Part 2
*
Chris steals a car while Toby plays lookout. It's a Falcon station wagon circa 1987. Turns out, Chris only knows how to steal certain types of cars, so they spend all day searching for that particular year and model.
"It’s got muscle," Chris says. Whatever that means.
Toby moves automatically, like he's outside his own body. Part of him thinks of walking away, disappearing into the crowd. The other part of him is rooted to the spot.
Chris finally jimmies the ignition and the engine fires up. Toby looks around quickly before getting in the passenger side. Chris checks the glove-box, finds a packet of mentos and two CDs - Foreigner and the Eagles. Chris pops a mentos in his mouth and throws the CDs on the floor.
"Fucking loser," Chris says. Toby figures it’s a justification of sorts.
They drive off. Toby winds his window down and the cold air hits him like a slap in the face. He remembers his childhood vacations, being buckled into his seat by his father, his mother feeding him candy and juice. He remembers the beach, children building sandcastles.
And then there’s Chris. Last night was the first time they'd had sex with the lights on. It's important somehow.
*
Four hours and Chris is still driving. Chris commandeered the radio and now he's humming along to Lee Hazelwood and Nancy Sinatra.
Toby stares out the window, watches scenery speed past, a long blur of greens, brown and greys.
"I saw you more as the heavy metal type," Toby says.
Chris shakes his head. "Not me," he says. "Elvis, Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline. You?"
Toby shrugs. "I listened to Pink Floyd in college," Toby says. "I thought it was profound." The year he graduated from college he went to London, paid pilgrimage to "Animals" at the Battersea power station. He got drunk and passed out face first in the snow. "Genevieve preferred classical."
"Genevieve chose the music?"
"Most of the time, yeah."
Chris takes his eyes off the road, looks at Toby quickly. "You want to change the station?"
"No," Toby says.
Chris shrugs, goes back to humming. He looks up at the sky. "You know," he says. "I think it's going to rain."
It's getting dark outside. The sky is already blue-black. "How can you tell?" Toby says.
Chris says. "Smells like rain."
Toby sniffs the air. It smells like cigarette smoke and cheap air freshener - and sweat. He needs another set of clothes. Chris says they'll go to Walmart when they reach St Louis.
"Were you watching me?" Toby says, suddenly. "The whole time?"
"Yeah," Chris says. "You never knew?"
Chris knew what time Toby left work, what time he got off the train. He knew where Toby's children would be and whether Toby would be under police surveillance. Coming after Toby took some planning, but Chris was always calculated.
"They should never have locked you up," Toby says. "National security could use you."
"What can I tell you," Chris says. "I got moves."
It's dark outside now. Lights from oncoming cars flash past one after the other. It’s hypnotic. Soon Chris will need to sleep. Toby wonders if he should offer to take over the driving.
Raindrops land hard and heavy on the windscreen.
"Wait for it," Chris says.
And then it rains, crashes against them in a downpour so thick and impermeable they can barely see the road ahead of them. Chris pulls over, turns the engine off and leaves the lights on. He gets out of the car, walks around to the front and throws his arms up to the heavens, catching rain.
Toby winds down his window. "Are you fucking mad?"
"Get out here, Toby" Chris says, laughing. He spins around, whoops at the sky.
Chris's hair is plastered to his head, water runs down his face in little streams. He's soaking.
Toby can't help himself. He laughs, takes his jacket off and gets out of the car, joins Chris in front of the headlights. "You're crazy," he says.
"Isn't it great?" Chris says. He throws his arms around Toby's neck, kisses him. The water gets in Toby's mouth, mixes with the taste Chris's skin and saliva. Chris backs Toby up against the station wagon, rubs his groin against Toby's as he kisses him, mouth open and hungry.
"We're soaking," Toby says. He's smiling though. Chris’s mood is irresistible.
"It's freedom," Chris says. "You and me on the outside. You never thought it would happen, did you?"
Never in his wildest dreams. "How?" Toby says.
"I got stuck," Chris says. "One of the nurses figured I was the love of her life and the love of her life deserved to be free. She was a religious type, told me god had a plan for me."
"You're evil."
"And you like it," Chris says.
A car passes, blaring its horn. They watch its taillights disappear over the next hill. Toby blinks water out of his eyes. "Let's get out of the rain before we drown," he says. "Please?"
Chris lets him go and they get back in the car. Chris starts the engine while Toby turns on the heater. It blows cold air until Toby gives up on it and turns it off. Chris stops at a gas station two miles down the road and they dry themselves under the hand driers in the bathroom.
They drive through the night, Toby taking the wheel around midnight while Chris drifts in and out of sleep.
Dawn comes and Toby stops at a truck stop.
Chris wakes up, shakes himself. "Crazy dreams," he says and Toby understands. Oz features in his dreams too.
They eat greasy burgers and fries and Chris buys chocolate and strawberry flavoured milk.
"What is this?" Toby picks up a flavoured milk, reads the label.
"Milk," Chris says.
"All artificial flavour and colour," Toby says. "Nice."
"Good for you bones," Chris says.
"Bullshit," Toby says.
"Just drink it," Chris says.
They’re just outside of St Louis. In town, Toby buys a pre-paid cell while Chris goes looking for a shady dealer to sell them new licence plates. Later, they meet at Walmart to buy clothes.
The last time Toby was in a down-market department store he was buying tubing so his chemistry major roommate could rig a still in their closet. His roommate got the idea watching MASH reruns on Summer break. It blew up twice and they had to vacuum the broken glass from the closet after finals. Fake ID would have been cheaper. And less likely to explode.
Chris tries on sunglasses, check his reflection in the mirror before showing Toby and asking him what he thinks. "They're fine," Toby says. Chris looks good in everything.
Toby buys two pairs of jeans and the same t-shirt in three different colours. He sees a grey, hooded sweater and it reminds him of Oz.
They must know by now. They must know Chris found him. Sister Pete is probably praying for him right now.
Chris buys a pair of sunglasses and another pair of jeans. The girl at the checkout asks him to take off his sunglasses so she can scan the tag. He smiles widely, touches her fingers when he hands them to her. She blushes.
In the parking lot Chris pulls another pair of sunglasses from his jeans and hands them to Toby. "These are for you," he says.
Apparently shoplifting is another of Chris's many talents. "How did you do that?"
"Misdirection," Chris says. "The hand is quicker than the eye…"
Toby takes the sunglasses. "They cost $20. I have money - why didn't you just buy them?"
"I wanted to get you a present."
"You stole a $20 pair of sunglasses."
"You’re always so fucking uptight. It's the thought that counts, right?"
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Toby says. "You get caught, they call the cops, you go back to jail. End game."
"I didn’t get caught." They reach the car. Chris goes to the driver's side, while Toby waits at the passenger side for Chris to unlock the door.
"Not this time," Toby says.
Chris opens the door and gets inside, reaches across and unlocks Toby's door. Toby gets in, leans over and puts their bags on the back seat.
Chris starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot without saying a word.
"You've been in jail three times," Toby says. "What did you get caught for the first time?"
"Armed robbery."
"And the second time?"
Chris glances at Toby quickly. "Armed robbery."
"And the third time."
"Murder."
"Murder and…?"
"Murder and armed robbery. What the fuck is your point?"
"You stink at it."
"You wanna know how many armed robberies I pulled off without being caught?"
"How many?" Toby says. Chris is a criminal mastermind. Unfortunately his burglary skills are average. Toby can’t help enjoying Chris’s indignation. "Tell me about your vast experience in armed robbery and your recent brilliantly executed getaway where you fell off your bike."
Chris stares at the road ahead, lips pressed firmly together. Eventually he smiles, shakes his head. "Okay. No more shoplifting."
"Thank you," Toby says. He doesn’t believe it, but he says it anyway.
"You piss me off, you know that?"
"I do know that," Toby says. "And I think you like it."
This makes Chris smile. "You think so?"
"Yeah."
Chris brakes for a red light. When it turns green again, he says, "Let's get a hotel tonight."
"Fuck, yeah," Toby says.
*
It's a motel. The car is parked out the front, and there's a neon sign outside their window, throwing a ghostly red light over their room.
Toby lies awake, watching Chris sleep. Chris is on his back, one hand across his chest. Toby's done this before, watched Chris sleep. He looks unnaturally beautiful, like he couldn't hurt anyone.
Toby thinks about calling his mother. He’s yet to figure out what he’ll say. ‘Mom, I've run away to live a life on the lam with my prison lover,’ springs to mind. Short and to the point. His mother is beyond the need for sugar-coating.
He presses up against Chris's side, buries his face in Chris's neck. Chris rolls over, faces Toby. He stretches a hand around Toby's shoulder and lets it fall down his back all the way to his ass and along Toby's thigh.
"Call her tomorrow," Chris says.
Toby doesn’t ask Chris how he knew.
*
Before they leave the motel Toby calls his mother. She is frantic. She asks questions in rapid succession – where is he, when is he coming home, is he hurt.
Toby placates: I’m fine. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.
His mother asks if he is being held against his will.
He tells his mother to tell the children he loves them and hangs up, throws the cell in the garbage.
Back in the motel room Chris is brushing his teeth. Toby says, "The cops are there."
Chris spits into the sink. "No shit."
"We should get out of here."
"You ditched the phone?" Chris dries his face.
"Yeah."
Chris says. "Plenty of time."
Toby doesn't answer. It's too close for either of them and Chris knows it.
On the road again, Toby takes a turn driving. The rain is behind them and there are clear skies above with a smattering of clouds. They're heading west with no actual destination in mind.
"I've never been to Chicago," Chris says.
"We'd have to turn around," Toby says.
"Don’t’ bother," Chris says, he's looking out the window, watching the buildings disappear. "I hear it sucks donkey’s balls. Would have been cool in the 1920s, though. Al Capone, the speak-easy's - a lot of dancing in those days."
"Lousy book-keepers," Toby says.
"Yeah," Chris says. "Guess it got easier when they had guys like you helping them evade tax legally."
"That's not what I do."
"That's what you did, right?" Chris turns away from the window, looks at Toby. "See I figure it didn't sit so well with you. You got totalled - helped you sleep easier."
Toby doesn't know why he drank. He remembers the inevitability of it, the way he found himself in bars without knowing how he got there. He felt restless at home and out of place at work. He remembers feeling empty.
"Yeah, maybe that was it," Toby says.
"The mob had this thing," Chris says. "'Hospitality before execution'. Never kill anyone before you've given them a meal."
"Or a blowjob," Toby says.
"That works too," Chris says. "So Al Capone invites two of his hit-men to dinner, toasts them, and whacks them with a baseball bat. Then he shoots them."
"Just like in the movie," Toby says.
"Yeah," Chris says. "But if you think it was gory in the movie, imagine the real thing - two guys, brains and blood everywhere. And you're just trying to have a nice glass of wine with your ravioli."
"And it was Wilkinson that switched the juries," Toby says. "Not Ness."
"What?"
"In the movie it's Elliot Ness, played by Kevin Costner, who switches the juries. It was actually Judge Wilkinson who made that decision."
Chris looks thoughtful. "I don't remember that part."
"How can you not remember that part? It was the final sting in Ness's operation."
"I don't know," Chris says. "Maybe it's a lawyer thing." He catches Toby's eye and winks.
Toby shakes his head. "You remember the baseball bat scene but not the courtroom scene. Figures."
"Think about it," Chris says, holding up a finger. "Hospitality before execution; why do you think they did that?"
"I don't know," Toby says. "Lull them into a false sense of security?"
"I think it was more than that, " Chris says. "I think they separated business from pleasure. An execution is business, nothing personal. Those guys were still welcome at the table, but they weren't loyal and they had to be taken out. That's just the way it was."
"It’s depraved," Toby says.
"It’s organised," Chris says. "And honest."
It doesn’t need to be said but Toby knows there are far less honourable ways to kill someone. Like becoming best friends with your room-mate before setting him up to be killed by his father.
"LA?" Toby suggests.
"Too many cops," Chris says.
"Texas?"
"Too many rednecks."
"You got any better ideas?" Toby says.
"Sure," Chris says. "Vegas."
*
Toby remembers prison food; no fat and no flavour. Nutrition at its worst.
Which is probably why Chris can't get enough of fries and burgers and flavoured milk. When Toby got out it was pizza with the lot; salty anchovies, spicy hot pepperoni, a taste of oregano and smooth mozzarella.
They're eating at yet another truckstop and Toby is stirring spaghetti and meatballs around his plate, thinking about how delighted Holly was by her father's post-prison diet. Eventually, he stopped ordering takeout and resolved to prepare meals at home. He couldn't cook so he called his mother and she dictated recipes over the phone. By the time Chris caught up with him, Toby’s repertoire included Spanish omelette, fettuccine carbonara and beef stir-fry.
Holly preferred pizza. So did he.
Chris stirs ketchup with a fry, concentrating on the map spread out in front of them. It's bright outside and Toby’s wearing his stolen sunglasses to shield the glare.
They're past tired. They drink coffee in a constant stream, refill, drink, refill, drink again. They’re tired of deserts and the sun bouncing off cracked asphalt, making the road swim in front of them. They drove all night, Toby taking the evening shift and Chris taking the morning. Toby thinks he might have Chris singing. "Always on my mind," when he thought Toby was sleeping.
"You know what," Chris says. "We should go to the Grand Canyon. We're almost there."
Toby and Genevieve took Gary and Holly to see the Grand Canyon before Harry was born. They'd been putting off the family vacation for so long and Genevieve had just learned she was pregnant again.
"It's going to be hard to avoid," Toby says. They're travelling via back roads. The cops are fewer and the diners are cheaper and greasier. They'll pass over the North side of the Canyon. "You want to stop?"
Chris says, "I've never seen it."
"You've been to Vegas before, right?"
"Yeah, flew in from Dallas. Bonnie has a sister there." Chris traces a line on the map from Dallas to Las Vegas. "You've seen it right?"
"The Grand canyon? Yeah." Toby is still stirring his food.
Chris looks at him. "You going to eat that or just stir it around?"
Toby lets go of his fork, leaves it on the plate. "I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was."
"You should eat," Chris says. "You're turning into a weed."
Toby’s thinner because he doesn't work out four hours a day anymore. "Turns out, I can't cook. You still glad you kidnapped me?"
Chris grins. "I don't need you to cook."
Toby sips his coffee. Truckstop coffee is strong and bitter. Toby’s developing a taste for it.
Sometimes they buy coffee in paper cups and drink on the hood of the station wagon. Toby will share one of Chris's cigarettes and it's like being seventeen again without the cheap beer.
Toby turns his attention back to the map, follows the jagged line to the Grand Canyon National Park. "It'll be quiet this time of year," Toby says. It’s approaching winter. No school children.
"You take the kids last time?" Chris says.
Toby nods. "It was hot and full of tourists buses. A real pain in the ass. The kids loved it."
"Well, I hope you won't be disappointed if I don't tug on your pants and demand ice-cream," Chris says. "But I can call you 'daddy' if it turns you on."
"Call me what ever the fuck you want," Toby says. He drinks the rest of the coffee and takes out his wallet. He points to Chris's flavoured milk. "Give me one of those," he says.
"You can't have the strawberry," Chris says. He hands Toby the chocolate milk.
Chris told Toby he grew up in foster care and didn't remember his parents. Then one day Sister Pete mentioned Chris's father, said he beat Chris and Chris's sister until they left home at fifteen. With Chris it was always difficult to know what was true and what was fabricated for effect.
In all likelihood, Chris had a rough childhood. "You ever been outside the US?" Toby says.
"Mexico," Chris says. "Honeymoon with Angelique. Spent two weeks out of my mind on mescalin. You?"
"France, Spain, Italy, the UK, Ireland, Poland, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Canada, Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Peru - and Mexico."
"Shit," Chris says. "Where does that leave you?" Chris doesn't like being reminded of their differences. When they were in Oz, all these things were inconsequential. Prison is an effective leveller.
"I've never been to India."
"Maybe next year," Chris says.
Chris will never go anywhere. If not for the break-out, Chris wouldn’t even have a chance to see the Grand Canyon.
"Wait until you see the Grand Canyon," Toby says. He stands up, takes his milk and throws money on the table. "After that, there's nothing else to see."
Chris folds the map and stuffs it in his jeans. On the way out he puts his hand on Toby’s shoulder, leaves it there until they reach the car.
*
They've pulled over to the side of the road and Toby's head is in Chris's lap. Chris’s hands are inToby's hair and he's saying, "Jesus," and "fuck" and "Toby," at random.
They started while Chris was driving but Chris couldn’t keep his attention on the road and after the third time they ran off the edge, Chris gave up and stopped the car.
Toby tongues the tip of Chris's penis, one hand around the base of the shaft. Up and down, up and down, up and down again.
Chris's hand slides under Toby's sweater, finds the base of his spine and curves down over Toby's ass, fingers exploring the cleft between Toby's cheeks. Chris squeezes Toby’s ass so hard it hurts.
Chris's breathing is controlled, in and out in a regular rhythm, concentrating on making the feeling last. Toby increases the pace and Chris says, "Fuck," one more time before coming in Toby's mouth.
Toby swallows, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.
"That was amazing," Chris says, and his eyes fall to the bulge in Toby's pants. "You want a turn?"
"Only if you want to," Toby says. He used to say that to his wife. Genevieve said she didn't mind and given that she went down on him more times than he could count before they finally had sex, maybe she didn't. She never smiled when she did it, though. Not like Chris does.
Chris would do Toby in toilets, in elevators and on fire escapes if Toby would let him. Chris aims to please. Chris aims to be indispensable.
"Take your dick out," Chris says.
"What?"
Chris turns back to Toby. "Take your goddamn dick out," he says.
Toby undoes his jeans, pushes them down a little so Chris can see him.
"Stroke it," Chris says.
Toby takes his cock in his fist, runs his palm over the head and then slides down the shaft, says, "Oh Jesus…" He's so close already, and there are people driving by, giving them curious looks. He's not sure if he's turned on or just in a hurry to get the hell out of there.
"Yeah, baby," Chris says. "Just like that."
Chris could order lunch in that voice and Toby would be coming in his jeans. Chris knows it too. He might get off on watching Toby stroke his own dick but it's the power that’s really turning him on. He's got Toby jumping when he says so and it's more stimulating than Toby's mouth on his cock.
Some times this knowledge worries Toby. Not right now. Not when he's oh so close, so fucking close and it's only going to take one maybe two maybe three more strokes…
He comes over his hand and over his jeans. He says, "Chris," as he comes and it's like it's not his voice. He's not even sure he's said it out loud until he hears Chris laugh.
"Oh Toby," Chris says. "You should see yourself jerk off some time. It's fucking beautiful."
"I'm sure," Toby says, still trying to catch his breath. He reaches into the back seat, searches amongst the clothes for a t-shirt to wipe his crotch. He tips up the bag Chris bought in St Louis and the cuffs and gun fall out. Toby stares at them for a moment before quickly stuffing them back inside the bag. "I wish you'd get rid of the gun," he says. He finds a t-shirt and wipes himself down, throws it in the back seat without seeing where it lands. They need to do laundry.
Chris starts the car and pulls out onto the road. "Never know when you might need it," Chris says.
"You shoot that thing and I'm gone," Toby says.
"It’s for our protection." He emphasises the "our."
"Protection from what?"
"There's some crazy fucks out there, Toby," Chris says. "And don't think the Aryan brotherhood is done with you yet."
"I thought you said Schillinger was killed by one of his own men?"
"He was." Chris grins. "But it's not like they didn't need a little persuasion."
"Oh god, Chris, what did you do?"
"Nothing that can be traced back to me." Chris takes a cigarette from the inside pocket of his jacket. He searches his pockets for a lighter and comes up empty. Toby finds the lighter on the floor, hands it to Chris. "Not by any of Schillinger's dumbfuck brotherhood that's for sure."
Toby takes the cigarette from Chris's lips and has a quick drag before giving it back.
"You want a cigarette?" Chris says, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"No," Toby says.
"The why the fuck do you keep taking mine?"
"I don't need another habit," Toby says.
*