Free All Jacked Up by Penny McCall

squatting on a square of crumbling macadam along with two gas pumps and an overall Bates Motel feel—which explained the name. One stop was all it took to convince Aubrey she’d never want to visit again.
    The inevitable junk cars were parked in a small, weedy side lot, and a huge sign sat along the road, the kind of sign that some poor slob had to hang interchangeable letters on to spell out Larry’s advertisements. Either there were a few letters missing or the poor slob had pretty bad spelling, not to mention grammar, since “Canilope” was the weekly special, and “Children with gas eat free.” Or maybe Larry had a sense of humor; he definitely didn’t have a landscaping fetish. The place was inches away from resembling a lost Incan city. Without the tourism value.
    She really deserved something better, Aubrey thought, considering she’d been walking for what felt like days. She deserved at least a strip mall with a measly 7-Eleven, not this crummy place all but overrun by nature. She sighed. At least there was plumbing and electricity. And no Jack Mitchell.
    She headed down the hill toward Larry’s and hit the pay phone first thing.
    “You’re still with Mitchell, right, still on the run?” Tom said almost before she got the “hello” out of her mouth.
    “Yes.” No . Aubrey had promised Tom she’d call him so he wouldn’t worry; she was lying to him for the same reason. If she had her way she’d never be with Jack Mitchell again. “I think we’re headed south—”
    “No, don’t tell me. It’s a well-known fact that you and I are . . . friends. My phone might be tapped by now.”
    Aubrey looked at the cracked black plastic receiver of the pay phone, rolling her eyes and feeling sorry for anybody who had to listen in on Tom’s phone conversations without a case of NoDoz on hand. “You really think so?”
    “I think Corona can do just about whatever he wants.”
    “Maybe you should go away for a while, Tom, just in case.”
    “I’m safe as long as I don’t know anything.”
    “I don’t know anything and I’m not safe.”
    “Good point,” Tom said, “but I still need to ask the congressman if he can find anything out about this guy, Mitchell.”
    Aubrey could have saved him that conversation, but most of what she knew about Jack wasn’t really relevant. Unless you were stuck with the chauvinistic, pigheaded, missing link of a man who couldn’t wait ten seconds to see if there was another option besides shooting, blowing up, or generally bulldozing his way through his problems. Anybody who spent any time with Jack knew he needed help, but when she tried to help out, was he thankful? No, he got mad and told her off. He was obnoxious, mean, and egotistical—she looked down the road, her lip curling—not to mention persistent.
    Jack pulled up in her car, parking just out of sight of the convenience store, not all that difficult, considering the rampant greenery. Aubrey didn’t try to hide. What was the point? She wasn’t about to go pioneer, and anyway he’d just find her and drag her back. There’d be better chances to escape him down the road. As long as the road took them someplace populated.
    “Aubrey, did you hear me?”
    “Sure, Tom,” she said, never taking her eyes off Jack. “See if the congressman can find out anything about Jack, like where he works, or who he works for.” Or if his name was even Jack Mitchell. “I have to go.” A suspicious guy like Jack would try to convince her Tom might be working with Pablo Corona, which was ludicrous. “I’ll call you next time I can.” She disconnected, dialing the first number that came to mind just as Jack set eyes on her.
    He stalked over, reaching for the phone. Aubrey twisted aside, covering the receiver. “It’s work,” she said, straightening as her boss came on the line. “Hi, Nancy, it’s Aubrey. I know, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but . . . No, I don’t need counseling, just some time off. I