Wanted (27 page)

He listens, nodding, occasionally murmuring some consoling words. I apologize for my breakdown, explaining that I've kept those emotions locked inside of me ever since her death. He relays the story about his own mother then, how she fretted over him, begging him to go straight but always “happier than a sheared sheep in July” to see him whenever he could arrange it. I smile at his crazy expressions, stupidly amazed at how much he loved his mom too. I guess we do have more in common than I thought. That's when it hits me. What the hell am I doing? Spilling my guts and delaying our trip is the last thing I should be doing.

I pull it together. What troubles me most of all is that riding on top of the wave of emotions is something bigger, something scarier than grief—affection. I take a final, deep breath and with it, the horrible pain in my chest leaves, purged from my body. “Thanks, Clyde. I had no idea how much was bottled up inside of me.” I smile at him. “I'm better now. We should go.”

“We should, but not just yet,” he says, sliding closer to me. “Something I have to do first.”

I look at his eyes filled with such warmth for me. Every cell in my body wants me to grab on to him and kiss him, but I know that the moment his skin touches mine, Bonnie will blab my plan to complete a ritual to get rid of him at the deadline. That plan is my ace in the hole, the one secret I still have that's safe. “Clyde—don't,” I warn, pressing my shoulder up against the window, fumbling for the handle. If he touches me, I'm jumping out of the car.

“Just trust me, okay?” He unbuckles my seat belt, his hand brushing ever so softly against my thigh, sending an electric current zipping through my body. Wanting to kiss him is wrong on so many levels. And yet I do.

“I-I'm sorry. I can't.” I finally look down to physically see the handle, which is all the time Clyde needs to move in even closer. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight to his chest. My internal alarm goes into panic mode. I squirm to get free, but he's too strong.

Bonnie blurts out, “Clyde! Tell her it's me you want. I need to hear you say it!”

Instead of replying, Clyde gently kisses the top of my head, then my cheek, and finally tilts my face toward his. He wipes the last bit of my tears with his thumbs. “I don't rightly know how to say this, but I've really taken a shine to you.” He gazes at me, his golden eyes melting into mine. “Every second I'm with you, I like you even more.”

My heart beats out of control. Is he talking to me or to Bonnie? I stop fighting and listen.

A small grin appears on his lips. “I love how you laugh, how you're so smart, even how you're not afraid to speak your mind. Even though I was raised to believe that a woman needs to mind what her man tells her to do, I'm coming around to the idea that it's better when we're true partners. So while I'm hungering for a kiss, it's only worth it if you want to kiss me back.”

My heart races full-speed, along with my emotions. Everything about the idea of a partnership between us is wrong. When I open my mouth to tell him that, despite his sweet declaration, I absolutely should not—cannot—kiss him, Bonnie's shrill voice butts in. “Who are you talking to, Chestnut? Me or this two-bit hussy? Because if you think—”

Gazing into Clyde's eyes, I see his pained expression as he ignores Bonnie and waits for my answer. Even though he has all of my invariables, including being insanely handsome, I tell myself that I'm going to kiss him solely to guarantee my future. Knowing that I'm probably sealing my destiny to go to Limbo for a very long time, I nod. Clyde's face relaxes into a warm smile and he covers my lips with his, pulling me into a passionate kiss, and best of all, drowning out Bonnie's whiny pleas.

While I sat there listening to Twinkle tell me about her mama, all I could do was watch her pretty green eyes water up, but inside, I was dying to comfort her. I knew if I held her, Bonnie would start begging and pleading for me to reassure her that I loved her best. And while it was true once, I ain't sure I can rightly say that no more. Bonnie buttered my bread for two years, but why settle for bread when I can have that, plus a whole fried chicken and dessert with Twinkle?

So I listened and twiddled my thumbs, keeping my hands off of her when all's I wanted to do was draw her close to me. My heart swole big as a house when she tole me she ain't never shared that story with no one before—not even her gal pals. I can't recall a time I ever wanted to kiss anyone as badly as I wanted to kiss Twinkle right then. My heart ached to show her, not just tell her, how I was feeling. And that's when I decided I had to kiss her—even though I knew that doing that could allow Jack Daniel to rise from his slumber and railroad his way back in. Knowing that I was risking everything to kiss Twinkle, I did it anyway.

Turns out Twinkle wanted to kiss me as much as I did her. Bonnie too, I think, but I cleverly stifled her by making my move on Twinkle. The moment my lips met hers, my heart felt like it could burst out of my chest. I wanted to ravage her, to kiss her until we lost control, but we didn't have time. But it was sweet while it lasted—our mouths gently meeting—not awkward, like first kisses often are. After that one amazing, heart-stopping kiss, Twinkle gently pushed me away.

No matter. Now I know how she feels about me and that's all I need.

“I've been dying to do that all day,” I say, stroking her cheek. “Can't I have one more?”

“Clyde Chestnut Barrow,” she snarls in response, her top lip pulled back like a rabid coon. “Are you two-timing me, or is romancing this know-nothing tramp part of your plan? I need to hear the truth right this minute or we're through!”

I back away fast, regretfully tearing my hands from Twinkle's curvy hip. As much as I was enjoying Twinkle's kiss, Bonnie's threat reminds me I've gotten myself in a quandary.

Twinkle must think she made a mistake because her face gets redder than a radish. When I keep quiet, Twinkle says softly, “She's got a point. I'd kind of like to know, too.”

I take a deep breath and move back into the driver's seat, recalling how much of a jealous streak Bonnie had. I get a cannonball-sized pain in my chest knowing how much that kiss must have hurt Bonnie's feelings. That gal had spunk and she always had my back. My mind goes back and forth between the two gals, making me dizzy. Am I making the right choice here?

Lights flash in my head like a goddam circus and I curse myself for being weak as a puppy. I start the engine up, picturing my old farm dog Jezebel I had growing up so as to get my mind off of my former moll. “Don't worry your pretty little heads about it. I got it all figured out.”

Twinkle crosses her arms over her luscious breasts, signaling that she don't like my answer, but for once, she stays quiet. Thank the Lord for small favors, because if pressed, I don't think she'd be too tickled by the news that I got a Plan A and a Plan B. I pull onto the street, racing to the corner. I ain't about to tell either moll that the plan I'll go with will depend on which gal will be the one to help me stick around. Above making headlines, above getting my own museum, and most of all, above romance, is staying alive past morning.

Plan A is to take over Jack completely and have Twinkle by my side. A shiny new gal for my shiny new life. But until I figure out the rules about how this works, I need to keep my weakness a secret. Otherwise, Twinkle could let Bonnie start yammering at me right at the deadline, which could allow Jack back in charge. I suspect Twinkle already knows that my weakness is thinking about Bonnie, but I can't ask her straight out or it'll tip her off. As much as I hate lying to her, I need to plant a little reminder in Twinkle's mind that smelling something strong is what makes me change.

If I can't get Twinkle to spill the beans about what'll happen at the end, I've got no choice but to resort to Plan B—convincing Bonnie that wooing Twinkle was all part of my game. Shouldn't be too hard. Bonnie's the kind of woman who needs a man to tell her what to feel, how to think—and I'm that man. A streak of light no bigger than a wink of an eye whizzes past my brain, then dies.

“You sure had your share of heartaches,” I tell Twinkle, hoping to get her back into a sharing mood. “Sad that your mama left us early, but it sure explains why you're tougher than an armadillo.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Do I say thank you to that?”

I laugh. “I reckon so. I don't know about you, but losing Buck changed me. I wasn't no angel before, but afterward, I did things I normally wouldn't, trying to rid myself of the guilt and the sadness. Ain't no excuse. Just saying I wasn't in my right mind for a while after, you know?”

She nods slowly, her eyebrows wrinkled up. “I never thought of it that way, but my first arrest was only a few months after my mom died. Stole the brand and color of the lipstick she used to wear. Was holding it, thinking of her, and just walked out with it. That one was an accident. But it gave me such a rush, I thought, let me try that again! So I stole an expensive bottle of perfume, and that's when I got caught.” She sighs. “Second time indirectly had to do with my mom, too. Was at the after-homecoming party, thinking about how much I wished she could have seen me in my dress, so I did a few shots to numb the pain. And then a few more until finally, when the cops busted the party, I was passed out on the couch.”

“Strange, ain't it? How we both got ourselves in trouble thinking about someone that we was missing?”

“Is that when you, um, started killing people? After Buck died?” Her voice goes up at the end, like she ain't sure she should be asking about stuff like that.

I shift in my seat, figuring it can't hurt for her to know. “Nah. Sorry to say, I'd already killed a few by then.” I pause, adding, “But only when I felt I had to. But after Buck was gone, I got ruthless, trying to find a way to get rid of the pain in my chest. I wanted to punish everyone, especially the Texas prison system. Goddam guards beat us, stuffed us in sweatboxes outside on hundred-degree days, hoping we'd die in there. Did even worse stuff—stuff I can't talk about.” Before I can stop myself, I picture the first guy I killed, a guard named Crowder, and the things he did to me when I was just a babe in prison, so young I still had peach fuzz on my chin. I ball up my fist and punch the seat next to me. Fucking Crowder—nastiest piece of lowlife scum that ever walked the earth.

“What's wrong?” Twinkle fiddles with her necklace nervously.

“Nothing.” I veer in front of a red sports car, narrowly sliding between two cars before hitting the gas. I picture his ugly face, his gray sweat-stained undershirt, his pants around his ankles, pinning my scrawny sixteen-year-old arms down like they was toothpicks. I grip the wheel harder, trying with all my might to block out the rest of those scenes, day after day, while the other guards sat around and played cards, laughing. Cocksuckers. I swerve around cars left and right, doing forty, then fifty, blind with anger.

Twinkle grabs the armrests, craning her neck to look behind us. “What's wrong, Clyde? Are the cops after us?”

A slow-moving car exits the mall parking lot, pulling into my lane.

“Watch out!” she screams, covering her face.

I swerve around Granny with an inch to spare. The tires squeal and the seat belt bites my shoulder. “Have you ever felt what it's like when you ain't in control and no one comes to help?”

Twinkle grips the dashboard, holding on tight. “Yes, right now!” she wails. “If there weren't cops before, there will be now! Please, Clyde, stop this!”

Her words wake me up. She's right. I need to get control of myself. I brake hard and swerve into an empty filling station on my right, so fast that the truck hitches up on two wheels for a short stretch before hitting the ground. I get the truck under control and pull into a spot alongside a pump at the far end, too juiced up to drive another moment longer. I throw the pickup into park and lean my head forward on the steering wheel, panting heavily.

“What was that? Were you trying to get us killed?” she screeches, staring at me.

“Not us, a memory.” I shut off the engine and get out, slamming the door. I kick the tire twice and rest my arms over the back hatch, trying to cool off. If Crowder was in front of me now, I'd pound his face in with the shovel, stab his eyes with the weed puller, and cut off his manhood with the shears. I let him off way too easy when I slugged him with that lead pipe, killing him with a single blow.

Makes me realize I lied to Twinkle earlier. I did enjoy killing him.

Twinkle gets out, staring at me with rattlesnake eyes, lids half-closed and waiting to pounce. “I'm buying food and going to the bathroom. When I come back, I'm driving.”

“Afraid not,” I say, teasing her.

“You still pulling that ‘you're the boss' stuff again?” She puts her hands on her hips, all tough-like. “You're not the only one who likes speed and power, you know. Trust me when I say that when I get behind the wheel, I'll drive like the devil.”

Hearing her talk like that makes me like her even more. I stare at her, smiling. “The devil, huh? You and me truly was cut from the same cloth, you know that? We're both hot-headed, hot-blooded, forthright, and smart as whips. Really good-looking, too.” I step closer to her, grinning. “You still ain't driving, but how's about another kiss to last me until you get back?”

“You make me crazy!” She storms off toward the market, without kissing me, but I see a smirk on her lips.

“Crazy about me, I bet!” I call out, teasing.

“Nope!”

I shake my head, smiling. That girl got more sass than a blister beetle. Good thing I saw in her eyes and in her kiss how she felt about me earlier, or I'd be worried right now.

Taking a deep breath to settle my nerves, I look around for a car that we can trade up for. After checking out the five cars that are here, none of 'em look “old” like Twinkle called it. It's risky keeping the pickup, but there ain't another option, lessing I steal one that's running. Course, we've driven near five hours, all the way to Mt. Vernon, Illinois, in this truck without a hitch, so maybe I'm fretting about nothing. Besides, it'll be hard to see the license tag with no light on it. I kneel down and untwist the two tiny light bulbs that shine on the numbers. There. Hopefully there won't be no moon out tonight neither. When I look at the sky, I see a lightning bolt way off in the distance. And I smile. Coppers don't like to be out driving in the rain.