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Chapter Two: ** Louis, Collin, and Mike**

"Yesterday, at 10:47 AM, May twelfth, 1974, three men walked into the Bank Of New York on fifty-first street in Manhattan. They were in the bank for seven minutes, killed three people, and made off with roughly half a million dollars. While exiting the building an off duty police officer attempted to stop the brigands. The men cut him down in the street. Police have issued a statement urging anyone with any information about the robbery to come forward..." the radio droned on monotonously.

"Can you turn that shit off!" Micky 'just call me Mike' Royce yelled angrily from the back seat of the van.

"Goddammit Mike, we need to hear this shit! Gotta know where the cops are searchin'!" Collin Debois muttered from the drivers seat. Still, he reached over and switched the radio to a channel that was blasting The Ramones, then growled under his breath, "Damn, we really made the news! We're bigger than that disease that's killin' them queers out in California!"

Louis Bekker, who sat in the passenger seat, took a drag on his cigarette and glared at the man. He just wished he back in his dorm room at NYU, he wished he had never agreed to try to rob the bank. Fuck, he wished he had never even met the other two men in the fraternity. And yet here he was, a twenty-year-old murderer and fugitive sitting in a van that was speeding up I-93.

"Well if you hadn't killed those people and that cop maybe we wouldn't be here! By the way, where the fuck are we?" Louis said angrily over the music, resting his feet on the dashboard.

"We're in New Hampshire-- and that fucking pig was asking for it!" Collin growled, flicking his cigarette out the window.

"New Hampshire?! Why the fuck are we in New Hampshire? We should be on our way to Mexico!" said Mike, the distress in his voice quite apparent.

"They'd catch us before we got to Mexico." Collin muttered, lighting another cigarette. "See, after lake Winnipesaukee New Hampshire ends. There's a giant swath of land that stretches from Maine to the Adirondacks and all the way up to the Hudson Bay. It's some huge nature preserve or something-- ain't even America! No one lives there either, 'cause people aren't allowed to even enter the place. We go there and they'll never find us, cause even the fucking army isn't allowed in there! Trust me, this is way better than Mexico."

Louis looked at his former schoolmate and current partner in crime questioningly. He didn't know what to think of this proposition in the least. Yes, he knew of the place, but never had he been anywhere near it or knew what lay beyond it's border. Though he would rather enter unknown lands than be caught, or worse yet, shot down by the suit of the law.

"Do you know what's in there?" a disgruntled Mike questioned.

"Nah, man, nobody does!" Collin paused, "But we're sure as hell gonna find out! Here's what we'll do, we hike in there, camp out for the summer, and by the time we come back the pigs woulda stopped lookin' for us all together!"

"That's a fuckin' stupid idea!" Louis challenged, sitting up, "How the hell are we gonna live there for an entire fucking summer?"

"Easy," replied Collin, "We buy some supplies and shit! How hard could it be livin' in the wild for a summer? I know how to hunt, and we got the guns!"

"Like hell you do!" Louis retorted.

"Oi, I was in the fuckin' Chinese war, man! We had to march through the Himalaya's to fight those yellow communist fucks!" Collin drummed his hands nervously on the steering wheel. "If only Oswalt had missed," he added, quietly, "Kennedy woulda never sent us over there! That fuck Johnson oughta been lobotomized!"

---

Louis walked up the aisle slowly, trying to remain as calm and inconspicuous as possible. He had good reason to, for upon entering the small general store he had seen a flier with an artist's rendition of his face staring back at him. The flier read "Wanted: NYC robber and murderer!" in large, red letters.

It felt strange seeing himself on one of those posters. He didn't look at himself as a cold-blooded killer. Hell no! He was Louis Bekker, a nice college student from New York, not some murderer!

But you did kill that woman in the bank!

The cunt was asking for it! He told her to be quiet! He told her that if she shut up nobody would get hurt! It was Collin's fault, really. Collin shot the clerk and that set the woman off. She tried to attack him! What choice did he have?

Could've just hit her!

Yes, indeed he could've, but he didn't. He shot the cunt right between the eyes. Even as he pulled the trigger he knew he was making a mistake, and yet even that didn't stop him. Ruthlessness was needed to survive.

And if you get caught?!

From what he figured, if they caught him he would spend the rest of his life behind bars. Collin most likely would get the death penalty, price you gotta pay when you kill a cop. Mike had killed no one, for Mike was the safe cracker. Louis had killed the woman and Collin killed the clerk, the security guard, and the cop. If Mike was lucky he might get twenty years or so. Not bad.

Louis grimaced at the thoughts. He was going to college to be a lawyer, and he knew the legal system all too well. He knew he would stand no chance against the courts, he knew his fate if he was to get apprehended by the law.

But they wouldn't get caught! That is, if Collin's plan went accordingly. Yes, his entire life rested in the hands of some frat boy he had met at NYU! Lovely.

With sweaty palms and a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, Louis approached the checkout.

"Going camping?" the young woman behind the counter inquired with a coy smile upon noticing all the supplies he was purchasing.

"You could say that, yes." Louis replied, trying his best to disguise his New York accent. It certainly looked like he was going on an expedition of one sort or another; he had bought a large hunting knife, a hatchet, lighter fluid, a large sheet of canvas, and other various odds and ends, the likes of which he paid for with money from a bank in New York.

"Oh, one more thing!" the cashier said quickly, just as he turned to leave, "Do take a flier, I really hope they catch these pigs!"

She handed him a flier, luckily not of him, but of Collin.

Again he put on a faux smile.

"As do I."

Arms filled with cumbersome supplies, Louis walked quickly along the sidewalk under the warm, May sun. The same sun that, thirty miles to the north, a storyteller was being tried under.

Quite pretty, both the girl and the town! thought he as he made his way to the van. Indeed, the town was very quaint and idyllic; a classic New England town in the lakes region it was.

He rounded a large, abandoned mill building to where the van was parked. Collin, kneeling at the front of it, seemed to be working on something.

"Shit, don't tell me we got engine problems!" Louis called.

Collin stood up and stretched, his knees popping like firecrackers.

"Nah, man, jus' changin' the plates." He stepped back to reveal his handiwork. Gone were the New York plates, having been replaced with New Hampshire ones.

"How did you get those?" Louis questioned after taking a closer look.

"Stole em' from the high school parking lot." Collin proclaimed proudly, leaning against the hood.

"Hmm... we should get goin', I got the supplies. Where's Mike?"

"Over there, starin' at Beverly Johnson's tits." he cocked his thumb to where Mike sat on a pile of rubble flipping through a Playboy magazine nonchalantly, then slapped the hood of the van and called to him, "Oi, dipshit, get off your ass an' help us load the fuckin' van!"

In ten minutes time they had loaded the van with supplies and were off. More time, thought Louis, than it took to rob a bank.