Wanted (30 page)

“Take it easy, son.” The man herds me toward the sidewalk, holding on to my elbow. “Go sit over there on the bench and wait for the ambulance to come.”

“Ambulance? No thanks!” Damn do-gooder ought to mind his own business. I take off running, still pinching my nose. Last thing I need are docs with the laws on their coattails. A few more seconds and the blood will stop flowing anyways.

“Hey!” the man shouts in alarm. “Come back! Where you going?”

I fly toward Twinkle as fast as Jack Daniel's legs can take me. Hang in there, girl. Clyde's coming back for you. If I run fast enough, maybe she'll still be there waiting for me. The way she looked so sad makes me hope she didn't call her daddy and give up. I don't know how all this Second Coming stuff works, but if the rules Bonnie tole me about were true, getting to Gibsland before the deadline is my only priority. If there's even a chance of trading places with Crybaby permanently—putting him in limbo and me on Earth—I need to figure out what to do. I'm counting on Twinkle to know what sort of ritual that'll take.

I stick close to the buildings, making sure to stay in the shadows as much as I can. Which is hard to do, since all the cars' headlights is brighter than the center ring at the county fair. I stop for a second beside a boarded-up shop to catch my breath. I let go of my nose and find that the bleeding's nearly stopped. I'm about to run again when I realize I should cover my tracks in case that old geezer gives the coppers my description.

I toss my blue gardener's hat into the bushes and strip off the black shirt I got on, leaving me only wearing Jack's white undershirt—a peculiar one with no sleeves. I take off running. The rain is coming down hard now and my shirt gets soaked within a minute. An occasional drop of blood from my nose lands on my shirt, making it look like a kid's painting, but I don't care. I got to get to Twinkle before she leaves.

When I see the gas station sign up ahead, my legs find new strength. I jump over a row of bushes and cut through another parking lot, this one a liquor store. As I race past the door, I see a sleek silver car setting there with its engine on—with no one behind the wheel.

I look up at the sky, grinning. “Why, thank you, Lord. I don't mind if I do.” I hop inside and see that it's got near a full tank of gas. I put it into drive and zip away, just like that. “Hold on, Twinkle!” I yell, hitting the gas. Four stores down and thirty seconds later, I zoom into the gas station and scan the lot, looking for my moll.

You'd think it was a sunny afternoon instead of half-past eleven the way the overhead lights make the parking lot glow so bright. I thought I'd be able to see her right quick if she was here, with that red skirt and white top she had on. But she's nowhere to be found. Could she have hitched a ride with someone else already? Then I realize how dumb I am. It's raining out, so she prolly went inside. I coast in front of the market, driver's side closest to the entrance.

I'm about to park and run in when a middle-aged lady from inside the store waddles up to the door and throws it open, strutting her wide butt through. I yell, “Twink-kuuul!” as loud as I can, hoping if she's in there, she'll come running. The lady puckers up her lips in contempt, as if she thought I was admiring her overstuffed carriage.

I sneer right back. “Move along, Mrs. Grundy. I wasn't talking to you.”

From behind the biddy's shoulder, Twinkle's head pops up. She busts outside and hustles toward me—her eyes all red and watery, like she'd been weeping—then stops when she gets within five feet of the car.

I smile at her and ask all casual-like, “Hey, Beautiful. Need a ride?”

“Is that you, Clyde?” She winces, like she done something wrong. “I mean, Sly.”

Right now I'm so happy to see her she could have called me Clyde Chestnut Barrow on a loudspeaker and I wouldn't have minded. “It sure is. Get in, woman. We got ourselves a deadline to make and I want to meet it with you.”

Her face goes from looking as scared as a sow in a slaughterhouse to as joyous as a preacher on Christmas Day. She runs round the front of the car to the passenger side. But instead of getting in, she leans in the window. “Where did you get—?”

“I'll explain later. Hop in.” I pat the seat.

She pinches her eyebrows close together, as if deciding. “I'm not sure I should.”

Looks like I need to make her trust me again. “Don't say that, kitten. I want you with me. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

She stares at me with those big green eyes, shaking her head. “I want to believe you, Clyde, but I'm not gullible like Bonnie. If you grab on to me—”

“—then Jack Daniel will come back and take me over,” I finish. “I know you like to inspect things logically, same as me, so have a look at the facts. Chickenshit's gotten a lot stronger and knows how to flip back into hisself way quicker than before. If he takes over, we're both doomed. Same with you-know-who. When she's here, I'm weak, but then again, so are you. So it's got to be me and you, don't you see?”

She twists her hair around her finger in that cute way, thinking over my proposal.

I give her my last plea. “I promise I'm being honest with you. Come with me. I want it to be you, Twinkle. I should have tole you that before. No one else matters.”

She looks at me, biting her lip, the worry of the whole world showing up on her face. After a deep breath, she mumbles, “Screw it,” before getting in the car alongside me. She slams the door shut. “Hit it,” she demands, strapping on her seat belt.

And even though I'm the boss, I do. Soon as I sail out of the gas station I pull a U-turn and make tracks back toward the highway. I let out a belly laugh, giddy with happiness. “Atta, girl! I knew you was smart.”

“We'll see. Coming with you was either the smartest, or the dumbest, thing I've done in my entire life.” She gives me a stern look. “You'd better not screw me over, Clyde, or I'll never forgive you.”

I like the sound of never. Goes along with always, which is where I want to be with her. “I'll be a gentleman. Cross my heart and hope to—” I stop, grit my teeth in mock horror. “Don't want to say that now, do I?”

“I suppose not.” Twinkle lets out a quiet chuckle, before turning all this way and that, checking out our ride. “Wow, nice car. Where'd you get it?”

I'm so happy to be back in business, I can't stop smiling as we head onto the interstate. “From God,” I tell her with a nod. “He said I could borrow it for a little while.”

“Amen to that!” Twinkle says with a flirty laugh.

And amen to hoping Twinkle feels the same way about me that I do about her. A thought that I'm double-crossing my old gal hits me hard in the chest, but I shrug it off. I done all I could for that gal when we was together, but the circumstances have changed, which means I need to change, too.

A lump of coal rattles around in my rib cage. It suddenly occurs to me that Twinkle ain't never said nothing about wanting to be with me. Making decisions without proof is dead man's chatter. I need to ask her straight out if it's him or me she wants in the end. If I get even a hint that it's Spineless Jack she pines for, I'll have no choice but to jump ship and choose Bonnie.

I merge onto the highway and bring the car to eighty-five without a hitch. I run my fingers along the black leather wheel and leather seats that ain't got nary a scratch. This ride is smooth too, smoother than twenty-year-old scotch. Must belong to a man who respects his car's strength, beauty, and power—same as me. “I got a question for you, Twinkle. Were you truly happy to see me, or were you just pretending so I'd bring you with me to Gibsland?”

“I was beyond happy.” Her grin lights up the whole car. The spark in her eyes tells me she's not fibbing. “As soon as Jack drove away, I realized I didn't have a Plan B. I started freaking out, worrying about, you know, my future.”

She's not the only one. “We've got eight, nine hours until you have to think about that again, so how about we agree to stop talking about it and enjoy the ride?”

“Fine by me.” She sighs and puts her feet up on the dashboard.

A trickle of blood leaks out my nose, so I quick pinch it shut. “Damn. It's starting up again.”

She grimaces, looks worried. “Let me get some tissues.” She reaches for the glove box.

“A big white balloon popped in my face when Jack Daniel crashed into a pole,” I say, my voice all nasally. “Fool drives worse than a one-eyed goat.”

“No comment.” She shuffles things around. “Hopefully there's a… whoa!”

“A whoa?” I crane my neck to see what she's gawking over. When I hear the clunking and shifting around of metal against plastic, I smile.

She slams the glove box. “Yeah. As in, whoa, look at what I found—a ton of napkins!” She hands me a stack. “Here you go.”

I rip one in half, twist each side into an upside-down tornado, and stuff one up each nostril. Works every time. “You found a gun in there, didn't you?”

“What? No. Just a bunch of junk.” She waves me off, but she don't look at me.

I cluck my tongue and shake my head. “Come now, Twinkle, fess up. You know how I feel about liars.”

She grabs the side of her head. “God, I suck at lying! Yes, Clyde, there's a gun.” She turns to face me. “But I didn't want to tell you because the last thing we need is for you to shoot someone. You agree with me on that, right? I mean, just forget it's there. Seriously. Please.”

“Forget what's where?” I lift the bottom of my shirt to dry my face, but it's as wet as I am.

“Oh, hang on. Let me check in back for a towel,” she says, reading my mind. She unhooks her seat belt and gets on her knees, facing the back seat. Lets me get a gander at her curvy bottom. Right then, I see flashes of light whiz past my eyes.

“Was that lightning?” I ask, not sure if what I saw was in my head or for real.

“Sorry, wasn't looking,” she says, sounding distracted. The sound a zipper makes as it moves down its track makes me wonder what she's up to back there.

If it wasn't a streak of good old-fashioned lightning, was that Jack Daniel fighting to come back—even when I wasn't thinking about Bonnie? A bucket of worry hits my gut. I don't like when the rules change in the middle of the game. I try to anticipate what I'll do if he tries again, but I let it go just as quick as it came. If Chickenshit wants to fight me, I'll fight back. I turn my attention back to driving, the road a line of tiny white dots flying past me, the sky a black tent surrounding us. Few cars are out and about, making traveling at night the best time for cruising over state lines. Some things never change, and for that, I'm grateful.

I look down at the speedometer and check the clock. Nearly midnight already and we still got a whole lot of mileage to cover. I press the car to ninety. Bonnie would have been hollering by now, but Twinkle don't seem to mind one bit. “So Twinkle, why did Jack Daniel run off and try to ditch you this time? You tell him you're sweet on me?”

“Very funny.” I hear her shuffling things around back there. “Perfect!” She flips back around to the front seat with a pile of stuff in her hands. “Looks like God works out in his spare time. He had a gym bag back there filled with extra clothes.” She hands me a white dress shirt. “I'll take the t-shirt, you can have this.”

I check out the goods. “Mighty nice. I always wore the finest suits when I could afford to buy 'em.” I nod toward the empty space between us. “Just set it there until I dry off a spell.” I look for the crank to lower the window, but there ain't none. “How do you get air in here?”

“There's a button on the armrest, but let me turn on the air conditioning instead.” Twinkle touches a few buttons and cool air blows out little flap holes.

“Air conditioning? Now ain't that a hoot?” I hold my hand into the air stream, and sure enough, it's cold. “Well, I'll be damned.” My soggy shirt is irritating my skin. “Say, can you mind the wheel a second while I change out of this wet shirt?”

“Wow. You actually
asked
me to do something instead of ordering me.” She looks at me, like she's considering my request. “But sorry, not happening.”

I make a mental note to try and mind my manners more. “Why not? Afraid you're gonna go crazy when you see how good I look without my shirt?” I smile at her, loving the idea of Twinkle thinking about me without my shirt on.

“No, I'm worried you'll grab on to me and try to ask Bonnie more questions when I reach over to grab the steering wheel.”

Now I see what's got her all stirred up. “I'd only do that if that meant I'd get to kiss you again.”

“I knew it!” she says in a huff, scooting away from me.

“Come now, settle down. I'm just trying to tell you how much I like you, since I can't show you no more.”

She nibbles the end of a fingernail, like she's worried I'm telling a yarn. I need to give it to her as clear as I can. “I'm a man of my word. I won't touch you.”

She sighs, relaxing her shoulders. She looks at me all sly-like before leaning over and grabbing hold of the wheel, giving me a great close-up of them gorgeous bubs of hers.

“Not until
after
the deadline anyway,” I add with a smirk. Then, lickety-split, I strip off the wet, bloody t-shirt and toss it in the back seat. She don't huff or puff none about what I said, which I take it to mean she's thinking about our kiss, too. Fate keeps bringing us together, so that's how Fate wants us to end up. Nothing I can do to change that, nor do I want to, neither.

“I got it now, thank you.” I take back the wheel, rubbing my chest and stomach a few times to get air to it.

When I catch her staring at me, she quickly looks away. I grin as I pass two trucks, getting the car back up to speed. “Okay. Your turn to change out of that wet shirt.”