Free Owl and the City of Angels by Kristi Charish Page A

change, and I don’t want to miss my break.”
    My panic evaporated. Seriously?
    Benji raised a hand and gave them a meek wave and smile.
    “And watch for the rioters—I don’t want to have to come out and find you.”
    Seriously? What were we, two?
    “Jesus, Benji. When did security get like this?”
    “They’ve been upping security for the last year, but it wasn’t until Bali that they pulled private contractors in,” he said as we crossed the street and lost ourselves in the crowd. “That’s who those guys are—they’re responsible for accounting where archaeologists are at all times and making certain we’re safe .” If there was any question about what Benji thought about the contracted security, the way he spat out safe cleared up any misconceptions.
    “So basically you’re prisoners now. Great,” I said.
    Benji didn’t dignify that with an answer, but he didn’t deny it either as we continued down the road. He checked over his shoulder before shoving me inside a convenience store, then glanced out the front again.
    “There’s a pair of agents coming,” Benji said. “They’ll swing back around and loop the other street.”
    I got the meaning. If they were looping back along the main streets and I used the alley, I had a short window of opportunity in which to slip by them. I had to marvel how good these guys had gotten since I’d left . . .
    Come to think of it, I wonder if I’d have ever gotten out in the first place if things had been like this . . . I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. Archaeologists like Benji were more than happy to treat me like I had the plague, and I don’t have a martyring bone in my body. As far as I was concerned, they could get buried in the bed they’d all made for themselves.
    Funny how much easier it is to tell the world to fuck off in my head . . . why is that?
    Having guessed we probably weren’t in the store to buy anything, the man behind the counter glanced warily between Benji and me. With the threat of rioters looming, I didn’t blame him. His fear I knew how to deal with. I passed the equivalent of twenty dollars across the counter, nodding to the back exit. He took the money, glanced again at me and Benji, shrugged, and went back to reading his magazine. I saw the two agents pass by. “Those two out front means the one in the street over will walk by soon, right?”
    Benji nodded.
    Time to use the ever-diminishing window of exit. “Come on,” I said, and shoved Benji towards the back door. He didn’t say anything as I continued shoving him into the street, across the road, and into the next alley. We were almost at the next street crossing—three blocks from the docks—when Benji dug his feet in. He swore under his breath and pushed me into the shadow of a structurally unsound escape stairwell.
    “Hey!”
    “Shhh, will you? They changed their pattern.”
    For a second I thought it might be a setup—that Benji was leading me into a trap. One look at his panic-stricken face erased that though. Benji didn’t do well under pressure.
    It dawned on me just how many sleepless nights he must have had to stick himself in this situation.
    “We’ll wait until they go by and dodge through?”
    Benji shook his head. “No, you don’t understand, the pattern will be off. They’ve been running it to prevent exactly what we’re doing. I picked it up while I was keeping an eye out for you—it wasn’t hard, they coordinate it across the radio channel. The point is there’s at least two agents for the next three streets.”
    OK, that did throw a slight wrench into our plans. All right, Owl, you’re supposed to be the pro here. Think fast.
    A wise rule of thumb says the best lies are steeped in truth. Time to challenge that theory.
    “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll head them off and run interference while I run for it.”
    Benji frowned. “Not a chance in hell. I’m not letting you throw me under the bus. I don’t