One Jump Ahead
Booker hastily shoved a handful of clothes into the already overflowing suitcase, hardly paying attention to what he was putting in there. He was practically laying on it as he struggled frantically with the case's metal clasps.
"Where we going, papa?" yawned the young Anna Dewitt, the eight year old was seated on her already neatly packed, smaller suitcase by the only window in his dinky office. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes with one hand, she had been woken far earlier than normal as the indigo blue sky of night was starting to fade into light blue. She had her other hand wrapped protectively around a small, blue hardback book, the only possession she was allowed to bring, though it was the only possession she really had besides her clothes.
"A long, long ways away kiddo," Booker said, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a meager looking wad of bills and his pistol, he stuffed the money inside a pocket within his vest. He was strapping his gun within his shoulder holster when he heard the knock at his office door, followed by a voice that made his blood run cold.
"Come now Mr. Dewitt, time's a-wastin',"
Booker could see the silhouette of the man through the obscure glass, and from he could see, the man was not alone. Two much larger shadows made them-selves noticeable, Booker wrenched open the window that Anna was seated by and tried to quietly set his suitcase on the platform of the fire escape outside.
"Papa, who are those men outside?"
"They're no-one Anna, give me your stuff-now climb out the window-careful!"
"Mr. Dewitt do not make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Just give us the girl, and your debt will be swept away!" a fist was now pounding at the door, the flimsy wood shuddered in its frame from the force.
Booker was half-way out the window, when the door let out a loud crack, and flexed inwards.
"Come on Fredrick put some back into it, don't just stand there you useless lump, help him break down that damn door!"
He pushed the rest of his body out the window and tossed their bags over the side of the railing into the dirty ally below. Anna, thinking ahead, was already half-way down the ladder. Booker began his hasty decent as a splintering crash signified that the men had broken through. Heavy, hurried footsteps raced across the floorboards to the open window.
"They're climbin' down the fire escape!"
Booker checked to see if Anna was safely out of the way, and let him-self drop the rest of the way. There was a shock wave of pain in his knees from the impact, but he staggered forward and fumbled for their suitcases, fitting both of them under one arm while he grasped Anna's smaller hand and they'd sprint towards the street.
A gun fired behind him, dirt hit the back of his shoes as the bullet missed its destined target. Booker tugged Anna around the corner, a man leaned against a station wagon under the lamp post, about to light a cigar hanging loosely from his mouth. He looked up as the two came racing down the sidewalk, his only visible eye wide with surprise, the other covered by an eye patch. The cigar in his mouth fell from his loose lips, and rolled across the pavement. The man didn't event seem to care when Booker's face stomped on it as he began to toss his and Anna's bags into the backseat from the open car window.
"Get it started, Slate!" Booker shouted as he raced over to the other side of the car, still holding Anna's hand, he pulled open the passenger door and climbed in. Slate was hastily climbing into the driver's seat as Booker grabbed Anna under her arms and hoisted her into his lap. While Slate was struggling to start the vehicle, Booker risked a glance behind him.
Three men raced down the stairs of the apartment building, two had their guns drawn. Booker leaned forward, pushing his daughters head against her knees, there was another shot, and the cars tiny mirror shattered sending glass shards flying.
"Start the damn car already," Booker cursed.
"I'm tryin' damn it, I'm tryin'!" Slate shouted and gave the key another twist, the ignition finally roared to life and he stomped on the gas pedal and they raced away down the street.
Booker didn't dare look up until they were almost out of the city, only when Anna started to complain about the uncomfortable position, did he sit fully upright. He glanced behind them only to see empty roads, the sky behind them was now the light blue or early morning, bright yellows and oranges from the rising sun peaking over the top of New York City skyscrapers.
"What now, DeWitt?" Slate asked.
"I'm meeting someone in Pittsburgh, they can get us out of here." Booker let his head thump against the headrest, and rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes, he had received very little sleep from nightmares that plagued his mind, images of little fingers behind ripped away from him, of bullets flying through the air, and blood on his hands. As they drifted farther from the city, the nightmares began to fade away with it.
"Where ya going to run to, Dewitt? Fink's got eyes and ears throughout the whole country, he ain't gonna stop till he gets what he wants." Slant glanced at the tiny figure, who deciding that this was the opportune moment to catch up on lost sleep, was curled up against Booker, her head lolled over and rested against Booker's chest. The steady beating of his heart making her drift off to sleep.
"That's why we ain't stayin' here."
"What do you mean?"
"We're leaving the country."
"What! Where the hell you going to go?"
A lopsided smile crossed Booker's face as he glanced at Anna, fast asleep against his chest, he stroked the top of her head.
"Paris."
