Wanted (18 page)

Clyde pinches his fingers over his nostrils. “Don't much care for it.”

Hope starts to build in my chest. He's definitely avoiding my perfume.

Mr. Johnson clears his throat. “A few notes before you head off the bus. Ghost experts agree that the spirits of the dead roam the place they were killed until justice is served. The city of Chicago probably hoped they'd be forgiven by erecting this bronze plaque in the deceased's honor, but folks who live near the river still report frequent wailings in the night.”

I squirt a puff of perfume into the air when Clyde snatches it from my hand and whips it to the floor. The silver tip breaks off and flies under someone's seat. “I said I don't like it, woman!”

I cross my hands in front of my face as protection, my heart pounding through my shirt.

Clyde's tone immediately softens. “Come on now. Put your hands down, Twinkle. I ain't never hit a woman in all my life and I ain't gonna start now. I just got me a quick temper is all.”

Nearly everyone on the bus turns to look at us. “Is there a problem?” Mr. Johnson asks.

“No, everything's fine,” Clyde calls out. “I dropped something and it broke.”

Mr. Johnson nods. “Okay then. So as I was saying, screams and panicked pleas—kind of like what you just heard in the last row back there—are often heard when the moon is full. But check out the area and judge for yourselves if the ghosts of the
Eastland
disaster are still around.”

Glancing at Clyde, I see him staring at me like he's got bullets in his eyes with my name on them. It can't be good to make a killer mad. I tap my foot, ready to spring out of this seat and away from Clyde the moment our row vacates. I've got to find a way to ask some other half-deads for advice without Clyde overhearing me. As the seconds tick by, my mind reels about what to do next. Should I tell Clyde that Bonnie's inside of me and wants to hook up with him in the afterlife? Yell for Jack to come back to the surface and see if that works? Run away, go to the police, call my dad?

The last one makes me wonder what I'd tell my father if I did call him. That Jack and I are possessed by Bonnie and Clyde—come get me? What good would he do? He's no exorcist. No matter how protective he is, running home to Daddy isn't going to solve this problem. As the passengers shuffle their way toward the door, a debilitating thought hits me. One that feels like a kickboxing sidekick to the gut. If Clyde realizes I'm not into him, will he decide to run off and commit another crime in Jack's body instead of trying to kiss me?

Oh God. There's only one way I know to make sure Clyde sticks around.

I've got to make him believe I'm falling for him.

I look at Twinkle, standing there in the aisle waiting for me, but something don't seem right. At first, she seemed to like it when I turned on my charm, getting all cozy with me and surprising me to no end when she asked me to kiss her. But just as quick as it started, she turned all cold. And if my reckoning is on track, it almost seemed like she wanted me to get a whiff of her perfume, the way she sprayed it all around. Could Jack Daniel have figured out my suspicions and then tole Twinkle about it when they was at the coffee shop? I need to test her, to see what she knows.

“Forget the tour, Twinkle. Let's stay here and talk.” I reach over and grab her by the waist, hoping to pull her back down into the seat.

“Clyde!” she yelps and hops up the aisle, fast, like she stepped on a hot coal.

“Come on, now. Don't you want to get to know me better?” I try again when she elbows me hard. Makes me hit my arm against a sharp edge of the seat in front of me. I check out the underside of my forearm and see a bloody scratch. “Dagummit! Look what you done to me.”

“Oh my gosh! I'm sorry!” She sucks in her bottom lip, fretting over how she hurt me.

I smile, thinking it's mighty sweet that she's got such slick moves. Bonnie always waited for me to do the dirty work, to put up a fight. It's kinda nice to see a strong woman that can defend herself.

She says, “It's just that I have this um, this phobia about being touched.”

That don't sound good. “Phobia? That some kind of disease?”

She shakes her head back and forth fast, like a wet dog drying off. “No! It means you have an intense fear about something. Like some people have with spiders, or being in the dark?”

I nod, grinning. “I got one of them myself—'bout being in prison.”

“See? You know how it is then. You hate something so much that you can't stand to think about it.” She smiles. “So as long as you don't touch me anymore, we'll be fine.”

There's no way I'm agreeing to that. “How can I kiss you if I can't touch you, Twinkle?”

Her eyes widen, like she's giving it some thought. A second later, she tilts her head toward the exit. “How about we go outside?” she asks, avoiding my question. “I want to see where the
Eastland
disaster happened. Come on!”

I let it go—for now. Looks like this little lady wants me to work to win her affection, but I love a challenge. I get up off the seat and follow her. “How'd you get that phobia, Twinkle? Did some fella hurt you? Because you tell me who it is, and I'll make sure he don't hurt you ever again.”

She shakes her head. “No, it's nothing like that. It's just… a quirk. I'm sure I'll get over it one day.” She shrugs, tossing me a forlorn smile over her shoulder as she walks down the bus steps.

Poor thing. Prolly just needs the right man to help her overcome this. I know just the man. When I get outside, she's waiting for me. I like that. “You know, I can help you conquer your fear of being touched, Twinkle.”

“My name's Monroe,” she says, smiling.

I bring my finger to my lips as we step onto the boardwalk. “Code names, remember? Besides, Twinkle fits you better. That diamond in your lip twinkles in the light every time you turn that pretty head of yours.” Sure enough, she looks at me to answer and a tiny spark of sunshine reflects off her little jewel. “See! Just like that!”

She smiles shyly, like she's not used to getting compliments. “Okay… Sly.”

“That's a good one.” I'm about to reach out and hold her hand—but I stop. I don't want to risk getting her ire up. Could ruin all my plans. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” my daddy used to say. I seen it for myself a hundred times, with Bonnie mostly. I catch myself and quickly get her out of my mind. Not thinking about my old moll might be harder than I thought.

We belly up alongside the guardrail with all the other folks milling about. I look down into the murky green waters of the river and can barely believe my good fortune. I ain't in Jack's body one hour and Twinkle's already taken a liking to me—even if she ain't ready to show it just yet. I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for my second chance.

A nagging thought about my mission flies into my head before I can stop it. What if ridding the world of crooked laws has me ending my second chance the same way as my first? While I ain't afraid of dying, I can't say I liked it much neither. I'd ax off another toe before admitting that out loud. Never let your enemies know your weakness. Such an important rule is prolly in the Good Book. If it ain't, it should be.

Luckily, there's plenty of time for me to decide what I want to do—unless the coppers figure out it was me who clubbed that hussy. Course, if she didn't scream none of this would have happened, so she's got no one to blame 'cept herself. Still, if they come after me, I'm taking off—with Twinkle or without.

As I stroll along the concourse, cars of every color zip past us and men in suits march by, their heads down to push against the strong breeze. I look across the way and see flags atop the bridge tower rippling like mad. Giant buildings line the river, making my head spin when I look up at them. The wind blows, sending a strong scent of dead fish up my nose. I pinch my nostrils tight, hoping I didn't get enough in me to let Jack back in. I wait a few seconds, but luckily, no flashing lights shine in my head. I take a deep breath with my mouth, holding my nose closed as I look around.

How the heck am I going to rid the world of all the evil cops if I have to hold my nose shut whenever there's a strong smell nearby? I ponder that a second. My mama liked to say that if you wanted flowers, you needed to accept the rain along with the sunshine. If not smelling things is God's idea of giving me rain, I ain't gonna complain.

“I'm going to read that bronze plaque real quick, okay?” Twinkle says, looking at me funny, like I came from outer space. “You feel all right?”

I like how she checked with me first. “I'm just holding back a sneeze,” I tell her. “But yeah, you can go on without me.”

“You want some Kleenex?” She digs in her handbag and hands me a tissue. Right as I'm about to grab them, she pulls them away. “Wait. Don't touch me when you take them, okay?” She watches me, biting her lip, nervous as a fly caught in a web.

I do as she asks—without letting on that I'm skeptical, but I aim to test it soon as I can. Just not now, when she's out here in the open. My gut tells me we need to stick together. Since my instincts saved my sorry butt many a time, I ain't gonna question it now. I rip the tissue in half, ball up each piece, and shove one wad up each nostril. There. Problem solved.

As she strolls over to the sign, I realize Twinkle looks as good going as she does coming.

A young woman, about as curvy as a telephone pole, passes Twinkle and heads my way. Her skirt's so short it'd make a two-bit whore blush. Right then, a breeze blows it up, showing off her keister. She pushes it down and looks my way, like she was worried I saw.

I saw all right. “Nice drawers,” I tell her with a smile.

“Screw you,” she says, hustling past me.

“Name your time.”

She holds up her middle finger and hurries off toward the stop-and-go light.

I'm half-tempted to follow after her and let her know that she'd better be careful who she points that vulgar gesture at. No one cusses out Clyde Champion Barrow and gets away with it. Especially not a streetwalker.

The tour man sets down a little wooden box right in front of me, stepping up on it to make himself taller. “Okay, people. Listen up if you want to hear about ghosts and how to make them happy. Of course, given your circumstances, I expect most of you are even more knowledgeable about ghosts than I am.” He chuckles. “I'll tell you what I know, and you can straighten me out on the parts I get wrong.”

A bunch of folks move in closer. I need all the information I can get, so I aim to listen.

“Hauntings in and around large bodies of water are quite common. That's because proper burials and last wishes of the deceased aren't carried out when victims drown, so their souls can't rest in peace. A discordant soul wanders the earth waiting for his wishes to be resolved, or until the good Lord decides his time is up.”

I pray the good Lord don't think bad of me, but I'd sure like for his watch to break when he's eyeing my time on Earth.

The tour man pauses a second, raising his finger in the air. “So, if you don't want your deceased loved one drifting around aimlessly, I advise you to find out their last wishes and carry them out, or they may end up wandering around on Earth for a
looong
time.”

An older woman in the back calls out, “Does anyone know how it works for us? I have no idea how to find out what my other half wants and she won't tell me.” She stops talking and looks up in the air. “No,
you
be quiet,” she says aloud, looking at no one. She waits, listens. “Yeah, well I'm sick of you too. So tell me what you want, so I can do it and you can leave.”

The way the lady looks like she's talking to someone who ain't there makes me wonder if Jack can hear things I'm thinking. Just in case, I send him a message:
The only thing I want is to live forever. Since I can't have that, I'd be much obliged if you just stayed locked up in my head until the Lord decides He wants me back.

I chuckle out loud at the thought of living to a ripe old age. A codger with a great big belly turns and stares at me, like he's got a bone to pick.

“You got a problem?” I ask him.

“Nope.” He scurries toward a seagull preening itself in the sun on the handrail. I look for Twinkle and see her chatting with a bald feller. I'm about to holler and tell her to get back over by me but something stops me. I watch to see if she's a dame I can trust. I position myself behind some people taking pictures of the water where the boat sank, so that Twinkle can't see me observing her.

I slide my thumbnail between two of my bottom teeth, waiting and seeing. The bald feller reaches into his back pocket and hands her a folded-up glossy pamphlet—like the kind they give out at the picture show with the names of all the actors. I wonder if he's asking her out to the movies, but just as quick, I know I'm worrying about nothing.

Twinkle wouldn't go for a dud like him, not when she's got a better-looking, whole lot tougher man around. Why, he's twice her age and has as much hair on top of his head as a hog's behind. I squint at the design on the front of his shirt, trying to figure out what it is. That's when I realize it's that ugly creature doing jumping jacks that Twinkle and Jackrabbit was looking at in the coffee shop. I'm about to make my way over there to find out what they's up to when she up and leaves him, heading my way. She breaks into a big smile when she sees me. Makes me feel like I won first place at the county fair.

“Five minutes, people,” the tour man announces. “Then we need to load up.”

I smile at Twinkle as she comes toward me, when someone bumps me from behind. I whip around. “Hey, watch where—” But before I can give him a what-for, it turns out it's a crippled gent about my age, his arms and legs herking and jerking with every step. Seems like the poor guy don't got a single limb that's straight.