identification, guns and ammunition, food and liquor, a place to hide, and—chicks just dig fugitives—great sex galore. But Isaac figured out a way to get all he needed without a woman, and so long as he had money, even the pussy would follow.
Eighteen hours on the run proved him dead wrong. Sad to say, but in situations like these, girlfriends were the only friends a man could count on.
Thanks for nothin’, brothas.
Isaac was laying flat on a hard tile floor, staring up at the kitchen ceiling. He’d actually dozed off, probably hadn’t moved in at least two hours. A realtor’s for sale sign posted in the yard had lured him inside. The modest house, a three-bedroom, two-bath concrete shoebox in a middle-class neighborhood, was completely empty, not a stick of furniture anywhere. The reduced sign out front suggested that the owners had packed up their belongings long ago and moved everything to their new house. It took Isaac all of three minutes to bypass the cheap home alarm system, and the lock on the back door had been mere child’s play for the for-50
James Grippando
mer leader of the Grove Lords. Hard to imagine a more opportune hideout for a dude with no girlfriend.
Isaac pushed himself up from the floor and noticed that his back was stiff. He’d been hitting the prison gym hard for several weeks before his breakout, trying to get himself into top condition. Still, his thirty-five-year-old body wasn’t quite ready for that jump out of a second-story window at the Turner Guilford Knight Corrections Center and the scramble over the nine-foot perimeter fence.Things should have gotten easier after those hurdles, and he probably wouldn’t have felt so sore now if the escape had gone according to plan. Deals of all sorts could be cut from inside prison walls, and Isaac had lined up the big items before making his break.
A set of wheels with the keys in the glove compartment and a change of clothes in the trunk was supposed to be waiting for him in the parking lot at the 7-Eleven. His new pants were promised with two hundred bucks, small bills, in the pocket.
The car, of course, hadn’t been there.
Maybe he’d been screwed by his contacts—which wasn’t un-heard of in prison commerce. Or maybe some punks just happened by, noticed the unlocked and unattended vehicle, and stole his wheels. Either way, he couldn’t go back to his helpers. If it was a screw job, they couldn’t be trusted. If something had gone wrong—well, too bad, so sad: it wasn’t their fault.The deal was that Isaac would never make contact with them once he was on the outside. Nobody liked to be extorted twice.
With no wheels, he’d ended up running almost two miles, non-stop, to the Miami River. Had he known the guards at TGK were going to take so long to discover that he was missing, he might have driven the stolen boat all the way to the Bahamas. He wasn’t a boater, however, and the prospect of crossing the Gulf Stream alone, in the dead of night, was fraught with problems. Instead, he headed toward the Florida Keys, made it as far as the southern tip of the mainland, and hunted down Sparky’s Tavern. Plan B was LAST CALL
51
working just fine until Theo called the cops. Now, law enforcement was all over south Miami-Dade County. He couldn’t even risk going into a store to buy new clothes.
Thanks for nothin’, brotha’.
Isaac walked down the hall toward the bathroom. A sudden noise startled him, and he dove to the floor. It was the air conditioner clicking on. He rose and checked the thermostat on the wall.
The owner had it set at eighty-five, just low enough to keep the humidity under control.The house was obviously being looked after even though it was empty. He was tempted to cool things down a few more degrees, but he decided to leave the setting alone. He used the toilet, and it flushed. He tried the sink. It didn’t work, but that was quickly remedied by adjusting the shut-off valve.The city water to the house
Eighteen hours on the run proved him dead wrong. Sad to say, but in situations like these, girlfriends were the only friends a man could count on.
Thanks for nothin’, brothas.
Isaac was laying flat on a hard tile floor, staring up at the kitchen ceiling. He’d actually dozed off, probably hadn’t moved in at least two hours. A realtor’s for sale sign posted in the yard had lured him inside. The modest house, a three-bedroom, two-bath concrete shoebox in a middle-class neighborhood, was completely empty, not a stick of furniture anywhere. The reduced sign out front suggested that the owners had packed up their belongings long ago and moved everything to their new house. It took Isaac all of three minutes to bypass the cheap home alarm system, and the lock on the back door had been mere child’s play for the for-50
James Grippando
mer leader of the Grove Lords. Hard to imagine a more opportune hideout for a dude with no girlfriend.
Isaac pushed himself up from the floor and noticed that his back was stiff. He’d been hitting the prison gym hard for several weeks before his breakout, trying to get himself into top condition. Still, his thirty-five-year-old body wasn’t quite ready for that jump out of a second-story window at the Turner Guilford Knight Corrections Center and the scramble over the nine-foot perimeter fence.Things should have gotten easier after those hurdles, and he probably wouldn’t have felt so sore now if the escape had gone according to plan. Deals of all sorts could be cut from inside prison walls, and Isaac had lined up the big items before making his break.
A set of wheels with the keys in the glove compartment and a change of clothes in the trunk was supposed to be waiting for him in the parking lot at the 7-Eleven. His new pants were promised with two hundred bucks, small bills, in the pocket.
The car, of course, hadn’t been there.
Maybe he’d been screwed by his contacts—which wasn’t un-heard of in prison commerce. Or maybe some punks just happened by, noticed the unlocked and unattended vehicle, and stole his wheels. Either way, he couldn’t go back to his helpers. If it was a screw job, they couldn’t be trusted. If something had gone wrong—well, too bad, so sad: it wasn’t their fault.The deal was that Isaac would never make contact with them once he was on the outside. Nobody liked to be extorted twice.
With no wheels, he’d ended up running almost two miles, non-stop, to the Miami River. Had he known the guards at TGK were going to take so long to discover that he was missing, he might have driven the stolen boat all the way to the Bahamas. He wasn’t a boater, however, and the prospect of crossing the Gulf Stream alone, in the dead of night, was fraught with problems. Instead, he headed toward the Florida Keys, made it as far as the southern tip of the mainland, and hunted down Sparky’s Tavern. Plan B was LAST CALL
51
working just fine until Theo called the cops. Now, law enforcement was all over south Miami-Dade County. He couldn’t even risk going into a store to buy new clothes.
Thanks for nothin’, brotha’.
Isaac walked down the hall toward the bathroom. A sudden noise startled him, and he dove to the floor. It was the air conditioner clicking on. He rose and checked the thermostat on the wall.
The owner had it set at eighty-five, just low enough to keep the humidity under control.The house was obviously being looked after even though it was empty. He was tempted to cool things down a few more degrees, but he decided to leave the setting alone. He used the toilet, and it flushed. He tried the sink. It didn’t work, but that was quickly remedied by adjusting the shut-off valve.The city water to the house
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