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see my front windshield and it would be clear . . . I waited, seconds seeming like minutes.
    I just about jumped with relief when my phone suddenly rang.
    “Henry, it’s Mike . . . !” he said. “I was out polishing my clubs. What’s happened?”
    I filled him in on what had happened, trying to keep it from sounding as if I’d lost my mind.
    “They think you did what, Henry?”
    “They think I killed the cop, Mike! Me! ”
    “That’s crazy, Henry!”
    “I know, but, Mike . . .” I told him I needed a place to go. That I had to turn myself in.
    He didn’t waste a second answering. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you . . .”
    “ No . No. These people are crazy. I don’t want to put you in any danger. It’s best I come to you.”
    “You’re sure?” he asked unhesitatingly. “I could—”
    “Yes. I’m sure.”
    He gave me his address and told me it was only about fifteen minutes away. I said I’d figure out a way to get there. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll make this come out.”
    “Okay. Okay . . . Mike, thanks a lot. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know where else to turn.”
    “Don’t even say it, Henry. We’ll figure this out. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
    I blew out a long, relieved breath. “Thanks.” Then I couldn’t believe what popped into my mind. “Sorry about the golf, dude. Looks like we may have to put it off for today.”
    He chuckled grimly. “You just be careful, Henry . . .”
    I hung up and jumped out of the Caddie, getting ready to leave. I grabbed my satchel case out of the backseat. I figured my iPad might come in handy. And a golf cap. Anything that might conceal me a bit. The rest . . . clothes, papers, my speech, what did it matter now?
    They already knew who the hell I was anyway!
    I locked it up and headed out onto the street. Southside Boulevard. It was a pretty commercial thoroughfare—an auto supply store, a Popeyes. On the other side of the street, a couple of blocks away, I saw some kind of motel. A Clarion Inn. I put on my sunglasses, pulled my cap down over my eyes, and hustled across the street. I stopped in the middle as a police car sped by, lights flashing, almost giving me a heart attack! But mercifully, it continued by. And just as mercifully—there was a taxi in the driveway when I reached the motel.
    “You free?” I knocked on the driver’s window.
    “Sorry, waiting for a fare,” he said. He picked up his radio. “If you need a car, I could . . .”
    “How about a hundred bucks?” I reached inside my pocket and pulled out a crisp, new bill. “I need to get somewhere fast.”
    The driver shot up. “I could always call them another car, is what I meant to say.” He turned on the ignition. “Hop on in.”
    I did and pushed the hundred-dollar bill through the partition. I read off Mike’s address. “I need to go to . . .” Then I caught myself and gave him a street number that I figured would be close by. No reason he had to know exactly where I was going. “ . . . 33443 Turnberry Terrace.”
    “That’s in Avondale, huh? I think we can get you there.”
    I leaned back as the taxi pulled out onto the street and closed my eyes. The driver called in to his dispatcher. “Base—this is seventeen. My fare’s fifteen minutes late and some guy’s got an airport emergency, so I took him on. You may want to check with the Clarion and see if these people still want a car . . .”
    I sat back, away from the driver’s line of sight. My heart rate calmed for the first time since I left Martinez at the scene. The driver tried to catch my eyes in his rearview mirror, asking me questions I didn’t need to hear: “From around here?” “Shame about the weather, huh?” It was cloudless. Eighty degrees. I grunted a few halfhearted replies so that, given how the guy had just basically saved my life, he wouldn’t think I was rude. He drove a little farther, and as