Free Mickey Slips (Tyler Cunningham Shorts) by Jamie Sheffield Page B

about anything until I get there … except your doctor. Tell me what hospital and room you’re in, and I’ll see you soon.”
    He told me, I hung up, made three quick calls to facilitate my next moves, grabbed gear for a week’s car-camping in the cold, and was out the door ten minutes later.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Route 3, heading west, 1/21/2013, 5:28 a.m.
     
    Dorothy had been my first call, and was my first stop; to drop off Hope and pick up some supplies. Dorothy runs the Tri-Lakes Animal Shelter (TLAS), and introduced Hope and me the previous summer ( a perfect and lucky moment for both of us in what turned out to be the most exciting/dangerous/law-breaking two weeks of my life ). Dot wasn’t happy to get my early morning call, but she had her lights on and a hug for both Hope and me as she handed over the waterproof container that had been waiting above the acoustic tiles in her bathroom for five years.
    “What the hell are you into Tyler, and can I come along?” She asked as she handed over the OtterBox. She’d probably looked inside it within five minutes of my giving it to her ( Dorothy is able to resist anything except temptation ), and ten thousand dollars ‘in case’ money in a mix of bills will always raise both eyebrows and questions. I’d given it to her to hold for me ‘in case’ something happened and I needed a lot of money instantly … like tonight.
    “Nope, your mission, should you choose to accept it, and even if you don’t, is to stay in town with Hope, since she hates every human on Earth besides the two of us, and I have to leave for a bit.” She looked disappointed, but understood, at least the bit about Hope.
    “Tyler, what problem do you have that ten grand is gonna fix?” she persisted.
    “It’s better if you don’t ask, and I don’t tell, and it’s entirely possible that I won’t need the money ( or at least not all of it ), but nobody ever got to the far side of a jam and wished that they’d had less money to grease their way through the tricky parts.” I answered her in a way designed ( hopefully ) to head off any further questions … it did. I already had almost two thousand from the cache I kept at SmartPig, but I could always put any extra/leftover back in its hidey hole if I didn’t spend it all.
    Dorothy and Hope wished me well, walked me back down to my packed and gassed Honda Element . They faded into the dark quickly in my rearview mirror as I headed further west.
    My next stop on the way to Syracuse was just outside the Adirondack Park, near Fine, NY. Dan was waiting for me outside of the cleverly named Dan’s Pawn ( Loans and Payday Advances - Checks Cashed ), which did a booming business with the soldiers at Fort Drum, although his laissez-faire business practices occasionally landed him in trouble ( which was, in fact, how we had met nearly four years earlier ). While his problem had been interesting to me, I found Dan himself to be a repellent and immoral man, who improved his lot in life by preying on those in need … that being said, sometimes a repellent and immoral person is useful to know and/or have around ( especially one who feels that he owes you a favor ).
    Dan motioned me around the side of his building, and had me back the Element into the attached garage. Before I had gotten out of the Element, he’d already opened the rear hatch and shoved in two obviously heavy and clanking duffels, and then met me with a handshake and an all-purpose grin/wink/head-bob that took in everything and meant nothing.
    “Glad you called Tyler, I hate owing a man, and with this I figure we’re about even … I guess I thought you’d forgotten my number.” Dan said to me as we walked back into his garage to lean against a dusty workbench for a minute.
    “How could I forget your number Dan ? It’s the thirty-third number in Fibonacci’s sequence … if I could get a phone number like that, I’d stop using the burners, and settle down