth about how you stole the precinct's surveillance equipment after your father already told you to leave it alone."

"Hilarious, Richie," Max smirked. "C'mon, man," Max begged, "go for me."

Max stared at Ritchie. He scrunched his face and pouted, hoping his friend would change his mind, but Ritchie continued to ignore his request. What kind of friend was Ritchie? Max sighed dramatically, realizing no amount of begging was going to work - Ritchie wasn't going to help him out no matter how much he begged.

Max groaned in frustration. "Okay, I guess I'll just go and get it over with." His stomach did a somersault dreading a return to the confessional. "You wait by the bikes," Max ordered. "Hold my backpack until I return and be ready to take off as soon as I come out."

Ritchie nodded in agreement.