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Friday, February 6, 2015

F3 Go Bags

            Ever since the enthralled henchmen of a succubus had ransacked my home and office, I had obsessively kept go bags throughout the city and in my car. I knew it was a bit paranoid and reminiscent of something out of a spy movie, but I had needed to fall back on them from time-to-time. Unlike spies, though, I didn’t keep stores of munitions and passports with wads of cash.
            I kept my materials more modest with a little cash, enough for a plane or bus ticket, an emergency credit card, some clothes and necessities. I focused more on my ability to get away from the supernatural elements that might want me dead than on confronting it. Spy movies made a big deal out of stockpiles of weapons and explosives in order to take the fight to the enemy, but I had no illusions. If I ever reached a point where I needed one of these bags, it was because there’s no way to win, and a direct fight is always the last resort.
            And today, in between checking on some cases, I checked up on each of the go bags and paid up for the locker storage at the airports and bus terminals. I opened up the locker at the airport, rummaged through for everything, and paused. Not for the first time, nor for the last, I thought about going.
            I had made a lot of enemies over the years, many of whom would be around for decades if not centuries. They knew how to carry a grudge. They knew how to get revenge and how to strike out. I had a little bit of protection through Nikki, but that could change and be circumvented.
            I looked at the destination board, eyeing first Hawaii, then Southeast Asia. I could disappear. I could reinvent myself in some tropical paradise; take up a simple life as a fisherman or whatever. I knew how to stay out of the spotlight, but it would mean leaving behind friends and family.
I closed the locker, content I could hold off the urge to run for another day.

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