I woke up cold and confused. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was: hiding under a large carpet fragment, behind trash cans, somewhere off of Highland and the 101.
Jordan was hiding in the bushes across the walkway from where I ducked to hide. The cops had long left, thankfully. My watch said it was almost 4:30 in the morning on Saturday.
I whispered over to Jordan. “Dude. You alive?”
“Yeah. But I’m cold as fuck.”
“Do you think Bobby got away?”
“I hope so. If not, he’ll be sitting ‘til Monday and we won’t be here. He’s going to be super pissed.”
Last night Bobby was on the list for an open mic night so Jordan and I drove down from NorCal to provide some moral support. Bobby’s stint on stage wasn’t that bad, actually. I’ve sat through worse.
After the gig, we hopped in our cars and headed for a bar. Jordan and I were in the lead with Bobby trailing behind.
At some point, a cop lit Bobby up and he sped up to us, leapfrogging some cars. I sped up to try and put some distance between us. Shitty I know, but I really didn’t feel like being caught up in what shit he had pulled.
I turned into a neighborhood to shake him, but he followed. God damnit, Bobby. I kept taking turns and I don’t know if he was thinking I was leading towards an escape or not, but he just… kept… following.
That’s about how we ended up where we were. I managed to be a turn ahead and pulled the car over, parked, and we hopped out before we could see Bobby’s headlights turn the corner, just as we found our hiding spot.
“I’m fucking starving, dude.” I told Jordan. “Denny’s?”
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”
As we made our way back down the walk to the street, I could see that my car was still there.
To our right was a wide driveway with a row of cottages. Our hiding spot was hidden from the cottages by an ivy-covered chain link fence that stretched half way down the driveway. As we cleared the fence, I heard a woman’s voice call out to us.
“So, were you two part of the shit going on out here last night?”
She startled me and I had to think for a moment of a response. “Oh, shit. Sorry…? Yeah. Please don’t call the cops. We’re getting out of here now.” She was probably in her early 30s, standing there under her front-porch light in a hoodie and sweat pants. Cute, for sure.
“Well, since you fucked up my sleep and I’ve been up since all the fucking red and blues, you owe me breakfast. How did they not catch you since they were out there for ever?”
“They were after our buddy. We hid before they caught sight of us, thankfully.”
“Yeah, but I guess not so good for your buddy, huh?”
Jordan bent over, hands on his knees, head slowly shaking back and forth, and let out an exasperated sigh.
“No. It seems not. But, he’ll be OK. Just another day for him.” I paused for a moment as she stood there shaking her head; in disgust, I’m sure. “We’re heading to Denny’s if you’re serious about the breakfast.”
She put her hands up behind her head in a pose of contemplation, staring us down. “I’ll see you there in twenty. Closest is Sunset…”
“And Gower” I cut her off in reply.
Jesus, man. Running from cops in Hollywood!? And I thought I was fucking nuts. Hahahahahaha!