It was a Monday morning in December of that same year and the dull office job I had fantasised about only a couple months earlier was already making me twitchy. The carpet tiles, the potted plants, the vertical blinds and the dull-as-ditchwater desk drones who were my colleagues were closing in on me like the trunk of a certain four door sedan that I still sometimes had nightmares about. Before even arriving at my desk I had already endured a rush hour commute, stuck in Liz’s car on the freeway, my mood alternating between crash-test-dummy fear and corpse-like ennui, depending on traffic flow. Now I was expected to be like all the other women here: smile and type, type and smile, cross my legs to give the (all male) bosses a thrill, eat my bagged lunch, repeat, repeat, repeat, until five o’clock finally showed on the hands of the narcoleptic wall clock.
If I had been packing my Beretta that day, the office might have ended up looking like Grover Cleveland Elementary. As it was, I just went home in a foul mood and said that exact same thing to Allie. She caught Liz’s eye before giving me a look across the kitchen table.
“You shouldn't joke about stuff like that,” she reproved me, dolloping extra spinach onto my plate as punishment.
“Allie!” I protested, poking at the unappetising dome of dark green mush with my fork. Debbie laughed, showing her gappy smile, suddenly pleased that she had gotten away with only a small helping. I nudged her and pulled a face to make her giggle.
“Just eat it,” Allie told me. “You could use the vitamins.” She gave me another look, this one loaded with significance and affection. And just like that, any world-weariness I had was gone and I was transported back to the day of the diner; the day Allie and I started out on this crazy adventure. The Sunday morning when Allie shot Danny Winter and we ran for our lives.
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Early evening of that Sunday and we had to pull over for gas. Luckily, the green flag was up and we had an even numbered plate to match the even numbered day. We got in line for the self-service pump and after only a short wait it was our turn. While I pumped gas, Allie, stiff from driving, strutted around the forecourt, stretching her legs. Stretching, I thought. If they got any longer, they'd be obscene. Those little red shorts of mine sure suited her, though they were a mite conspicuous. Or she was. I pretended not to watch her and she pretended not to be putting on a show. I smiled to myself. How did my life get so crazy so quickly? Crazy dangerous and crazy good, but crazy for sure.
The pump nozzle clacked in my hand and stopped abruptly. I looked at the display and cautiously tipped in a few more cents worth, watching the price crawl forwards on the reel. With the restrictions in place we wouldn't be able to fill up tomorrow, so every cent counted.
As I hung up the nozzle, Allie appeared at my shoulder. She tipped my sunglasses down her nose and caught my eye.
“Bathroom,” she announced and twirled away around the side of the building. I watched her go, then surreptitiously checked out the other customers. As predicted, Allie was drawing plenty of attention but I judged that it was only for the usual reasons, not because she had been identified as one of a pair of fugitives from an LA diner shoot-out. I went inside to pay for the gas and raid the vending machines. On the counter by the cash register, next to the obligatory display of bad checks, there was a rack of cheap sunglasses. Figuring I wasn’t about to prise mine away from Allie any time soon, I picked a pair at random and added them to my haul. I paid the guy, a stringbean in denim coveralls, and he didn't give me a second glance.
By the time I got outside with my hands and pockets full of goodies, Allie was back from the bathroom and leaning against the car. Well, shit. It was hard to say which was the highest priority - ditching the distinctive car Boomer had picked or finding Allie a suitable change of clothes. Because right now we were not exactly fading into the background.
“Here,” I said, handing her a soda. “I'll drive the next leg. Just need to pee first.” She nodded and rolled the cold bottle against her throat. I watched for a moment. She caught my eye knowingly. Feeling the chill of exposure, I looked at the ground and scuffed my boot against the dirt. “See if there're any other pants in my duffel, will ya?” I said, gesturing to the backseat. “Those shorts are gonna cause an accident,” I told her. She looked down at herself, pretending to be mystified.
“Don’t you like my legs, Bea?” she asked in a wheedling tone, apparently still enjoying the novelty of knowing my real name.
“I like them just fine,” I said, making like I was indifferent to their length and shape and the promises they held. “But … you're drawing attention,” I added in a near whisper. She nodded thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the dirt near my boots, teeth worrying at her bottom lip.
I left her to it. The bathroom was at the rear and about as welcoming as a gas station bathroom ever is. Fluorescent light, a slick of water and filth on the floor and the kind of smell that made you breathe through your mouth and hurry the fuck up. After I peed, I shouldered out of the door, still shaking the water off my hands, and spotted the denim stringbean in close conference with another man. Paranoid or not, the look of him set off my alarms - neat hair clipped short, aviators, something square about the cut of his pants - it all said cop, though it could just as easily have said accountant. I turned away from them, feigning ease while dread crept up the back of my neck, and returned to the car.
Allie was already in the passenger seat, so I threw myself behind the wheel and wasted no time in getting the hell out of there. I watched the gas station receding in the mirror. I could sense Allie looking at me. “Don’t,” I told her, feeling sure she was about to look over her shoulder to find out what I was looking at. The stringbean and the aviator guy had cornered the side of the building and were standing on the forecourt. Were they watching us drive away? Impossible to tell from this distance but the itch at the back of my neck told its own story.
“What?” Allie asked.
“Might be nothing,” I said slowly. “But … might be that the cashier was talking to a cop. Pointing us out.”
Allie scoffed. “How could that be? We were only there a few minutes.”
“Yeah,” I replied. I agreed. It seemed equally unlikely that the cashier knew who we were or that there was a cop on hand as we happened to pull in. But still. “If we get pulled over my name is Barbara Young,” I told her. I patted my pocket where the papers that proved it lay; one of several IDs from my duffle bag, complete with photos, that I had readied over a year ago. I pressed my foot down a little heavier. There was no sign of pursuit but I wanted to put as much distance between us and the gas station as I could.
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By the time we pulled over for the night the heat had gone out of the day. I pulled up just off a dirt road, and manoeuvred the car so it sat behind the cover of some dusty, head-high brush. We got out stiffly and I took a few desperate lungfuls of air. I felt filthy with old sweat, ground in dust and anxiety. Allie looked as fresh and relaxed as if she’d just stepped out of a Sears catalogue. She had found a pair of slacks and a blouse in my duffel - relics from my days as a housewife. I looked her over. Those pants fit her so sweetly. Better than they ever did me, I felt sure. Somehow, despite the supposedly conservative outfit, I found she looked just as obviously sexy as when she had been wearing the shorts. Clothes, on her, were just an inadequate blackout curtain that the sunlight pricked through, regardless. It would take more than a tan polyester blouse and pants to eclipse her glow. She had tucked the blouse in tight, which was a good look, and she had her arms crossed across her body, for warmth, I guessed.
“Shall we eat?” I asked. Allie nodded and eagerly took the package of pretzels and the candy bar I offered her. I was less enthusiastic about the fare and vowed to myself that we would at least get a proper breakfast tomorrow, whatever else happened. Once I had poured the salty-sugary junk down my gullet I shrugged out of my suit jacket and hung it over Allie’s shoulders. She tugged it close.
“Thanks. Aren’t you cold?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’m alright,” I said. “This layer of dust is as good as a blanket,” I said, swiping ineffectually at the back of my neck. Allie grimaced sympathetically. “You’re from out of state, right?” I asked. She nodded cautiously. “People hear California and think of the beach,” I commented. “They forget this state is ninety percent dust,” I said, only half joking. I looked out over the twilit desert to the far mountains, shadowed and aloof. In the foothills, the coyotes were starting up, yipping and yodelling, their overlapping voices travelling easily over the distance. “We’ll need to switch the car tomorrow,” I said.
“Yeah,” Allie agreed. “Shame though.” I looked at her questioningly. “It’s a pretty cool ride,” she said, skimming her fingers over the long hood. “Fun to drive. And the back seat is wide enough to make us a comfortable bed for tonight.” Suddenly anxious, I cast a glance back there. Allie caught my eye with a smirk. She was back to teasing me again. That was a good sign, I decided. Maybe she ought to be more afraid. But I thought I was likely afraid enough for both of us.
It was getting dark and colder still. We put on most every item of clothing we had with us. Allie lay down on her side with her back against the seat back and lifted her arm invitingly. I stepped inside the car and, bent over like an old woman, tugged the door shut behind me. I scooped myself in beside her, my back to her front, and arranged my jacket over us as a blanket. Too short but better than nothing. I lay like that for a few seconds, remembering us lying face-to-face on a motel bed only that same morning. I mourned the unlikeliness of there being any more of those aching kisses, with Allie only able to see the back of my head. Which of us had decided on this particular sleeping arrangement? I wondered. And was it too late to change it? I could turn myself around and kiss her, I thought, but the uncertainty of my welcome made me pause. Then Allie’s arm snaked around my middle and tugged me against her. Firmly. Close. Her hand found a gap in my shirt, between two buttons, and her cold fingers slipped in to lay against my warm stomach. I gaped but managed not to gasp.
“Night, Bea,” she murmured into my neck.
“Night,” I replied, weakly. She gave a little wriggle, getting comfortable, and almost immediately her breath slowed and deepend. I tried not to be bitter that sleep came so easily to her when I would surely be awake all night fretting over our predicament. She’d had quite a day, after all and, in the morning, after a good night’s sleep, death and flight and danger might seem a little less strange to her. In the meantime, I lay there, my skin cooling, listening to the night sounds of the desert and wondering if we were safe. As a long time insomniac, I knew there was little chance of sleep on an ordinary day, but tonight, with Allie pressed so close, it was an impossibility. Every part of my body that was in contact with any part of her, especially those insinuating fingers, felt weirdly superheated. Every part of my body that was not in contact with any part of her was as icy as a glass of juice straight from the fridge, chilled and building up a cold sweat. My hands were particularly cold. I sandwiched my left hand between my thighs and, with my right, found the butt of my Beretta and gripped it tight. For a cold metal object it was oddly warming.
፨፨፨
I smiled. I was warm and wrapped in something. A comforter? Or, no … something, though. Something comforting. I sighed down my nose and tried to roll onto my back. My pistol fell from my hand and bumped against the floor. Abruptly, I remembered where I was and tried to sit up.
“Relax, Bea,” Allie said. “It’s only me.”
That was the something: Allie’s arm around me. Her face against my neck. Her lips at the angle of my jaw. With that knowledge, everything that gave me my shape - my bones, my muscle, my inconvenient pig-headedness - drained away, leaving me boneless and as empty as … Allie’s stomach, judging by the way it growled. I growled out a good morning in reply. I cleared my throat. Had I slept with my mouth open? Mortified, I surreptitiously checked my face for drool. Hang on … I had slept?
Allie leaned over and placed a soft kiss against my cheek. “Good morning,” she said, as chirpily as if she had spent the night stretched out in a soft bed at the Fairmont rather than squeezed into the backseat of a car. Taken by surprise, I made as if to sit up but all I could manage was a kind of ineffectual inchworming that brought us nose to nose. She smiled at me. Or, not exactly smiled. Her expression remained almost neutral while her eyes, examining my face minutely, conveyed the idea of a smile. At first, I felt exposed under her scrutiny but it was such a kind kind of scrutiny that, after a few moments, I felt able to return her look. Her hair was gently mussed, her face still blurred by sleep but her eyes were wide awake and watching me. I swallowed and reached out a hand to smooth her hair away from her face. She caught my wrist and placed a long, slow kiss against my palm. Again, I felt that emptying sensation in my body, as though all my reserve and caution had just circled away down the drain. Her lips were hot against my hand. A benediction; a reminder; a message.
I kissed her then. Or she kissed me. It didn’t matter which. The ache was back and I chased it unthinkingly. Then her hand was back inside my shirt, against my skin, turning me inside out. I broke our kiss, gasping with surprise. Or shock, really, shock that I was capable of feeling so much. Allie gave me an unfocussed look, kissed me again and smoothed her hand up my torso, making me tremble. Then, when she brushed her fingers against my breast, my body embarrassed me by convulsing like a fish thrashing on a deck. I slid backwards off the edge of the seat and clipped my head on the door on my way to an undignified landing in the footwell.
“Ow,” I said sheepishly to Allie’s surprised face.
“Oh God, Bea! I’m so sorry …” she began. I dismissed her apology with a wave of my hand.
“We ought to get going, anyway,” I said, struggling to my feet and turning away to hide my reddening face. “Get some supplies. Switch rides. And I need to make a call.”
“Yeah?” Allie asked. She followed my scramble out of the rear door and we both stood stretching and straightening our clothes in the sun. My muscles protested; yesterday’s adrenaline surges had left their mark. “Call who?” she asked, as kind as ever, ignoring the way I had just humiliated myself.
I leaned back inside the car and retrieved my Beretta and my jacket. I tucked the pistol into the back of my jeans and shrugged my jacket on over the top, instantly feeling a hundred times better. Now I was myself again. Now I was the fixer, not the fleer; the skilled professional rather than the embarrassing bungler.
“Maxi,” I replied, straightening my collar. What a shame I’d left my suit pants behind at the motel, I thought. Then I remembered that they had gotten ruined during the shoot out. “She’s the one who arranged the car. She’ll be able to tell us how much heat there is on us.”
“Heat,” Allie repeated, as though she’d never heard the word before.
“Cops. Marie Winter. Maxi’s got her ear to the ground.” Allie nodded. She looked troubled for a moment, until I said, “We’ll find ourselves a good breakfast in the next safe looking place we come across.” She grinned so happily I felt as good as if I already had those eggs and hashbrowns sitting in front of me.
፨፨፨
Allie twisted the dial on the radio, fruitlessly. All we’d had for the last few miles was static. We were too far from any transmitter or radio tower, I guessed. I was about to tell her to give it up when a country music song suddenly came through loud and clear. Allie gave a “Ha!” of triumph but barely paused to listen before scrolling on by to a station that was more to her taste.
Here in my car
I feel safest of all
I can lock all my doors
It's the only way to live in cars
Now we could see signs of habitation. The brown brush gave way to isolated commercial buildings, then trailers and a few badly maintained houses with rusted trucks outside. But soon we were in a neatly kept neighbourhood of solid looking houses with red tiled roofs, heading towards what I thought must be the town’s main street. I cruised along, just fast enough not to be a nuisance, and checked the place out. It was lined with unremarkable commercial units which housed ordinary looking businesses such as drug stores, supermarkets, diners and barber's shops. We passed the bank and I pulled into a parking lot. I pulled up on the far side of a large RV which I knew would hide the car from the street.
Allie reached for her door handle. I delayed her with a hand on her arm. I glanced around us then looked at my watch. Just after nine on a Monday morning. It was a good time for this. The streets and shops wouldn't be too busy; we just needed to not draw any attention to ourselves. I looked at Allie. She looked perfect - demure in my cast off slacks and blouse, with hardly a hair out of place. I looked down at myself. My white shirt, a high quality dress one that I liked to wear with any of my almost interchangeable dark suits, was grubby and as wrinkled as an overripe avocado. And speaking of overripe … I sniffed myself.
“While I call Maxi, could you find us some clothes?” I asked Allie. She nodded, looking pleased with the commission. “Some black pants and a fresh shirt for me,” I suggested. She looked me up and down and raised one brow noncommittally. I peeled some bills off our stack and gave them to her. “Then meet me at that diner we passed on the way in. Be sure to wait somewhere out of sight, okay?”
“Okay.” She put on my sunglasses and stepped out of the car, as conspicuous as a movie star.
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“It’s me.”
“Oh my god! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. So far, so good. Give me the lowdown. I need to know how bad it is.”
“ …”
“Bad, huh?”
“Front pages have a pretty good description of you. Five six, slim, dark suit, brown curly hair. But no photo, so that’s something.”
I sighed down my nose. “How many dead?”
“Three.”
I nodded, relieved, though Maxi couldn’t see me. “No bystanders. That’s good.”
“Another three bad guys for your tally. I wouldn’t lose any sleep if I were you.”
Another two, I thought, but didn’t correct her out loud.
“Hon …” Maxi began. She faltered. “There’s a pretty good description of someone else, too, though the papers can’t seem to decide if she’s your accomplice or your hostage.”
I cleared my throat. “Description ..?” I said, playing for time.
“Five seven, blonde, mid to late twenties … attractive …”
Huh. Allie’s attractive but I’m not? Go figure.
“... named as Alison Deere. D-E-E-R-E.”
“She’s not my hostage,” I scoffed. Deere, I thought. Dear.
“Of course not,” Maxi replied, as though she’d known all along that I was incapable of hostage taking.
“What about Winter?” I asked. “What’s the word on the street?”
“ … “
“She’s mobilising, I guess?”
“She’s recruiting. Sending any lowlifes she can get in every direction with a promise of a large cash reward for whoever finds you first.”
“Yeah …” I said faintly. I had expected no less but still, it was terrifying to hear.
“And,” Maxi continued. “She’s looking here too, for what’s left of the business. I think we’re gonna have to shut down and hole up for a while.”
I tapped my foot in agitation. “Maxi,” I said urgently, although I had decided to use no names, in case her line was insecure. “You need to get out of there. Empty the safe, grab Boomer and leave,” I said.
“What about the others?” she asked, sounding shocked by the fear she detected in my voice.
“Pay them off if you can do it quickly. Otherwise just go. Meet us …” My thoughts scrambled and came up with nothing. Shit shit shit. I could only think of one place. “Mary’s,” I said, knowing she would know exactly where I meant. “Tomorrow.” I thought they could make it if they left very soon and drove like the devil.
Maxi went quiet. I thought I heard her swallow. “Mary’s,” she confirmed. “Tomorrow. Probably not till late.”
፨፨፨
After running down a couple other errands, I found Allie waiting for me behind a dumpster down the side of the diner I had marked earlier. Astonishingly, she had already changed her outfit for a blue checked pleated skirt and blouse and a blue shawl-necked sweater. She looked like a junior high school teacher from an eighth grader’s wet dream. I ogled her shamelessly. She smiled complacently and handed me a shopping bag.
“Get changed quickly and then we can eat,” she told me. She pointed at a side door to the diner. “Bathroom’s right there,” she said. I mounted the steps slowly and swung open the door, looking back at her over my shoulder. She made a shooing gesture at me to hurry me along. Inside the bathroom I opened the bag and pulled out the clothes. My first thought was that Allie must have picked up the wrong bag in the store. My second thought was a rueful huh, as I realised that Allie had never intended to dress me as myself and that, like her, I was to be disguised. Smart.
I gave myself a quick wash down and pulled the new clothes on, hissing as I eased the fabric past my scabbing knees. Catching sight of myself in the cloudy mirror, I startled. I had forgotten I was a redhead now. Allie clearly hadn't forgotten. She had chosen items of clothing with my new colouring in mind.
I exited the bathroom to find Allie waiting for me. Feeling awkward, I held my arms out from my sides and looked down at myself and back up at her. She gave a smile of approval and straightened the collar of my new jacket.
“Everything fits,” I told her. “Even the underwear,” I added in an undertone.
“Especially the underwear,” she sassed. “I did a little measuring this morning,” she reminded me, tugging on the front of my blouse and slipping a finger inside. I flinched. I blushed. She smiled some more. “Looks good on you.”
As it turned out, I agreed, but it would still take some getting used to. She had selected me a pair of orange corduroys, a cream blouse, and it was definitely a blouse not a shirt, with a fall-leaf pattern all over it, and a dark brown suede jacket. This last I thoroughly approved of. It hung to mid thigh and had a tie belt and two large pockets, either of which would handily take my Beretta.
We chose an out of the way booth and a server came over to take our order. My stomach churned, either with hunger or with the realisation that only twenty-four hours ago I was sitting in The Malibu and it was Allie taking my order. I looked at her but she was cheerfully talking to the waiter, French toast and crispy bacon, and seemed blind to the strangeness of our situation. I studied the waiter in case he was one of Marie’s ‘lowlifes’, parachuted in to snatch us up or dispatch us over our coffee. He had a thatch of messy black hair and a memorably squashed face - squashed from top to bottom rather than side to side - as though someone had placed his chin and forehead in a vise and tightened the handle. His arms were noodle-like, his lashes girlish, his smile bashful. I decided that he probably wasn’t an assassin but that I would keep a close eye on him anyway.
While Allie inhaled her food I relayed, in a whisper, what Maxi had told me about Marie Winter and the cops looking for us. Without revealing our destination, I said we would be travelling east and a little north in the next day or two. Allie stopped mid chew.
“Utah?” she asked. I shook my head.
“We’ll probably cut into Nevada,” I replied. “But we shouldn’t need to trouble the beehive state,” I said, narrowing my eyes. I watched her for a moment. She looked like she was struggling to swallow. “You got a reason to avoid it?” I asked.
She loaded up her fork again and faked unconcern. “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe there are folks there that are still looking for someone matching my description.”
I dropped my voice even lower. “Dear Allie,” I said. She looked at me with a puzzled half smile. “Alison, dear. That who they’re looking for?” I asked. Shocked, her eyes flashed up to meet mine. “That’s the name of the attractive blonde in the newspaper accounts,” I added.
“Well, shit!” she replied, feelingly. “Lucky that’s not my real name, huh?” she replied, with a flash of her usual light-heartedness. I tore off a corner of toast with my teeth and chewed while I considered the kind of things that might have happened in her young life that had led her to be a wanted person, not once but twice. Faintly nauseated, I dropped the triangle back onto my plate.
“Will you tell me about it?” I asked cautiously.
“I can give you the highlights,” she confirmed. She chewed thoroughly while collecting her thoughts, then said, “Y’know, I had it pretty good when I was little, before the farm became a commune, a compound, whatever you wanna call it. It was all playing in the creek, climbing trees. Even when I was a little older and there was church and praying every day it was okay. No actual school but I learned to shoot and drive a tractor. I thought I had it made,” she added ruefully, scratching nervously at her wrist. “I was a kid, y’see? And we had no books, except the Bible, and no TV. I didn’t understand that the way we lived wasn’t how other people lived. ” I nodded for her to continue. “When I was a teenager things got worse. I wasn’t allowed to do the stuff I used to do and I didn’t have the same freedom as my brothers. I knew it was God’s will that I should marry but I just kept pretending it wasn’t gonna happen while my mother kept pointing out suitable boys. Then my friend Hannah who, by the way, used to practice kissing with me whenever we got a chance,” Allie said, giving me a sad smile, “got married. And I just about lost my mind.” She sighed and poked unhappily at her plate.
“So you ran away?” I prompted.
“Not right away. My father’s solution to my state of mind was to persuade me to get married to a boy called Luke Brady. He was only a couple years older than me but acted like a middle-aged man. He was a church elder in the making, for sure. I went along with it right up until the wedding day. I can hardly believe it now, but I was actually gonna marry him. But at the last minute, I just couldn’t do it. I set fire to the toolshed. That got everyone looking the other way while I cut the chain on the gate, stole a truck and hightailed it out of the compound.”
I stared at her open mouthed. “Fuck,” I pronounced distinctly, accidently spitting a morsel of half chewed toast onto my plate. Mortified, I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Sorry,” I mumbled but Allie didn’t seem to have noticed.
“They came after me, of course, and if they’d caught me they would have dragged me home and made me marry him. I had to dump the truck, change my name, my appearance, all that. I kept moving for a few years, finally wound up in LA and figured they’d never find me in such a big city. So,” she looked at me and smiled sadly, “I’m an old hand at this stuff, Bea. And that’s the story of how Deere isn’t my real name,” she concluded, like it was a happily-ever-after. And maybe it had been, until yesterday.
“Named yourself after a tractor huh?” I asked. She laughed and her eyes sparkled. My appetite picked back up and I took another bite of my toast.
“Yeah,” she said. “You can laugh, but I loved that tractor!”
And I did laugh. But this time I covered my mouth with my hand.
፨፨፨
“So …” I began, while Allie helped herself to my unfinished toast. “I dropped into the public library on my way back and grabbed this.” I slid the local Pennysaver across the table and poked at an ad with my finger. “Whaddya think?” She picked it up and read, looking thoughtful and chewing thoroughly.
“Sounds … cosy,” she said and gave me one of her knowing looks. I blushed and stammered out an explanation about avoiding motels and diners. “Well, yeah, sounds like a plan. Shall we go take a look?”
“I’ll go,” I said. “You wait here.” She chewed some more, slowly, before replying.
“I should go,” she said, sounding certain. “Do you know about engines, Bea? Because I know about engines. And this,” she read aloud, “Converted 1963 Chevrolet C-20 pick-up could be wonderful, could be terrible, depending on how it’s been treated.”
I knew she was right. I knew jack shit about engines. But I was worried about that uncannily accurate description of her in the newspaper and didn’t like to think of her showing her face more than necessary. Plus, she didn’t have any fake papers, unlike me.
“If it’s not a lemon I’ll need to be there to buy it, because I have I.D.” I said. “Barbara Young, remember?”
“Then we both go,” Allie replied reasonably.
“You might get recognised,” I argued.
“So might you,” she retorted. I held out a strand of my red hair as though this proved something. She rolled her eyes. “Pass me your sunglasses,” she said.
“You’ve got them,” I told her in an injured tone. She rolled her eyes.
“The gas station ones,” she said. She held out my own sunglasses. “Trade?” she suggested. I passed them over willingly, though I doubted sunglasses would make much of a difference to her disguise. With her thumbs, she pushed against the lenses. I sucked my teeth worriedly but they popped out without shattering. Huh, plastic. Of course.
She put the empty frames on, pulled her hair back into a quick ponytail and gave me an insincere smile. Now she looked all of eighteen and as if she was about to leave home for one of those fancy all-girl colleges they have out east. I stifled a laugh.
“Fine, you can come,” I conceded.
፨፨፨
The seller’s property was on the far edge of town. The desert crept up against its boundary and encroached, none too stealthily, into the surrounding yard. The house was low and wide, painted almost the same colour as the dusty ground and fenced in with chicken-wire, in case it tried to escape, I guessed. The seller himself looked to be in his sixties but perhaps had just led a hard life. His face was tan and lined, his hair and beard long, grey and unkempt, his voice rough from years of smoking. I knew it was from smoking because the smell of it preceded him as he approached us on his driveway and a cloud of it surrounded us the whole time we talked.
“Bud Baxter,” he introduced himself. His hand was warm and dry. “You here to look at the Chevy?” he asked, eyes shrewd from beneath eyebrows gone to seed.
“Yep,” I confirmed. “If now’s a good time.”
“Sure,” he replied mildly. He checked his pockets and withdrew the keys. We followed him down the side of the house to where a light coloured pick-up was parked. White, probably, but the layer of dust made it hard to tell. On its long flatbed a low camper unit had been installed, rising only a foot or so over the roof of the cab. Not much headroom, I thought.
“I know what you’re thinkin’” Bud said, smiling with one half of his mouth. “It could do with a wash, right?”
I gave a short laugh. “Right,” I replied.
“It’s down for travel right now,” he said, indicating the top of the camper. “When you’re ready to camp, you use the hydraulics to raise it up and you end up with a ceiling over six feet high. Plenty of space for you ladies,” he added, unashamedly checking us out. “I’ll open it up and you can take a look.” He unlocked the back and let down the steps, then opened the driver and passenger doors in turn and popped the hood.
I gazed into the back while Allie walked around to the cab and got behind the wheel. The living space, even in its compact state, looked ample. The whole thing was outfitted in light wood. There were two long, padded benches (which I guessed converted into a bed), a sink, a three ring stovetop, icebox and fold down table. Bud volunteered that the dishes, pans and ‘sundries’ as he called them were all included in the deal. Everything looked well worn and kind of grubby, like it hadn’t been used in a while, but I was pleasantly surprised given the advertised price.
When I approached the front end of the pick-up, Allie was peering under the hood and asking technical questions, of which I caught only the words horsepower, suspension and handling.
“Tell you the truth, I wouldn’t like to take her more than fifty-five on these country roads. Sixty on the highway,” Bud said, looking tickled by Allie’s expertise.
“Top heavy, I guess?” Allie asked, pushing her glasses up her nose.
“A little,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to her chest. I rolled my eyes. “But what she lacks in handling she makes up for in charm,” he said. “Hell, you can pretend to be Steinbeck, visiting the real America!”
Allie laughed. “We’ll need to get ourselves a dog,” she said with a smile that was a hundred times more charming than the most charming camper van imaginable. Bud laughed and slapped his thighs. I hadn’t the foggiest idea what they were talking about. I gave Allie a warning look. It didn’t do to be too memorable.
“So, what do you think?” I asked her.
“Well, Aunt Barb,” she said, quick as an arrow, “I think you should bite this gentleman’s hand off before he changes his mind.”
፨፨፨
“Aunt Barb?” I asked. “What the hell? You can’t just go around making up cover stories off the top of your head,” I complained as I pulled our new Chevy camper off Bud’s property and drove back towards town. We had left the car round a corner a couple of streets back and arrived on foot so that Bud had no way to connect us to a car with such a striking paint job.
“Oh, c’mon,” she protested. “He loved all that. Why do you think he agreed to the knocked down price?” she asked. “Or is it that you have qualms about us being blood relatives, Bea?” she asked teasingly. “Hey, don’t mind it. I think perhaps we’re only related by marriage.” I ignored that.
“It’s best to keep things simple,” I said. “Forgettable. Besides, I’m not old enough to be your aunt.” She laughed.
“Sometimes an aunt or uncle can be almost the same age as a niece or nephew,” she explained, and I remembered that compound she grew up in and buttoned my lip. “Anyway, I’ve found that people like to have an explanation of the relationship when they see two women together. They always assume that you’re sisters or mother and daughter or whatever, even when you look nothing alike. Unless you’re looking to make a point, and today I figured we weren’t, it’s best to play along with their prejudices rather than explain the real relationship. That sometimes ends badly,” she said. “Usually just with name calling but once or twice I’ve seen it get a little rough.”
I thought about that. Maybe she was right. If someone came around asking questions about a pair of murderous fugitives and Bud thought he had sold his Chevy to an aunt and niece off on a camping trip to the Sequoia National Park, which is what Allie had told him, then perhaps no one would make the link. But if we were two women with no apparent relationship or, worse, an obviously deviant one, then maybe they'd be more inclined to think we were capable of something like that. I shook my head to myself. I had had Allie pegged all wrong. I had thought of myself as the hardened professional and her as the innocent who needed my smarts and my protection to survive. But now that I knew her a little better, I could see that she had both instincts and skills that were beyond me, a result of the life she had lived since she had run away from home.
Glancing away from the road for a moment, I looked at her with new respect. I nodded my approval of her reasoning and she smiled, apparently holding no grudge against me for having underestimated her so badly. I decided there and then that I ought to return the trust she had shown me by trusting her in return.
“If I drop you in town can you pick up enough supplies for a couple days while I get the truck filled up?” I asked her.
“Sure,” she said. “Don’t forget to fill up the water tanks while you’re there. Equal amounts on each side, otherwise she’ll be hard to handle,” she added, patting the dash affectionately.
“Then I’ll pick you up and take you back to the car. It should be getting dark by then and we can drive tandem until we find somewhere we can dump it so it won’t be found. At least not straightaway.”
፨፨፨
By eleven o’clock my eyes were smarting and I had to pull off the road for the night. Allie had offered to share the driving but I didn’t like to take the risk. The sooner I could arrange a fake license for her the better. Prevented from driving, she satisfied herself by perching beside me and examining the map with a dim flashlight she had found in the glove box.
“Bea … did you steal this map from the library?” she asked, having noticed the possession stamp inside the flap.
“I borrowed it,” I replied.
“You checked it out?” she asked archly.
“Not exactly,” I said. “But I'll post it back when we've finished with it.”
“Such an upstanding citizen,” she teased. “For an assassin.” The air cooled for a moment. I thought about the things I had done. I thought about Debbie. “Fixer,” Allie said, correcting herself. It was an apology of sorts, though I didn't deserve one. I wondered if she was thinking about what I had done for Ruby Mitchell and how that might rebalance the scales. “Fixer,” she repeated, with more certainty.
“How do you like our new wheels?” I asked, leading us away from this uncomfortable subject.
“I love her,” she said. “She gives me a warm feeling,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s like being in the Mystery Machine.”
I laughed, swallowing down memories of my TV mad kid. “And you're Velma?”
She slapped my thigh reprovingly. “I'm Daphne, obviously.”
“No, I'm Daphne,” I corrected her. “I have the red hair, see?” I held up a strand as proof, though it was too dark to see the colour. “Anyway, Velma is the brains of the gang.”
“True,” she conceded, seeming satisfied.
Once we had found a place for the night, off the road and out of sight, I scurried around the newly christened Mystery Machine with the hand crank, applying it to all four corners of the camper unit. As Bud had promised, the roof raised beautifully. With the inside lamps on, the curtains closed and the benches joined into a single, large bed the room looked comfortable and had at least the illusion of safety.
Allie passed me a cup of milk and a bread roll. I hadn’t thought I was hungry but as soon as I bit into the crust I realised I was famished. I washed it down with the milk and watched as Allie finished hers.
“There're toothbrushes in the bag,” she said. I fished around amongst Allie’s drugstore haul. She seemed to have thought of everything. Stayfree, band aids, shampoo, Q-tips. Even a pair of nail scissors. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. My head was spinning with fatigue so, while Allie took her turn at the sink, I toed off my boots and wriggled out of my corduroys.
“Oh! Your poor knees!” Allie exclaimed. Her toothbrush rattled into the sink and, before I could do anything to prevent it, she was down on her own knees and running her thumbs tenderly over the damage. “Why didn't you say anything?” she complained, frowning and sounding mildly outraged. I shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. I ran my eyes down my bare thighs until I reached the top of her blonde head, shining in the electric light. My fingers twitched. Her fingers curled around the back of my knees. Her breath puffed against my bare legs. My head spun some more. I was more tired than I'd realised. I sat down on the edge of the bed, tugging at my shirt hem in an attempt to cover myself a little.
“You’re half asleep on your feet,” Allie commented. “I have some Neosporin here somewhere,” she said. “Don’t move.” She began rifling through her bag of supplies. While she was looking the other way, I took the opportunity to take my bra off from underneath my blouse. Immediately relieved, I scooted up the bed and lay back with a sigh. A moment later, Allie’s hands were back, cradling first one calf and then the other, as she applied the cool ointment to my knees. Although I could remember doing this for Debbie lots of times, I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had cared for me like this. It felt so good that something behind my breastbone began to swell and ache. I covered my eyes with my hand so Allie wouldn’t see me going to pieces.
A second later, the lights snapped off and there were some faint sounds, which I assumed were made by Allie as she undressed to whatever degree made her comfortable. I felt rather than saw her climb onto the bed. There was a swish of fabric as she covered us with the thin quilt. And then she was there, pressed against me, just like last night, her face in the crook of my neck, her arm draped across my body.
“You smell so nice,” she murmured sleepily.
I wiped my face and swallowed my tears while I wondered how to tell her that, as a matter of fact, she smelled nice. And felt nice. And looked nice. She had nice eyes and a nice smile. God, I had to come up with some better adjectives. Liz, back when she was just my English teacher, warning me off from getting involved with Harry, would have been so disappointed. Fragrant, I thought. Warm. Soft. I yawned. Golden.
፨፨፨
I came awake, already halfway to my feet with the Beretta in my hand. My heart was pounding and my eyes swivelled wildly in the dark of the trailer, seeking out whatever had woken me. I levelled the pistol at the trailer’s rear door and stood for a moment, allowing my heart to slow and my senses to adjust. I couldn’t hear anything now, nor see any light coming into the trailer from outside. I guessed it to be one or two in the morning. Dawn was still a long way off.
What’s the time, Mr. Wolf? I asked myself, silently.
One o’clock. I took one cautious step towards the rear door. Under my foot, the floor remained obligingly silent.
Two o’clock. Two steps forward. By this time, the trailer having little floor space when the bed was in use, I was up against the door. As stealthily as I could, I turned the handle and eased it open. Outside, the night air swarmed thickly with potential danger. Crickets and katydids clicked and buzzed from all directions but that was not what had woken me. Softly, I jumped down, crouching as I hit the ground. Gun at the ready, I rounded the corner of the van, half expecting the metallic buzz of an angry bullet zipping towards me, followed by the sting of its bite.
Nothing. I breathed and carefully stalked ahead, feet peeling forwards silently, heel-to-toe, heel-to-toe, and repeated my actions at every corner. Three more heart-stopping turns and I had completed my circuit of the truck without incident. But I couldn’t let it go. Every nerve in my body told me that there was something or somebody out there. Just like taking my regular seat at The Malibu, listening to my instincts was an article of faith: they had kept everyone I cared about alive so far and I didn’t plan to have that change any time soon. Especially not now that I had an extra person on my roster. That thought had me flashing cold then hot.
Knees slightly bent, I froze by the truck’s rear door, closed my eyes and just listened. The night clamoured against my ears and I breathed shallowly, attempting to separate out the sounds of the insects, the breeze in the sagebrush, the goddamned rotation of the planet, for all I knew. After a few minutes my joints started to stiffen. When I next moved I would probably creak like the Tin Man.
Then I heard it: a furtive rustling in the brush away to my right. Someone was in there. More than one? I wondered. Armed? Could they target me from where I stood? I couldn’t risk staying put for another second. I crouched and ran away from the truck at an oblique angle until I was amongst the underbrush. Beretta at the ready, I changed tack and came at them from what I judged would be behind. A whirl of arms. I leaped back. A pale face. Two enormous dark eyes. A blood curdling shriek.
I fell on my ass in the dust with my Beretta pointing at the sky and my heart bursting out my chest like a character from Looney Tunes. I gave myself a moment to catch my breath and collect my dignity then jumped to my feet and brushed myself down.
፨፨፨
I slipped back under the covers. Allie rolled towards me.
“What were you doing, crashing about out there?” she asked sleepily.
“Checking the perimeter,” I mumbled. She slid an arm across my chest.
“Something make you jump?” she asked. My heart was still rabbiting away.
“Just … Nothin’.”
“So that wasn’t you screaming?”
“No,” I huffed. “Of course not. A big fucking bird flew right at me …” Allie chuckled.
“With a round, white face?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Don’t forget I’m a country girl,” she said. “Barn owls shriek just like Janet Leigh getting stabbed in the shower.”
I laughed. “Or Tippi Hedren in the attic.”
“A much more appropriate comparison,” she said approvingly. “Anyway, you’re safe now, so you can just relax and go back to sleep.” I rolled my eyes. I was way too wired to sleep. I sighed, resigned to a sleepless night. “Or …” Allie suggested. She was silent.
“Or what?” I asked.
“Or,” she repeated, this time with an air of finality. I swallowed dryly.
She touched her lips to mine and kissed me. Featherlight at first, and then with a subtle kind of pressure that had me opening my mouth beneath hers. Her fingers worked my blouse up over my stomach. She brushed her fingertips over my skin, a touch as soft as down that had me shivering from end to end. Her mouth was hot, her touch cool, and suddenly I knew what it meant not just to want somebody but to really need them. I curled one arm around her back to draw her nearer and encountered a large expanse of bare skin. My mind moved quickly to encompass that idea; my hand moved slowly, charting a course from shoulder to hip, wondering when it would come up against a piece of clothing. Nope, nothing. Shoulder blades, waist, hip … I curled my fingers over her bare ass cheek, pulling her against me. She groaned against my mouth and rolled on top of me. The sound and action combined lit me from within and suddenly I was desperate for her. I pulled her tighter, needing her even closer but not sure how to achieve what I craved.
She left off kissing me. I protested but only until I felt her mouth travelling down my neck to my upper chest. Her hair tickled my face, sweet-smelling still, despite everything. I buried my nose and mouth into the crown of her head, breathing her in. My head spun and I used both my hands on her ass, stroking the smooth skin and positioning her body against mine so that I could press against her in the way my new found desperation demanded. My action made her gasp noisily and reciprocate with a movement of her own - her hips against mine. The pleasurable sensation between my legs suddenly focussed itself into something sharper, something that made me want to run or bite or … something. Pinned beneath Allie, I settled for writhing messily against her thigh. She pressed back, her breath hot on my face.
The next moment the pressure was gone and I thought I might cry. Instead, Allie kissed me hungrily. Her hands were busy, finding their way to the hem of my blouse. Unceremoniously, she yanked it up as high as she could, under my arms and out of the way of her mouth. Her hot mouth, soft and rough, kissing and sucking at my nipples. Her tongue. Her teeth. An incredible heat. My mind struggled to keep pace with the ratcheting up of my pleasure. My stomach. My hips. I bucked against her. My underwear. Sodden and then gone. I knew a moment’s anxiety, a flickering doubt about my cleanliness. I might almost have clamped my thighs together in shame except that Allie’s head was already there and the second her mouth closed on me I was lost.
I wasn't totally naive. I knew that people did this kind of thing all the time. I had even assumed it must be something fairly pleasurable, given the kinds of comments I had heard, mostly from Franky. But no one had ever done it to me before, so I was totally unprepared. Doubly unprepared because Allie clearly had expertise. The first few seconds were incredible and I thought I might pass out from overload. But somehow I didn't and the pleasure just got more intense every moment. I tangled my fingers in her hair and raised my hips to better meet the heat of her mouth and the dexterity of her tongue. My thoughts were receding but I had just enough consciousness left to register my shaking thighs, my panting breath, the blackening at the edges of my vision. And when I came I came with my whole body; joints strained, muscles racked, lungs empty.