Born to Lose by James G. Hollock Page A

It’s our only chance.”
    Lubresky worked hard to keep up with Hoss. Entering a copse of pines, they knelt to study a nearby house. Lights were on upstairs, but none showed on the first floor … and there was a car parked out front.
    Jack Willams was upstairs in his Blawnox home watching TV. His wifeand young son were in the next room. Williams had been out on his porch earlier, upon hearing the workhouse siren. He’d even walked the sixty yards to his neighbor’s house to get any news. Williams’s house was on the outskirts of town, and all seemed quiet, so after a while he went back inside.
    Even so, before going upstairs, Williams checked the locks on the doors. Resting in his easy chair, he had stubbed out his last cigarette ten minutes earlier and was close to nodding off when he heard the familiar sound of his beloved six-year-old powder-blue Chevy firing to life. He sprang to the window in time to see the headlights pop on, illuminating the sequence of mountain laurels and saplings flanking the curve of his gravel driveway. Williams fiddled with the latch to raise the sash and yell out, but before he could, the escapees had floored the Chevy’s accelerator, the back tires grabbing and spitting stones everywhere. Flying from the driveway, the car made a violent right turn and then was gone.
    Free. Hoss could barely contain his excitement. He and Lubresky, who alternated between grinning and rubbing his ankle, were some forty-five minutes east of Blawnox in Jack Williams’s powder-blue Chevy.
    In a grinning moment Lubresky looked over at Hoss. “Stan, do ya think they’ll put a price on our heads?”
    Hoss laughed. “Don’t know, Tom. I don’t think they do that stuff anymore, but maybe they do. That
would
be cool. We’d be like Billy the Kid or John Dillinger or Capone …”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” Lubresky piped in, “or like Wyatt Earp.”
    Hoss playfully punched Lubresky’s arm. “Nah, not like him,” Hoss educated his buddy. “He’s a good guy.”
    For all the fun of the moment, Hoss considered Lubresky a distinct liability now that they were out of prison, and was angling to cut him loose at the first opportunity. Hoss had made it clear that his plans didn’t include California, so they’d be splitting up anyway, but he wanted the parting to come sooner rather than later. Besides, Hoss thought the big oaf wouldn’t make it ten miles after he dumped him; he was likely be caught digging up a shoebox in his landlord’s backyard. Lubresky, however, was less eager to split.
    â€œC’mon, Stan, just think,” urged Lubresky. “Sand, and those trees, uh … palm trees! And babes, and no law on our back. We ain’t got nothin’ else to do.”
    Turning left on another country road, Hoss replied, “Well, that’s just it, Tom. I got plans for around here. Right off I got some business in Cleveland, so whaddya say I drop you somewhere tonight? Then that’ll be it.”
    â€œOkay, Stan, but I can’t go home. They’ll have our places covered, huh?”
    After traveling further east, Hoss pulled to a guardrail by the Kistaminatas River. Nearby was a trailer where a girlfriend of Lubresky’s lived. He’d stay with her for a while.
    Both men were soaked and cold. The air inside the car was musty from their coarse woollen prison uniforms. The heater stayed on while the car idled, but each rolled down his window and gulped the fresh air outside.
    â€œHey, Tom, we did it! Didn’t I say we could fool all those dumb bastards? Man, I would have loved to see their faces when they saw the hole in that skylight. And do ya know? I was scared silly lowering myself off that roof with those ratty bed sheets tied together. But we’re free as birds. We made it.”
    Lubresky chose his least damp cigarette and lit up, using the car’s lighter. After two long drags,