Theodore Boone: The Fugitive Part 10

Theo handed him a notepad and a pencil.

"What do I say?" Julio asked.

"Try this: 'h.e.l.lo Bobby, it's me, Julio, on Theo's phone. He says there's nothing to worry about. You'll do fine and you're going to be okay.'"

If given the time, and also a Spanish dictionary, Theo could have prepared the message himself, but now was not the moment to experiment. Julio wrote in Spanish and handed Theo the notepad. "What's the number?" Theo asked as he pulled out his cell phone.

Julio reached into his pocket for a sc.r.a.p of paper and read from it: "445-555-8822."

Theo punched in the number, the message, and hit Send. He placed the phone on his desk and watched it for a few seconds, hoping for an instant reply.

"How long has he been in a motel?" Theo asked.

"They moved him Sat.u.r.day. His boss was upset, but the police told him to cool it. Bobby is an important person right now, and the police are being very nice to him."

"I guess so. He's the star witness. He's gonna be fine, Julio, stop worrying."

"Easy for you to say. I need to get home. I'm babysitting Hector and Rita."

"Tell them I said h.e.l.lo."

"I will."

Omar watched Julio get on his bike and speed away. When the kid was out of sight, he removed his earphones, picked up his cell phone, and called Paco. With a nasty grin, he said, "Mr. Julio Pena just left the law office of young Theodore Boone. You're not going to believe this. Our boy Bobby is now hiding in a motel in an unnamed town, cops all around. Can't touch him, but he now has a cell phone and we got the number."

"Beautiful."

"How's your Spanish?"

"What do you mean? It's my native tongue, remember?"

At Robilio's, the Boones settled around their favorite table and exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Robilio, the owner, who waited on them every Monday night. He bragged about the stuffed ravioli, the evening's special, said it was perhaps the best ever. But then he said that every week about every special. After he left, Mrs. Boone immediately said, "Okay, Theo, tell us about the trial. I want to hear everything."

Theo was sick of the trial and didn't want to talk about anything. However, his parents had been kind enough to allow him to skip school, so he figured he owed them a summary of the day's events. He started at the beginning, with the opening statements, and was in full stride when Mr. Robilio returned.

"What'll you have, Theo?" he asked.

"Nothing," Mr. Boone said loudly. "He's on a hunger strike."

"A what?" Mr. Robilio asked in horror.

Mrs. Boone said, "Woods, come on. The hunger strike lasted about ten minutes."

"Stuffed ravioli," Theo said quickly. Mrs. Boone ordered a calamari salad, and Mr. Boone went for the spaghetti and veal meatb.a.l.l.s. Mr. Robilio seemed to approve and he hustled away. Theo continued his narrative. His parents were shocked at the comments made by Clifford Nance in his opening statement.

"He can't call Bobby a criminal," Mrs. Boone said. "He's never been convicted of anything."

"Did Hogan object?" Mr. Boone asked. "It was clearly improper."

"No objection," Theo said. "Mr. Hogan just sat there.

"It's gonna be bad for Bobby," Theo said. "I feel sorry for him. And I feel kinda lousy for myself."

Mr. Boone chomped on a slice of garlic bread and, with crumbs dropping from his mouth, said, "Well, it seems to me as if Nance might hurt himself if he attacks Bobby for telling the truth."

"I don't know," said Mrs. Boone. "There is a lot of resentment toward undoc.u.mented workers." Theo could not remember a single time when his parents agreed on anything related to the law. They were soon quibbling over how Bobby might be viewed by the jury. The food arrived and Theo dug in. It was obvious his parents were captivated by the trial, same as everyone else in town. Why, then, couldn't they simply go to the courthouse and watch some of it? They claimed to be too busy. Theo suspected, though, that they were not willing to admit that another lawyer's trial might be more important than their own work. Seemed silly to him.

Suddenly, Theo was not hungry and could not enjoy his food. After he choked down the first ravioli, his mother said, "Theo, you're not eating. What's the matter?"

"Nothing, Mom. I'm fine." Sometimes, when he was starving, she scolded him for eating too fast. Sometimes, when he was worried and had no appet.i.te, she pressed him for details about what was wrong. And when things were perfectly fine, and he was eating at a proper pace, she said nothing.

What his parents needed was another kid or two, somebody else around the house to observe and a.n.a.lyze. When it came to being an only child, he had already decided that the good outweighed the bad. There were times, though, when he needed some company, someone else to get the attention. But then, Chase had a big sister who was thoroughly obnoxious. And Woody's oldest brother was in Juvenile Detention. And Aaron had a little brother who was mean as a snake.

Perhaps Theo was indeed lucky.

Still no word from Bobby.

Chapter 19.

In a motel thirty miles from Strattenburg, Bobby Escobar sat on his bed and watched yet another old movie on television. There was no Spanish-language station, and he struggled to understand what was happening. He tried, though. He listened hard and often tried to repeat the rapid English, but it was overwhelming. It was his third night in the motel, and he was tired of the routine.

There was a connecting door to the adjacent room, and he could hear Officer Bard in there laughing at something on his television. Officer Sneed was in the other room next door. Bobby was sandwiched between, thoroughly protected. The two cops were going overboard to make him comfortable. For dinner, they went to a Mexican restaurant with good enchiladas. Lunch so far had been either pizza or burgers. Breakfast was at a waffle house where the locals gathered and wondered who they were. Between meals, they either stayed at the motel playing checkers or roamed around the town killing time. For fun they coaxed Bobby into repeating English words and phrases, but his progress was slow. The cops were getting bored, too, but they were professional and serious about their job.

At 9:07 p.m., his new cell phone vibrated beside him. A text message in Spanish read: Bobby, you are a dead man in court. The lawyers will devour you. You are an idiot if you walk into that courtroom.

He grabbed the phone, stared at the unknown number, and was stricken with fear. No one had his number but the police, his boss, his aunt Carola-Julio's mother-and Theo Boone. He'd had the phone for less than a week and was still trying to learn how to use it. Now, a stranger had found him.

What should he do? His instinct was to yell at Officer Bard and show him the text, but he waited. He tried to calm himself by breathing deeply.

Two minutes pa.s.sed, and at 9:09 p.m., the phone vibrated again with another text message: Bobby, the police plan to arrest you immediately after the trial. You can't trust them. They are using you to get what they want, then they'll slap on the handcuffs. Run!

The Spanish was perfect. The unknown number had the same 445 area code. He panicked but didn't move. He felt like crying.

At nine fifteen, the third text arrived: Bobby, the police are lying to you, Julio, Theo Boone, everybody. Don't fall for their trick. They care nothing for you. It's all a trap. Run, Bobby, run!!!

Slowly, Bobby pecked out a reply: Who is this?

Half an hour went by without a response. Bobby felt sick and went to the bathroom. He hung his head over the commode and tried to vomit, but nothing happened. He brushed his teeth, killed some time, and never took his eyes off the phone. Officer Sneed checked in and said he was going to sleep. Bobby a.s.sured him everything was fine. Tomorrow was Tuesday, the second day of the trial, and they doubted Bobby would go to court. According to Sneed, Jack Hogan still planned to call Bobby to the witness stand on Wednesday. So, tomorrow would be another slow day.

Thanks, Bobby said, and Sneed went off to bed. Officer Bard was winding down in his room, the adjoining door still open. He puttered around his bathroom, put on a T-shirt and gym shorts, then stretched out on his bed for more television. Several times Bobby almost walked into his room to show him the text messages, but he hesitated.

He didn't know what to do. He liked the cops and they were treating him like someone important, but they lived in another world. Besides, they were just regular street cops. Their bosses made the decisions.

At nine forty-seven, the fourth text came through: Bobby, we know your mother is very ill. If you walk into that courtroom, you will not see her for years. Why? Because you'll be rotting away in an American jail waiting to be deported. It's all a trap, Bobby. Run!

The battery was half dead. Bobby quietly plugged the phone into his charger. As he waited, he thought about his mother, his dear sick mother. He had not seen her in over a year. His heart ached when he thought about her and his little brothers, and his father and how hard he worked trying to feed the family. He had encouraged Bobby to travel to America, to get a good job, and hopefully send money home.

At ten o'clock, Officer Bard stuck his head through the door and asked, in awful Spanish, if all was well. Bobby smiled and managed to say, "Good night." Bard closed the door, turned off his lights, and Bobby did the same.

An hour later, he eased from his room into the hallway, down one flight of stairs to the ground floor, through an exit door, and into the darkness.

Theo and Judge were sleeping soundly around midnight when a soft noise interrupted the peace. It was the gentle vibration of a cell phone on the nightstand. The dog wasn't bothered by it, but Theo awoke and grabbed it. The time was 12:02.

"h.e.l.lo," he said, almost in a whisper, though he could have yelled and his parents would not have heard him. They were asleep downstairs, far away, with their door shut.

"Theo, it's me, Julio. Are you awake?"

Theo took a deep breath and thought of all the smart retorts he could serve up at that point, but quickly realized something was wrong. Otherwise, why the call? "Yes, Julio, I'm awake now, so what's the matter?"

"I just talked to Bobby. He called here, woke us up. He's run away from the police. He's scared and he's hiding and he doesn't know what to do. My mom is crying."

Great. Crying is so helpful at this point. "Why did he run away?" Theo asked.

"He said everybody is lying to him. The police, you, me, the judge, the prosecutor. He doesn't trust anyone and thinks he'll be arrested as soon as the trial is over. He says he's not going near the courtroom. He's very upset, Theo. What are we going to do?"

"Where is he?"

"In the town of Weeksburg, wherever that is. He was in a motel with the police, and he waited until they went to sleep. He says he's hiding behind a quick shop that's open all night, says it's a rough part of town. He's very scared, but he's not going back to the police."

Theo was out of bed and pacing around his room. Still half asleep, he was struggling to think clearly. Judge watched him curiously, irritated that he was awake and ruining a good night's sleep. "You think he would talk to me?" Theo asked.

"No."

"Probably not a good idea anyway." In fact, it was a lousy idea. Theo knew it was time for him to b.u.t.t out and let the adults handle the situation. The last thing he wanted was Judge Gantry yelling at him about tampering with a witness. In fact, Theo decided right then to forget the trial. Forget Pete Duffy and Bobby Escobar. Forget Jack Hogan and Clifford Nance. Forget everything and just return to being a normal kid.

If Bobby Escobar wanted to vanish, Theo couldn't stop him.

"I don't know what to do, Julio," he said. "Really, there's nothing we can do."

"But we're worried about Bobby. He's out there hiding."

"He's out there because he wants to be out there, plus he's a pretty tough guy, Julio. He'll be all right."

"This is all your fault."

"Thanks, Julio. Thanks a lot."

Theo got in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Judge quickly fell asleep, but Theo was awake for hours.

He slowly filled a spoon with Cheerios, then flipped it, dumping the cereal back into the milk. He took a bite every now and then, but couldn't taste anything. Fill the spoon, then dump it. Below him, Judge was having no such trouble.

Mrs. Boone was in the den, enjoying her diet soda and newspaper, oblivious to the disaster that was about to unfold in the Pete Duffy trial. By now, the police had discovered that Bobby was missing. They had undoubtedly called Jack Hogan, and the entire prosecution was in chaos. What would the courtroom be like in an hour or so? Theo was dying to know, but then he was also determined to ignore the trial.

At eight a.m., he rinsed their bowls in the sink, put the milk and orange juice back in the refrigerator, walked to the den, and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Off to school," he said.

"You look sleepy," she said.

"I'm fine."

"Do you have lunch money?" She asked the same question five days a week.

"Always."

"And your homework is complete?"

"It's perfect, Mom."

"And I'll see you when?"

"After school."

"Be careful and remember to smile." Theo hated to smile because his teeth were covered with thick braces, but his mother was convinced that every smile made the world a happier place.

"I'm smiling, Mom," he said.

"Love you, Teddy."

"Love you back."

Theo smiled until he got to the kitchen. He hated the nickname "Teddy" and mumbled it under his breath. He grabbed his backpack, patted Judge on the head and said good-bye, and left the house. He flew across town and ten minutes later was standing in front of Ike's desk. Theo had called an hour earlier and Ike was waiting, red-eyed and looking awful.

"It's a disaster," he growled. "A complete disaster."

"What'll happen, Ike?"

Ike gulped coffee from a tall paper cup. "Remember Jack Hogan's opening statement, when he promised the jury they would hear from Bobby Escobar, his star witness? Remember?"

"Sure."

"Well, that was a mistake, because now, if Bobby doesn't show, the defense will move for a mistrial, and Judge Gantry will have no alternative but to grant one. A second mistrial, Theo. And guess what? Under our laws, a second mistrial means the charges will be dismissed. It means Duffy will walk on the murder charge. He'll serve a few short years for the escape, but he'll be out soon and living the good life. He'll get away with murder, Theo. That's what's about to happen. It's a disaster."

Although Ike had not mentioned the reward money in some time, Theo suspected he thought about it a lot. He earned a simple living as a tax accountant, but had little to show for it. His car was twenty years old. He lived in a run-down apartment. His office was shabby and disorganized, though Theo loved it.

Ike seemed particularly upset by the fact that a second mistrial was now likely. He said, "They have to find this boy."