Free Run Baby Run by Michael Allen Zell Page A

church."
    His words only hit the backs of the two officers and fell to the street next to his discarded shoulder bag. They drove off and he sat on the ground, cleaning off his clothes that were wrinkled again.

7
    H utch woke himself up with a flurry of deep coughing. For a flash he forgot where he was, but it all quickly came back to him.
    He was covered in sweat. Sore left knee. Back in knots from sleeping on the floor. Pieces of debris matted to his skin and clothing. He stunk.
    He sat up, looked around, and shook his head.
    His hide-out space was decently lit, considering, and it looked worse by day. The holes in the roof and front windows allowed the sharp sun to cast slivers of light across the mess. The multiple angles of sun rays made Hutch think of search lights or as if he were the focus of a magnifying glass.
    He saw a calendar still turned to August 2005 curling up on the wall, along with newspaper clippings and hand-written thoughts about Turner's Soul Food restaurants being run by white supremacists to poison black people. The previous tenant was trying to prove the rumor was true.
    If he were prone to tears, they would've flowed, but Hutch wasn't one for crying. Instead, he croaked out, "Alright. Stay strong."
    He stood up, winced, and looked outside the window. Not much activity on the street. Only a steady flow of cars. One of them announced itself in advance with a booming radio.
    "It's 10:25. Gonna be a hot day here in the Crescent City," the radio announcer said.
    He sat back down slowly. "Man, what were you thinkin'?" he wondered. "I done fucked up."
    Oddly, no rats or mice had been heard, not even cockroaches, but Hutch knew they were around. He hated the idea of speaking to them, so he worked through it all in his mind rather than aloud.
    He'd gotten a jeep with solid VIN, license plate, and registration. Nothing stolen, so it wouldn't be obvious if the cops scanned the plate or pulled them over.
    Driver's licenses and a passport for him were even easier to obtain, though more expensive. Hutch knew of Tommy J's operation out of an abandoned Harvey strip mall space. Hutch's was a Texas license. Olson's was a California one. They'd both been given new names. Paul Grayson for Olson and Maurice Richard for Hutch.
    He'd knocked at the door, said the password "Kenyatta," and entered the former Walgreens. Covered windows belied the action going on inside. Over twenty underage kids sat waiting until their number was called. They were all there for fake ID's.
    The operation was run like a mini-DMV. Two computers were hooked up to two stolen driver's license printers and laminators. Hutch had been in the week prior since the passport was more expensive and took longer. Like then, Hutch didn't take a number but walked directly over to the head man.
    Tommy J did good clean work. With the passport too. Hutch had passed on the credit card skimmers and the guns offered but examined the fake documents carefully.
    "I ain't need no hammer," he'd told Tommy J. "I got some methodical shit, don't require no fire."
    The other man, wiry and with intense eyes, peered through his glasses and beard, shrugging.
    "Alright, Hutch. Man always need a hammer, but you keep on. This some good craftsmanship here."
    Hutch grunted in agreement. "I 'ppreciate that."
    "I 'ppreciate you 'ppreciatin', but I need second half-a my fee," Tommy J said seriously.
    "I'm good for it. Don't stress. $2,800, right?" Hutch asked and flipped the band off the folded roll from his front pocket before counting it out.
    "Yeah. $28 front end. $28 back. I'm too blessed to be stressed, baby. 5K a good price for that passport. Ain't stolen from no tourist."
    "We see how she work. Thank you, brother," Hutch said.
    Birdsong on the roof refocused Hutch on the present.
    "Damn. $5,600 for the passport and licenses. Olson paid his $300. All that shit for the jeep. I cleared my bank account. Sold off a bunch-a shit. Didn't pay rent for two months. Twelve big bills and