Alive on Arrival: Chapter 29

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29

It’s still early. I need a coffee most desperately. Coffee and Advil for the wound on the back of my skull. While I drive, I pat the bandage that covers the wound. It’s damp from blood leakage. I fucked up when I didn’t have Patty put a new dressing on it this morning. Maybe later, after my deed is done, I can return the Jeep to the house, and she can replace it. Or maybe not.

Pulling into a stop-n-rob located at the bottom of a steep hill in the North Albany Hamlet of Menands, I park in an empty space near the store’s front entry. My 9mm stuff in my rear pant waist, and concealed by my leather coat, I head inside and cross the filthy floor to the coffee klatch. While I’m pouring the coffee, I can’t help but notice the breaking news now being broadcast on the flatscreen TV mounted to the wall behind the cashier.

The sound is muted. It’s impossible to hear what the on-the-spot-reporter is mouthing into his hand-held mic. But when a photo of me appears in the upper lefthand corner of the screen, I feel a wave of ice-cold water shoot up my backbone. It’s a black and white, professionally captured portrait lifted from the dust jacket of one of my recent books. It’s good picture. It’s always been good for publicity since it makes me appear more handsome and smart than I truly am. But this is the kind of publicity I do not fucking need.