Chapter 8 (Zarco): ON THE RUN

Hello, Zarco here. I'm in trouble. I messed up BIG TIME.

This girl I rescued , or I thought I rescued, blacked out in my cab! What's more, disregarding the shots I heard being fired, this girl is involved in some school shooting! Unholy guacamole!

I was going about my day driving folks around town when this middle-aged man asked me to take him to a flowers store where he could buy a bouquet of roses for his fiancée.

When I dropped him off and was on my way before curfew, I had to take a detour route and ended up in this street. I had a hunch something wasn't right.

As soon as a drove by this abandoned building, the design of the gray pillars and red bricks held together by mortar and the huge , dark window panes struck me as one of those haunted 17th century gothic manors you would find in a classic Edgar Allan Poe short story. But something about felt modern and refined.

Starving from a long day of work, I needed a refill, so I parked the cab and decided to grab a meal from a nearby fast-food restaurant.

Unfortunately though, I wasn't aware that curfew had already begun, so all the stores were closed for the day. I went back to my taxi. I was off-duty, so I turned the light of the taxi roof sign off and shut down the taximeter.

BANG! Shots were fired! Without a second thought, I ducked in my seat and reached for the glove box. When the coast was clear, I peeked through the foggy glass. It was getting frostier.

Coincidentally, the radio was still tuned to the weather broadcast's frequency. I raised the volume.

"As we can see, ladies and gentlemen, despite the warm evenings, the temperatures at Bracnia, Signium, Templar, and even coastline cities like Graza and Runo are hitting an all time, record-breaking low this week since last spring. We are only roughly two weeks into Autumn, and temperatures have already reached as low as 13 Celsius degrees, with a possible thunderstorm taking place over the cities of Bracnia and Templar tonight. As such, we advise our dear citizens and resident folks at the capital and Templar, per the National Security Agency's curfew guidelines, to stay safe at their homes and avoid going out the next few hours to...."

I closed the radio.

I found two suspicious , fully black-clothed men dressed as thieves and carrying someone to the rooftops. A kidnapping was unfolding in front of my very own eyes. I couldn't believe it!

I opened the glove box and grabbed my phone.

"Bah!" I grumbled.  I didn't charge it last night.

Since the Bracnia Taxi Services app on my phone registered this street as my last known drop-off location, I would have to return the cab back to the Bracnia Taxi Parking Stand. BUT,  according to our Policies,  we have to return the cabs within an hour from the minute our shift is over. For every hour that passes and I don't return the cab, 5 Zanters will be deducted from my savings.

"Muy Bien (Good Job), Zarco!" I said satirically.

Consequently, I had two options: drive to the nearest police station or find the nearest telephone booth and call the police, hoping they would arrive in time. Either way, the scales weren't tipped in my favor. I banged my head on the steering well.

"Think, Zarco, Think!"

I knew I must find the police, so I searched for them in the surrounding neighborhood ON FOOT, but to no avail.

Almost an hour had already passed, so I chose to take matters into my own hands and rescue the hostage myself. It's the least I can do as an upstanding citizen and as someone who was once kidnapped too. With the skills I picked up from practicing boxing on the streets, I was bound to give those nappers a taste of those sweet, merciless hands of steel.

And here we are.

I had a hard time finding a way-in, so I made my own breakthrough and gave that blond European-looking rascal a piece of my mind. Hasta La Vista, bastard. Some of his blood stained my hoodie and dried on my knuckles.

I was caught off-guard though when I turned my back and found a dead body. Whoever he was, his head swam in a pool of blood. I am no detective, but there's simply no way on earth this girl would have gunned him. Not because she isn't capable of. It just doesn't make sense. In addition, the pistol rested on his right palm. I DID hear a lot of back-and-forth yelling inside while trying to break-in, followed by a second BANG, and then, ominous silence.

You can say it was a "mind-blowing" experience.

Regardless of whether he deserved it or not, what he and the blond guy did to this girl is unacceptable. Her face is a half-squashed ball! And she can hear NOTHING! The more I think about it, the more my hackles rise. These kidnappings have to stop!

Back to the present, the girl, Harper, just passed out in her seat. I can't think of any other place to drive her to other than the hospital. Subsequently, I turn on the radio. Then I hear this:

"Further today, ladies and gentlemen,  we have received reports that there was a possibility of a school shooting happening at Sacashire High. According to Sacashire's Principal Gordon Atkinson, there are three primary unnamed suspects, none of whom are fully convicted of the crime until conclusive evidence is found to prove their involvement in the seemingly planned shootout. What we do know, however, is that the wanted suspects are two boys and one girl. Principal Gordon contacted Superintendent Herold earlier this evening, and they would be working closely with the police to get to the bottom of this."

"¡Maldito sea! (Damn it) That can't be true. A school shooting? With all that's going on? C'mon!"  I complain.

I switch off the radio. May be I shouldn't turn it on again. It's becoming an omen.

Instantly, as I turn my keys and start the engine, I put 2 and 2 together, and everything clicked into place.

Scrap.

I hear police sirens in the background. They must be here any minute now.

"Dios ayúdame (God, help me)."

I step on the gas pedal and make a sharp right turn to the empty street. We pass by a sign.

It says,

"WELCOME TO THE VIOLET CLOVER NEIGHBORHOOD! HOME TO BRACNIA'S EXOTIC BEAUTY, THE VIOLET FIVE-LEAF CLOVER!"

Hmm, I didn't see any clovers or flowers (other than the bouquet store) on the way, not that it matters much now.

I rev the engine and pick up speed.

I am not taking Harper to the hospital. It's too risky. If the police are searching for her, then I would inevitably be taken into custody, simply because not only was I involved in a fight with one of the kidnappers , but I was also a witness of a possible suicide.

I will be at the center of suspicion. Even from a bystander's viewpoint, the situation doesn't even look good for me at all.

Imagine the questions that would come to someone's mind when he sees us like this.

The first of which, why is there a beaten up girl laying unconsciously in a cab?

I pull out my cap and sunglasses and strive to cover her face with them while holding the wheel with one hand.

Two: In the case the police decide to investigate that rooftop room where the fight broke out, which they definitely will, my fingerprints are all over the place, including the broken doorknob. Oh, and I left that blond bloke alive too.

However, it was dark at the time, so optimistically, he couldn't make out my facial features.

Three: what was I doing there? Or, in other terms, WHY was I there? Did I happen to *POOF* magically appear at the site of the kidnapping?

Absolutely not!

But who is going to believe me?

My motives will be scrutinized by the police until they force me to spell out the confession they want to hear. But I sure as hell am not going to jeopardize my life and future by waiting around till they come to their senses and use me as a scapegoat for a mess that THEY should've cleaned up THEMSELVES.

No soy idiota (I am not an idiot).

The point still stands, however, I am a part of this problem now. So I need to choose my next moves wisely if I am to avert any problems with the police.

I shift gears and check on Harper. She's still motionless. Her mouth is open, and the paper I wrote lies on her lap.

I take a U-turn and enter the Main Street.

I look ahead. The sky is getting darker. Gray clouds are coming into view. A storm is approaching. I have to move quickly.

I check my rearview mirror. No police cars. The sirens are no longer audible.

The weather is cool, so I roll down my car window.

A cold flurry of wind rushes into the cab, blowing my cap off of Harper's head. Her onyx hair flutters over her paler, olive-skinned face. The sunglasses still remain over her eyes. I roll the window back up.

So far, since it's past curfew and the rush-hour, there are very few people roaming on the streets. There are not that many cars too, so everything seems to be going well. But I don't want to jinx myself.

The fact of the matter is, Harper still needs to be treated. ASAP. We can't go to the hospital, so I will take her to my apartment in the Declar suburbs. Once we are there, I will grab the First Aids toolkit from my trunk and knock on a paramedic intern I know living next-door, Samantha Katz.

Unlike me, Samantha has completed her CPR, AED, and first-aid training face-to-face, and he already assisted in several emergencies with the paramedics before , so she should know what to do. She can also let Harper stay over with her until I figure out what to do about this predicament.

In the meantime, while she treats her, I will drive my cab back to the stand and sign myself off for the day.

With my bicycle, I will go to the nearest pharmacy. Upon Sam's instructions, I will bring the requisite  medications and ice bags to help ameliorate the injury sufficiently until Harper regains her consciousness and is able to go on her own.

Sounds like a good plan, right?

But there's just one obstacle that I forgot to take into account, one that I may have to pay the price dearly for forgetting about it: Police checkpoints.

Yesterday, Chief Philips ordered the traffic police to set up roadblocks all across town once curfew begins.

Abruptly, a blinding light flashes at my eyes.

Momentarily, I loosen my hold on the wheel and the car swerves to the right, Harper's head hits the window.

I quickly glance to my right. Unbeknownst to me, I crossed the speeding limit. That flash was from the traffic enforcement camera.

"Crap." I cuss.

I hit the brakes as soon as I see the law enforcement vehicles, and the car slows down. Harper's head tilts forward.

We are almost at the checkpoint, yet I still don't know what to do. My sunglasses remain on Harper's eyes, but her head is pointing down. If the police think for ONE moment that something is wrong with Harper, it will be over.

As we arrive at the checkpoint, the road is divided into two lanes. On the right lane, you have all the loaded trucks, trailer rigs, tractors, and construction vehicles. On the left, you have the smaller sedan cars, vans, and SUVs that belong to workers who are allowed to stay past curfew for obvious reasons: doctors, nurses, pharmacists, pilots, taxi drivers like me, etc.

I pull up behind an SUV in the left lane.

Two officers are standing beside the cones on each lane. One inspects the vehicle, and the other watches if there's anything extraordinary going on.

It may appear that I'm doomed to fail.

In point of fact, you could almost say that my life was a failure from the start. A month before I was born, my father died in a car crash. 3 days before my birth, my mother was begging on the streets. It took her 8 years to get us both back on our feet and to have a SOMEWHAT normal life.

I had no toys throughout those 8 years except for my mother's very own teddy bear. If I wanted to buy something, either food or candy or clothing, I would have to EARN the money to buy it myself.

I would constantly go to and fro between stores and shops to help store owners sell so that I could make a living.

My mother opened her own shop for selling shoes and jewelry. We would both rummage through trash cans and dumpsters till we found something valuable and worth selling. Most of them were either , you guessed it, classic formal shoes , China sets, or even jewelry.

If I fell and hurt myself, I would endure the pain, and keep on going. But mother would always scold me for that and say,

"Mijo (Darling),  you don't have to act all tough for me. It's OKAY to cry. What's important is that,  Si te caes siete veces, levántate ocho ( If you fall seven times, get up the eighth). Never stay down. Got that?"

And that proverb still lives with me today. Mother is sick, and her age is starting to get to her. My uncle, who abandoned my mother over a family dispute many years ago, would mock her for being the mother of "an errand's boy".

But he never knew how much we struggled, how much MOTHER struggled to raise me to become the man I am today. She would always love to watch volleyball matches on TV.

As such, it became MY favorite sport. And I still adore playing it to this day : from the beaches of Graza, to the slums of Bracnia.

My uncle was never fond of us. He was supposed to be my guardian, but he went on and married another woman, leaving us to rot in poverty.

When my mother fell ill,  I swore that when I complete my college education and earn a diploma in electrical engineering, I will pursue volleyball full-time till I become a professional and succeed where my uncle thought I couldn't.

Wowzers, I strayed too far from the subject, didn't I?

In conclusion, nothing will stop me from achieving my goal.

It's my turn next now. I take a deep breath and maintain my cool.

The officer double-taps on the window. I roll it down.

"Taxi license, please." he says.

I hand him my card.

"Zarco Leonel Gonzalez, 22 years old, MetaGreat University." he says.

I hum in confirmation.

"Tell me, Zarco, aren't you running a little late?" he asks.

"Yes, I know that, sir. However, the previous customer asked me to drive him to a flowers store at a neighborhood that I am not familiar with." I answer.

"Previous customer?" he asks, concerned.

"What about the young miss over there? Isn't it a bit too late for wearing sunglasses at this time as well?"

"Oh, her? She just fell asleep." I reply.

"Hmm," he raises an eyebrow, "if that's true, then why is your taximeter off?"

My heart skips a beat.

I forgot to turn the damn meter on!

I try to think of something, but I ran out of ideas, so I divulge,

"Uhh, she's my sister. I am taking her back home fr school. I don't have charge her too, do I?" I exclaim , reluctantly.

What in the world happened to "maintaining your cool" , Zarco?

The officer stares silently into my cab.

I nervously put my right hand on the stick shift. Fingers crossed that the officer buys it. Please?

"You are cleared to go."  he breaks the silence.

Whew. That was close.

Just as I am about to exhale, the second officer standing at the cone calls out,

"Oi, hold on a second. Stop the cab!" he commands, knocking on the trunk.

Goddamn it.