The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
THURSDAY
Once Mia is asleep along with Snowy who habitually curls up at the foot of her bed we can begin our preparations in earnest.
In order to begin planning his rescue we must first ascertain where Daniel is being held. To this end Sarah Connor picks up the phone and poses as Daniel's mother, her voice a curious mix of distress and steely determination to learn where her 'son' is. It is an impressive imposture that soon yields results.
"He's being processed in the precinct jail before being transferred to the county lock up tomorrow at noon. Do we go now or wait?"
"I think we should wait," John says. "The precinct will be crawling with cops and they won't have to look far for reinforcements. We could end up getting boxed in. And we might harm somebody if we have to fight our way out."
"She might harm somebody, you mean."
She being me.
John displays a map of the city on his laptop. "Here's the precinct where he's in custody. And here's the county lockup forty-odd miles away. My guess is they'll transport him and any other prisoners in an armored vehicle, probably with at least one police cruiser escort. Figure four cops minimum, all armed. Best place to hit them is the freeway."
"You're assuming they'll take the freeway." Sarah Connor. Pessimistic as always.
"No reason to think otherwise. The street route would treble the journey time and passes through some pretty rough neighborhoods."
"Why not hit them there?"
"And start a gang war? Not smart."
Once this is settled John leaves the house and returns two hours later with a trailer hitched to the back of the Suburban. On it are two dirtbikes.
"Beauties, aren't they," he says running his hands over the smooth curve of the gas tanks. He always does enjoy fondling bulbous objects.
"Stolen?"
"No choice. No dealarships open at midnight. Not even in LA."
Then it is my turn to go out with Sarah Connor accompanying me. We drive drive to the long stay carpark at LAX where we steal a Ford Explorer, a large soild vehicle perfect for what we have planned.
Next we assemble the weapons we will take with us: three Uzi submachine guns and three hand pistols for backup.
"Remember, we don't shoot the policemen," Sarah Connor instructs me. "They're just doing their job. Covering fire only."
"And if they shoot back?"
"Suck it up. We'll be wearing combat vests. And your ass is bulletproof."
"Not just my ass," I point out.
-0-
In the morning Mia is driven to school, the same as any other day. She is her normal cheerful bubbly self and suspects nothing.
Time to tool up. John and his mother don boots, dark jeans and sweaters with combat vests beneath. Crash helmets will help disguise their identities. I select cowboy boots, jeans and a sexy little halter top I have been saving for a special occasion. What is more special then a jailbreak? Happy times. Over this I put on my favourite leather jacket. John helps me pin up my hair and cover it with a black beanie. To complete the look I choose mirrored sunglasses.
"Very mannish," John grins when I am done.
Mannish? Oh dear, not the look I was going for at all!
Then we wait. John and his mother drink coffee and pace the room, their bodies taut with nervous energy. I sit on the sofa and watch reruns of Kim Possible. How did she get such a slim waist? I wonder afresh. Laxatives and purging. It's the only explanation.
I'm your basic average girl
And I'm here to save the world
You can't stop me 'cause I'm
Cam-er-on Baum
Yes, I like my altered lyrics better. I deserve my own TV show. I will call it:
THE GIRL WHO ISN'T A REAL GIRL BUT
IS INSTEAD A HIGHLY EFFICIENT KILLING MACHINE SHOW
Catchy.
-0-
We leave the house together. Snowy watches us go with a quizzical expression on his face. We haven't divulged our mission to him. As if! He's a blabbermouth and will only tattle-tale to Mia.
The motorcycles are kickstarted in a haze of blue smoke. John leaves first since he is heading over to the town jail to coordinate when Daniel leaves. Sarah Connor departs next and I follow in the Explorer, which reeks of cigarette smoke. Honestly, if people want to kill themselves they should call me. I am much less painful than a lingering cancerous demise.
Sarah Connor and I take up station close to the freeway onramp. The day is fine and dry. The traffic is light and fast moving. Everything is in place. If I had a pulse it would be quickening right now. The thrill of the chase. How I've missed it.
At noon my cell phone rings. I have it on loudspeaker and John's voice suddenly fills the cabin.
"They're rolling. Right on schedule. One cruiser escort the way we figured."
At 12.13 the cruiser passes us closely followed by the boxy armored vehicle. We follow them onto the freeway. I catch sight of John's dirtbike in my rearview mirror.
I accelerate until I am level with the armored vehicle. Its side windows are opaque so I can't verify if Daniel is aboard. We have to assume he is. The guard in the passenger seat glances across at me as I edge closer and closer. The first hints of alarm appear on his face just as I wrench the steering wheel violently right causing an immediate collison.
CRUNCH!
The impact slews the armored vehicle into the guardrail. Without warning the Explorer's airbag explodes in my face coating me in fine white powder. Oh no, now I look like a Pierrot!
Both vehicles come to a juddering halt. I climb out and walk round to the front of the armored car. I level the Uzi and empty the magazine into the radiator grille. Steam rises from the numerous bullet holes. This is one bad boy going nowhere fast.
"Police! Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air!"
The officers from the escort. I turn and drop the now useless Uzi. One of the cops smiles believing he is in charge of the situation. Dream on.
The dirtbikes circle round. John fires an Uzi burst over their heads. "Uzi's trump pistols, gentlemen," he yells. "Drop them and lie face down on the ground."
The officers grudgingly do as they're told. The two guards in the armored vehicle stare out at us. One of them is on the radio calling urgently for backup. It will be awhile getting here. Meantime...
I walk to the rear of their vehicle and wrench open the heavy metal doors. Inside are six men in bright orange jumpsuits, seated three per side with wrist manacles threaded through a central steel rod. Four men are black and one hispanic. The sole white face belongs to Daniel. I snap the steel retaining rod and hold out my hand.
"Come with me if you want to live."
That line never gets old!
Daniel climbs out and we cross to the waiting dirtbikes.
"Uh - miss?"
One of the prisoner's addresses me. I turn my head. "Well?"
"What d'you want us to do?"
I ponder the question. A phrase John uses when Snowy is being a nuisance springs to mind. I decide to utilise it.
"Skedaddle, furball."
Possibly the 'furball' is redundant considering all of the prisoners are shaven-headed, however they seem to get the gist and scatter across the four lanes of the freeway, narrowly missing being run down.
Daniel climbs on the back of Sarah Connor's dirtbike. I do the same with John's. We accelerate away, slaloming between traffic. The plan has worked out perfectly.
It doesn't last. Perfection rarely does.
Three miles on we encounter a roadblock. Three police cruisers lined up lengthwise. Six officers with guns track our progress. Something's got to give.
Them.
I take the Uzi slung across John's shoulders and fire several short bursts, deliberately aiming to miss. They don't know this, of course, and seek cover behind their vehicle's flanks. We squeeze by without slowing.
Yelling.
Gunfire.
I register the impact of several rounds as they hit my back. Another jacket ruined. Bummer. Still, better me than John or the dirtbike.
Ahead, Sarah Connor darts down the next exit ramp. We follow. Off the freeway we thread our way through narrow backstreets until our progress is impeded by a tall chainlink fence. She stops and gestures at me and then the fence. I get the gist. I hop off and rend a gap big enough for us to proceed. She gives me a thumbs up. Praise indeed.
The gap in the fence leads to a vast concrete canyon. A shallow ribbon of water flows down the centre. This is the pathetic remnant of the Los Angeles river, tamed and plundered by human design generations ago. Except during rainstorms when this place will be transformed and a torrent of water in full spate will fill these artificial canyons as it flows powerfully to the sea.
But not today.
Good. I didn't bring my swimsuit.
The smooth concrete surface permits the dirtbikes to attain maximum speed. Windroar makes speech impossible. We pass under many bridges and overpasses, their linear shadows glimpsed then gone in an instant.
Miles pass.
Deeper and deeper into the heart of the city.
Finally, Sarah Connor slows and angles up the steep sides to stop before another chainlink fence. Again I do the necessary and we emerge in a commercial district of the city with warehouses and truck depots on either side of the street. We proceed at a slower pace until an underground parking garage is spotted, heading down its access ramp before stopping on the second level. Engines off. Helmets removed .
"Everyone okay?" John asks. His hair is damp and slicked to his skull.
We all reply in the affirmative. Sarah Connor crosses to a blue Ford sedan and uses her elbow to break a side window. After a brief search she discovers a spare set of keys hidden under the passenger seat. How careless humans are with their possessions. Daniel and I climb in back, John sits beside his mother who starts the engine.
"You idiot! What were you thinking shooting your mouth off in a bar?"
"Look, I'm sorry. I'd been drinking. I don't even remember half of it."
"Have you any idea what the consequences could've been?"
"I'm really sorry, okay?"
The Ford edges out into the street. A police helicopter flies overhead, heading east. They will be seeking two dirtbikes not a nondescript blue sedan.
"Where are we going?" Daniel asks.
"Home," is John's terse reply. "Where d'you think we're going - Acapulco?"
I say, "I hear Acapulco is nice this time of year."
"I need to go to Burbank."
"You can't go back to your apartment. It'll be crawling with cops."
"Not my apartment. The police told me Lulu's in a pound there. I need to go get her."
"Forget it. We're not picking up your dog."
Daniel bursts into tears. "She's all I have left, man! "
-0-
We stop outside the dog pound. Sarah Connor says, "She's a white terrier, right?"
"Yeah. Careful, she bites if she's nervous."
"Wonderful."
I think this is sarcasm.
She returns five minutes later with Lulu in her arms.
"Lulu! Oh baby, I've missed you so much!"
More tears.
John says, "Jesus, grow a pair."
Does he mean boobs? It seems strange and completely inappropriate advice.
-0-
We arrive home late afternoon. Sarah Connor hurries inside to change before heading out again to pick up Mia from school. The stolen Ford sedan is stashed in the garage for later disposal.
John slumps down on the sofa. "What a day. What a freaking day!"
"I'm sorry, man."
"Yeah, so you said."
"It all got on top of me. Nuclear war. Having to invent something that saves lives and not having a clue where to start. Falling in love with a girl who's not a real girl and couldn't care less about me." His chin trembles and he looks away.
"You're not gonna start blubbing again, are you?"
"Sorry. It's just...I don't know how you can live with it, General. So many lives depending on you. On me."
"I've had more time to get used to it, that's all. I was a wreck too, few years ago. Go up to my room and borrow jeans and a tee. Mia can't see you in that prison uniform."
"Won't she see me on the news? Like you said, I'm a fugitive."
"Mia doesn't watch the news shows. Too boring. She watches cartoons and Gossip Girl. So unless you suddenly start dating Blair I think you'll be okay."
"I wish. Thanks, man. For everything, I mean."
When we're alone John says, "So he's in love with you?"
"Yes."
"How long have you known?"
"Since the first desert trip."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It didn't seem important."
"Have you learnt nothing? Human emotions are always important. I thought he was just sniffing around to wind me up." A sigh. "I should have handled this better. I know better than anyone what a shock all this is. I behaved like a jerk."
"You're not a jerk."
"Didn't say I was. I behaved like one though."
I take my beanie off and shake my hair loose. John pats the sofa and I sit next to him. We kiss.
"Good work today."
"Ditto."
"Went well. No one died."
"Bummer."
"Huh?"
"Kidding."
"Your sense of humor's improving," John grins. "But your timing could be better."
"I'll work on it," I promise.
Daniel returns dressed in faded jeans and a Ramones tee. Rocket to Russia, no less. He's barefoot. "Your shoes didn't fit," he explains. He sits in an armchair opposite us. "So what happens now?"
"You're a wanted man, a fugitive from the law. Welcome to the club."
"I can't go back to my old life, can I?"
"Not unless you want to spend fifty years behind bars."
"They said the gun you gave me was used in a murder."
"It was a hot gun. Our bad. Not your fault."
"So, do I hide out here the rest of my life?"
"God, I hope not. We'll alter your appearance. Dye your hair. Grow a beard. Get you a fake ID and you can start over. Just not here in LA."
"Where?"
"Pick a city, any city."
"Why a city?"
"More people the better. Easier to hide in crowds. Trust me, I've been doing this all my life."
"You'd do all this for me?"
"Only if you promise never to blub in front of me again. Deal?"
A smile. The first of the day.
"Deal.
-0-
Our antics are the lead story on all the Network news broadcasts. Of the six prisoners I freed four were recaptured almost immediately, one was shot and wounded resisting arrest. The fifth is still on the run. As is Daniel, of course. Although our identites remain unknown, we are described as dangerous hardened criminals, possibly psychotic. That's me alright. Mad, bad and dangerous to know.
CNN has an eclusive eyewitness video, apparently filmed by a passenger of one the vehicles on the freeway. Its grainy footage shows John and his mother astride their dirtbikes, identities disguised by their crash helmets. Then I appear, hair tucked beneath the beanie. There are traces of white dust from the airbag explosion on my face. I look less like a Pierrot than a very clumsy cokehead. I watch myself break open the doors of the armored vehicle. There is an audible gasp on the video soundtrack as the prisoners are released, presumably that of the person doing the filming.
"Holy -beep- Murray! They're -beep- escaping! Step on -beep- gas! Those -beep- might try and -beep- hijack the -beep- car!"
Either the Network is censoring her comments or she has very strange way of speaking.
Interviews are screened with people from Daniel's life. A familar figure appears, rotund and balding. Jeff the landlord is being questioned.
"Hope he doesn't mention Sarah being my mom," Daniel says as we watch.
He doesn't. Daniel is described as a model tenant who never caused any trouble. A nice respectable boy.
"Thanks, Jeff. Owe you, man."
A young woman is interviewed next. She has long blonde hair and a large bust.
"Wendy?"
"You know her?"
"She was my girlfriend in high school. Haven't seen her in years."
"Nice rack," I concede grudgingly. Even terminators suffer from boob envy.
-0-
FRIDAY
I am naked apart from my cowboy boots and lying facedown on the bed. John is examining my bare butt.
"I count five entry wounds in your back, none in your butt. At least three would've been fatal if you had internal organs."
"Then it's good I don't."
He uses tweezers to remove the imapacted pieces of lead. "No halter tops until these heal. We don't want you looking like a colander with Mia around."
I sit up. My wounds will take mere days to heal and my pseudo-flesh will be unblemished by scars.
"I have a surprise for you," John says.
"We're going to have sex?"
"A new leather jacket to replace the one that got shot up. It's the same label and design."
I slide my arms in the sleeves. It does indeed look and feel exactly like my old one.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, did someone mention sex?"
"I did."
"Lie on the bed. Keep the boots and the jacket on."
Kinky.
I love it.
-0-