Wanted (19 page)

“Sor-r-ry,” he says, unable to keep his arms at his sides.

“Yup, me too,” I tell him, sending him off with a wink. Seeing him hobble away like that makes me think about Bonnie and how her leg got all burnt and twisted up after that car accident. My heart gets a searing pain in the center, wishing I could have them five minutes back when the car went out of control. Before I can turn to talk to Twinkle and ask to see the propaganda sheet the man gave her, powerful lights flash through my brain like God himself was paying me a visit.

I fight to stick around, but Jack Daniel beats me at my own game. Next thing I know, I'm a bystander inside his sad little head! I knew I had to keep Bonnie outta my brain and I didn't do it. I got what I deserved for acting like a schoolboy instead of a man. And at the worst time too. I'd bet my left arm Twinkle would be getting over her phobia if I had just a little more time.

Why, Jack couldn't coax a dog to take a bone, much less convince a firecracker like Twinkle to go on a date with him. I felt her squirm when I kissed the heart tattoo on her neck, which got my own heart all fired up. Other parts of me, too. Her face pinches up like a raisin in the sun, so I have a hunch that Jack Daniel's babbling about how it was me wooing her, not him. As if she couldn't tell. All I can do now is sit back and wait for the boy to be scared again.

It shouldn't take long. Everyone can see Jack Daniel is a big ole fraidy cat.

When I walk back to Clyde, he starts right in—pacing, arms flailing. “What's wrong with you? Are you kidding me right now? Are you trying to get me to leave or what?”

For a second, I'm confused. A minute ago, he was trying to kiss me, and now this?

Without even needing to check his eyes, I realize what's happened. It's clear by his tight jaw, his hands closed into fists, every inch of his body racked with
fury
, that Jack is back. I stare at him, my stomach in knots. “Calm down, Jack. What are you talking about?”

“Back on the bus, please!” Mr. Johnson stands by the door of the bus waving us toward him, his wooden stepstool in his free hand. “Time to go to our next location.”

Jack pulls the Kleenex balls out of his nostrils and flicks them on the pavement. He sticks his face right up to mine, and starts bitching at me between clenched teeth. “You didn't even care that he took over, did you? I swear, it looked like you wanted him to kiss you! Like you were on a fricking date! What's going on, Monroe?”

My face flashes hot and my palms break out in a sweat. Jack's back ten seconds and he's already accusing me of being sketchy? Without even bothering to ask what I was doing?

“Maybe I did want him to kiss me. A date with him would be way better than one with you,” I snap. “He's way nicer and doesn't yell at me, either.” I turn and stomp up the bus stairs, hearing Jack right behind me.

“I hope you're fucking kidding,” he says, loud enough for the Asian guy in the first row to look at his wife and shake his head.

Five steps later, I feel a pain in my throat.

You'd better not be trying to steal my man!

I don't like him! I was just mad at Jack.

Bonnie lets go a few seconds later. I resolve to watch what I say. Bonnie's got almost as short a temper as Clyde. No wonder they killed so many people.

Mr. Johnson lifts the microphone to his lips. “In a few minutes, we'll be driving past the famed spot of the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre, where seven men from Bugs Moran's gang were executed after Al Capone gave the order.” I can't help but think how much Dad would love this tour. I need to come back with him sometime.

Ha! When I take over, I ain't sticking around with your Pa.

I breathe in sharply, the idea of being separated from my dad almost too much to bear. For both of us. First he loses my mom, then me? It would completely destroy him. That's when I realize what she's doing.

Stop threatening me, Bonnie. You already admitted you don't know if you can take me over completely, so stop pretending you do. I'm doing my best to reunite you guys, so lay off.

I might not know how to trade places yet, but I bet Clyde will figure it out and tell me.

He's not as smart as you think.

As I head down the aisle toward the back of the bus, a flickering image of Clyde's eyes whisks into my brain. He sure seemed like he had total confidence in his ability to stay alive, as if he knew something he wasn't telling. If he does know how to do a permanent switch, maybe I can charm it out of him.

He'll never fall for it. Or you, for that matter. Not once he finds out I'm around.

My heart skips a beat. If her relationship is as strong as they say—and why wouldn't it be?—of course he'll choose her. Even more reason I need to make sure Clyde doesn't find out she's inside of me. We pass the old guy that Clyde and I harassed earlier, but now he's moved to the second row. When he glances up, I grab onto the back of his seat so I don't fall from the motion of the bus. “Sorry about before. I don't know what got into me.”

“Or who,” he says, pursing his lips. “Half-deads got a mind of their own, so no offense taken.”

I jump in to clarify. “Oh, no. I don't have a half-dead in me. We're just here—”

“—for some friends. I know. Started out saying the same thing myself.” He nods, unsmiling, giving me such a knowing look, it's like he can read my mind.

As I walk down the narrow bus aisle to my seat, I realize that, for all I know, he can read my mind
.
We end up behind the two heavyset women, a gray-haired mother and thirty-something daughter, who I had overheard talking when I was outside. The daughter complained that the stress and awkwardness of going to gay bars to satisfy her other half, Lamar, was making her sick. The mother said they needed to talk to Bob because he might have some suggestions. My nosiness paid off. As soon as they were done talking to him, I ran over there. Hopefully the Half-Dead Society brochure he gave me will help.

I stand to the side to let Jack slide into the seat first. He doesn't even look at me as he passes by. Suits me fine. I perch on the very outside edge of the seat so as not to have accidental contact with him. At least Jack won't question my “phobia” the way Clyde did.

Clyde don't want to touch you anyway.

Good. I don't want to him to touch me, either.

Despite saying this, thoughts of his mouth on my neck, along with his sexy banter, send an unexpected reminder that ricochets from my brain down to my thighs. Stop it. He's an ex-con with a PhD in Player. I'd bet anything he has used the same lines on all the girls he charmed.

There wasn't no other girls, and there never will be, neither!

Damn her and her ability to hear my every thought. The bus takes a right turn and I fight to keep my weight from shifting into Jack. I look at him then, his arms crossed, not looking my way. What are we doing? How completely immature of us to ignore each other when we've got huge problems to fix and a ton of questions to answer. I take a deep breath. “Look, Jack. I'm sorry I said I wanted him to kiss me before, but you started accusing me before you even asked me what happened or why I did it.”

He doesn't respond, but he nods imperceptibly.

I shift my butt so I can face him. Jack responds by inching up as close to the window as he can. He must remember how I said Bonnie thought she could make Clyde resurface if I touched him. I don't know if she can bring him out, but when Clyde was around, she sure was ready to resume their romance.

I fiddle with my ring. “I only acted nice to him because I didn't want Clyde—I mean, you—to bolt. I thought if I pretended to be interested in him, he'd—I mean, you'd—stick around.” I let out a huge sigh. Trying not to offend Jack is making speaking and thinking to him very difficult.

“I guess.” Jack shrugs one shoulder, which I take to mean he accepts my apology.

Even though I deserve one back, I keep quiet. “Okay, good.” I smile, needing Jack to be in a better mood. “We will figure this out, you know. It's probably like one of those wooden labyrinth games. All the knobs and levels have to be exactly right to maneuver past the holes and get to the end. Soon as we figure the sequence out, we're free.”

“At least I've got Clyde figured out now. But I can't tell you what I know because his girlfriend is listening.” He looks at me.

For a brief horrifying moment, I think he's referring to me. I'm about to deny having any feelings whatsoever for Clyde when I realize with relief he means Bonnie.

Tell him he can trust me.
She lets out a loud chortle.

I bite my lip. “I don't know, Jack. Don't you think it's important that I know the details in case he comes back? I need to be able to help you return.”

“Don't worry. He's not coming back. I promise.”

His words are not reassuring. Meanwhile, I'm saving Bonnie's presence inside of me as my ace in the hole. If Clyde ever does come back and it seems like he's about to skip out on me, I'll let him know his little gangster whore is inside of me. That ought to make him stick around.

Whores are girls who pretend to like someone, which is what you're doing, not me.

A few seconds later the bus squeals to a stop in front of a gated parking lot on Clark Street. Mr. Johnson says, “We can't exit because there's nowhere to park our bus, but if you look between those two buildings in front of us, you'll see a parking lot, which is where the garage once stood and where the murders took place.” He pauses to let the tour goers peek through the windows. “Four of Capone's goons, some dressed as police, paid a visit to George ‘Bugs' Moran and his gang. A few seconds later, seven men lay dead, and many say the ghosts of the slain gangsters still walk the streets. If you should ever find yourself in this part of Chicago late at night, be sure to hang on to your wallets.”

All this talk about Al Capone makes me think of our display case at the restaurant. A huge rush of guilt floods in, hitting my chest like I slammed into a glass wall. Why did I touch those stupid slugs in the first place? If only I'd kept my hands to myself, I'd be home watching TV or shopping at Water Tower. Anywhere but here. No more reckless decisions, Monroe!

Jack's voice jerks me out of my reflection. “Is that the paper that bald guy gave you?” He points at the Half-Dead Society packet.

“Yeah.” I release my death grip on it and flip it open. “His name is Bob.”

Jack nods. “I saw you talking to him. What'd he say?” The bus hits a big pothole, making all the passengers shift forward and then back in unison.

“He told me that I should have my sister Ginger and her husband Greg contact him.” The left side of the three-fold pamphlet shows the Half-Dead Society's two founding members and their bios. “Hey, this is him. The guy I was talking to.” I point to the picture of the balding man.

“Is that a joke?” Jack points to the last sentence of Deondra's bio.

“I don't think so.” I grimace at the thought of being approached by someone with an ax, and quickly change the subject. “Speaking about crimes, have you heard anything else about what Clyde did at the gas station?”

“No, thank God.” He points to the right side of the pamphlet. “What's this section about?”

When I read the title, my adrenaline starts to flow. “Yes! This is exactly what we need!” I put the sheet between us so we can both read, and then dive in, ready to devour the words as quickly as possible, when Jack stops me.

“Better read it out loud to me,” he says, sighing. “I don't want Asshole to know any more than he has to.”

“Right.” I whisper the entire page to Jack, not stopping until I'm finished.