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Bobby Mitchell ducked down quickly in the driver’s seat as twin beams of bright light shone suddenly into the rear-view mirror. The sound of the approaching car got louder, and the boy prayed that it would go straight past. The last thing he needed right now was for some damn good-Samaritan to stop and ask questions. Worse still, if it was a cop, he was done for! Even the dumbest cop in the world wouldn’t take long to find out that the car he was driving was stolen. With his past record the judge would throw the book at him. He couldn’t chance that now. As soon as the other car sped past, Bobby started the engine and pulled off the side of the road into some bushes and waited. He lit a cigarette and puffed on it nervously. The acrid smoke filled his lungs, but did little to calm his nerves.
“Christ! Come on, mom! Where the fuck are you?” he muttered under his breath. The waiting was getting to him and for the hundredth time tonight, he wondered if his mother’s plan was going to work. Cathy Mitchell had no such misgivings. At that very moment, the tall, willowy blonde was crawling under the outer security fence of the State Women’s Correctional Centre. It had taken weeks of planning and plenty of hard work to get this far. Not to mention the five hundred bucks she’d paid one of the guards to look the other way at the right time. Once through the fence Cathy headed off in the direction of the road, where she had instructed her son to wait for her. Having had plenty of time in the prison gym to get into shape, Cathy was undaunted by the prospect of the two mile cross-country jog, especially since at the end was freedom!
Bobby got out of the car and sat on the hood, craning his neck and staring into the darkness. He listened for any sign of movement in the bushes but heard nothing except the incessant chirping of crickets. Then a twig cracked.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only. Note: This story is the same as catalog number RWS-185 in the original publications (a duplicate).