Chapter 5

 

IT WAS PAUL Rogers’s third day of freedom. And no grass had grown under his

feet. He had already put a thousand miles between him and the prison.

 

He had looked for and found news of the double homicide back in the alley. The

paper said the police were leaning toward it being a fatal fight between a young

couple. There had obviously been a falling-out, because they had been seen

earlier on a bus together kissing.

 

Yep, thought Rogers, there had been a really big falling-out.

 

On the second day of freedom he had stolen a beat-to-shit Chevy from an

automotive repair place, swapping out plates he had taken from an impoundment

lot. He’d driven six hundred miles that day, followed by over three hundred so

far today.

 

He had spent a chunk of his cash on gas and about the same on food. He had slept

in the car, finding a place to park and bed down for the night. He had purchased

shoes that fit and an extra pair of pants, a shirt, a new jacket, underwear,

socks, and a baseball cap.

 

He’d also purchased some bandages and other medical supplies for his arm. And

he’d bought a pair of off-the-rack reading glasses even though his eyesight was