No Time To Run (Legal Thriller Featuring Michael Collins, Book 1) Read Free Page A

until he came out of the bathroom a second time that the envelope caught his attention.
    Initially he thought it was from Andie or maybe even left by Kermit as some type of joke. Then he opened the envelope and thought otherwise.
    It was the beginning of the end.
    The front of the card was a picture of the New York City skyline. Inside, there was no signature or note, only the pre-printed message:
    MISSING YOU IN THE BIG APPLE
    HOPE TO SEE YOU SOON
    Michael looked up from the card as the memory merged into the present. He put the card back inside the envelope, and then scanned the plane again for a familiar face. After craning his neck for long enough to make the people sitting around him nervous, Michael set the card down. He reached into his pocket and removed Kermit’s two magic blue pills.
    He popped them into his mouth with a chaser of rum and Coke. His ears popped again, and Michael’s head filled back up with sound. He closed his eyes and decided to keep them closed until the captain announced their descent into LaGuardia airport.
     
     
    ###
    When the plane touched down in New York, Michael waited for all of the people who sat behind him to exit first. He watched as each person wobbled down the aisle, hoping for a moment of recognition that never came.
    Eventually, the smile-snap stewardess approached to inquire if there was something wrong.
    “ No,” Michael said. “I’m going.” He picked up his knapsack, climbed out of his seat, and walked toward the exit.
    As he stepped from the plane onto the enclosed walkway leading to the terminal, cold winter air rushed through a narrow crack. He must have shaken, because the stewardess laughed.
    “ Might need to think about buying a jacket,” she said.
    Michael turned, couldn’t think of anything witty to say, and so he turned back, continuing up the walkway.
    With each step, the muscles in Michael’s body became more tense. Nothing felt natural, and Michael had to remind himself to breathe. One foot in front of the other, he told himself, keep moving. 
    Michael stepped into the terminal. He half-expected to be rushed by thugs brandishing semi-automatic weapons or maybe a group of men in ski masks would throw a hood over his head and ship him off to a dark hole.
    His eyes darted from one person to the next, but there were no thugs. There was, however, something worse: Agent Frank Vatch.
    Agent Vatch was one of the meanest and nastiest paraplegics he had ever known, although Michael didn’t know a whole lot of paraplegics. Rumor had it that Vatch’s demeanor was caused by the origin of his disability. Some said he was paralyzed when a donkey kicked him at a petting zoo as a child, others said that he was snapped in half by his grandmother’s malfunctioning La-Z-Boy recliner, and still others believed the paralysis occurred during his first sexual encounter.
    Michael had his own theory about the agent's personality: Frank Vatch was simply born an asshole.
    “ Michael Collins.” Vatch wheeled toward him with a crooked grin. His narrow tongue flicked to and from the edges of a slit, assumed to be his mouth. “A weird co-winky-dink running into you here after such a long absence.” He wheeled closer. “If you would have called, I could’ve gotten flowers, maybe chocolates.”
    “ A call would suggest I liked you, Francis.” Michael knew that Agent Frank Vatch hated the name Francis.
    He kept walking. He continued into the terminal’s main corridor, putting his hands in his pockets, so that Vatch wouldn’t see them shake.
    “ My sources tell me you are going back to the original scene of the crime.” Vatch wheeled faster to keep pace with Michael.
    Michael still didn’t respond. He followed the exit signs. His eyes straight ahead, ignoring the chain restaurants, vending machines, and shoeshine stands.
    “ You couldn’t need the money so soon,” Vatch laughed, while Michael kept going.
    Michael walked up to the customs desk, handed the official his