Wanted (25 page)

“Just so you know, Clyde, if you did kill me with a tire iron, they'd sentence you to die by the electric chair. We have high-voltage chairs that'll fry your brains in an instant these days.”

Instead of being scared, he roars with laughter. “You are one funny gal, Twinkle.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I ain't gonna kill you—I mean, not unless you try and kill me first.” He pauses. “You ain't planning to rid the world of me and your sissified girlfriend, Jackie Daniel, in one fell swoop now are you?” He smiles, teasing me.

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at Clyde's assessment of Jack. “No, Clyde, I'm not going to kill either of you. I might like to strangle you, though.”

“Good. Sounds like a game we could play together.” He winks, like that's the end of the story. I want to believe that he won't hurt me, but I'm not gullible. He's killed twelve men to my zero, so to be safe, I'm not saying anything else to piss him off. It's crazy but it almost feels like I can trust Clyde when he's probably the least trustworthy guy around, while the opposite is true of Jack. Thinking of bringing Jack back makes my stomach do a flip. What will I do if he comes back and wants to turn himself in again? Threatening him won't work twice.

“Just so you know,”
Clyde says, imitating me, “we had them same frying pans back in the thirties. Nasty things. Nothing worse than the smell of burning flesh in the morning—stunk up the whole prison for a week. Made it hard to eat.”

Grimacing at the thought, I cross my arms over my chest. “Gross. But I'm glad you're afraid of it. You don't want to end up as the breakfast special of the day now, do you, Cowardly Clyde?”

His light-hearted expression darkens. “You're crossing the line again with that name, too. I ain't a good person, that's true. I'm a cheater, a gambler, a killer, and a thief, but there's two things I ain't—a liar or a coward. And no one who knew me would say different.”

What am I supposed to say to that—good job, Clyde, you're well-rounded?

You ain't never been in our shoes, sister. Living in filth and starving to death made everyone thieves. Clyde tried to make an honest living, but there wasn't none to be had. He's not lying about being brave, neither. Clyde was the first one in and the last one out on all our bank jobs. Once he took a bullet in the leg trying to stall the coppers because I was hobbling so slow. And he always drove the getaway car. Mostly because he was so good at it, but also so the rest of us could lie down low.

Clyde glances at me. “Well? What you got to say about that?”

Bonnie's testimonial makes me queasy. It just doesn't jibe. Everyone knows that Clyde was a monster who killed a bunch of cops and innocent people, not an overprotective guy who worried about everyone. “I'm not sure what to say. I get it that the Depression sucked and you and Bonnie wanted a better life, but why'd you kill people? How could you look someone in the eye and shoot them? I mean, I feel sad when one of my goldfish dies. That's nothing compared to a human.” I shiver, rubbing my arms to get the creepy feeling off of me.

He throws his hands up, shifting higher in his seat. He looks over his shoulder and floors it past three cars. “I didn't want to kill no one neither! I only did it when they was reaching for their gun. When it was going to be me or them.” He purses his lips, shakes his head as if he's thinking of things in his head. “Always hated it too. Got to be such a mess. But after a couple of bad turns, I realized there wasn't no way out of it without me and Bonnie ending up dead.”

Oh, Clyde! I miss you, baby!

A sense of déjà vu rolls through me. “I get it that one bad thing leads to another. That's exactly how I got myself in trouble. But wasn't there a time, like after your first time in prison, that you thought about going straight and not doing more crimes? I mean, that's where I am right now. Well, where I was.” I think about losing my NYU scholarship and my chest gets heavy. I close my eyes and pinch my thighs, willing that horrible ache to go away so I don't cry.

“So you see what I mean then? Sometimes things don't work out the way you want!” He grips the wheel until his knuckles turn white. “You really don't know a damn thing 'bout prison, do you? They are filthy, lawless places that make decent men turn into rabid dogs. I knew if I got caught again, I'd have to kill more cops to avoid going back. More killing—that was what I was running from. If hating prison makes me a coward, then so be it.”

I shrug. “You killed people so you wouldn't have to kill? You're not making any sense.”

He stares at me, his golden brown eyes searching out mine. He sighs, shaking his head. “I killed 'em, but I didn't want to, don't you see? Because I couldn't go back in. Ever. While I was there, things happened to me that no man should
ever
—” He stops talking, clenching his mouth shut, as if physically forcing himself to stop. “And I was only sixteen!”

He doesn't need to tell me the rest. I can fill in the blanks myself, if all the horrible prison stories I've heard about are true. “I'm sorry, Clyde. You want to talk about it?”

He breathes in and out loudly through his nose, his mouth tight. “No, woman, I don't! There are some things I never want to speak about again.” He accelerates and changes lanes, darting around cars, left and right.

I check to make sure my seat belt is tight. “You can chill out, Clyde. There are plenty of things I don't want to talk about either. Just ask me next time. You don't have to yell.”

Hush, girl! Don't press no further. Clyde's sister told me that he came out of prison a changed man. Harder, never smiling. He never told me much about those days and I didn't ask.

That surprises me. Maybe they weren't as close as everyone thinks. I mean, if my boyfriend had a terrible secret that made him so sad and angry, I don't think we could keep dating until he shared it with me, let me help him get through it. Scratching a mosquito bite behind my knee, I try to think of something that'll lighten the mood. “So… did you date a lot of girls when you were younger?”

“It ain't polite to talk about other girls when you're with one.” He smiles, glancing my way. “I'd much rather talk about you, Twinkle. The things you've told me so far makes me think we've been cut from the same cloth. We're more alike than not—you feel it, too?”

Our similarities had crossed my mind, but the fact that Clyde Barrow noticed them too worries me. I force myself to laugh, deciding to take advantage of his mood swing. “Maybe a little. But hey, I was wondering if I can ask you a favor.” I shift my legs to get comfortable, making sure my limbs aren't anywhere close to his.

“A favor?” He lifts one eyebrow, a smirk on the edges of his lips. “You need me to find a quiet spot off on the side of the road so we can neck awhile?” He grins at me. “I remember how nice it was kissing you on the bus, before you realized what you was doing. You sure rev my engine. Go on. Admit that you liked it too. I heard you moan.”

Wait. Who is he talking to?

A pleasurable reminder jolts through my system at the memory of his soft kisses on my neck. Of course, I can never admit that out loud or I think he really would pull over. “It was more like a grumble. I don't like being touched, remember?”

He lets out another belly laugh. “You ain't still thinking I believe you have a phobia, are you? When are you gonna realize you can't hide things from me, Twinkle?”

His words are like a fist to my gut. How can he know? “What are you talking about?”

“I know when I touch you, Bonnie can talk. There ain't no phobia. You can deny it all you want, but I could see it in your eyes, and hear it in the way you lost your breath, that you liked when I kissed you. If you let your guard down awhile and stop pretending you hate me, I promise that, after an hour with me, you'd be begging for more.” He grins widely. “How 'bout it?”

I roll my eyes, laughing at his bravado. “Please. Make me beg for more?”

“Please make you beg for more? Like right now?” he asks, his voice deep and sexy. He gives me a sideways grin. “My pleasure. A girl as fine as you don't have to ask me twice. Let's pull off here and I'll take care of all your needs right quick.” He swerves into the right lane. “I can make up for lost time with my driving.”

He's only ribbing you. Don't you believe a word of it.

My heart rate leaps into high gear. “That's not the favor I was going to ask for and you know it.”

He snaps his fingers, faking disappointment. “Too bad. But hopefully when all is said and done, we will have us some free time on our hands. But until then, what favor was you wanting?”

“Since we've got a long ride ahead of us and things are scary enough as is, can we both just agree to be ourselves? I'll quit lying to you and you can quit threatening me.” I quickly add, “And maybe you can quit talking about us being a couple too. Deal?”

He wasn't talking about you and him! He meant me, you dumb Dora!

He rubs his chin, as if thinking. “I can agree to stop threatening you.” He smiles.

I ignore his purposeful avoidance of my last request, deciding to change the topic altogether. “Great. So in the spirit of honesty and having a fresh start, can you tell me about…” I pause, desperate to find a topic that won't lead to more romance talk. “Oh, I don't know, the first time you robbed a bank? How did you do it?” I can't believe I just asked Clyde Barrow that. As if he's going to tell me. Think before you speak, Monroe.

He eyes me sideways. “Sure—as soon as you tell me why you threatened Jack Daniel with the wrench. You two get in a rift about something, or did you miss me?”

He turns the radio lower and I realize he's fishing for clues. If I spill some information, maybe he'll trust me and share something he knows in return. “Actually, a little of both,” I joke, but realize it's partially true. Jack's constant whining made me even more anxious than I already was. “But mostly because Jack was about to turn us in to the police and I didn't want him to.” I leave off the part about Jack's belief that deadline meant the end of Bonnie and Clyde. If Clyde thought he'd be a goner in the morning, I bet his agenda for today would be radically different.

“Without even trying to escape? What a sissy.” He tilts the rearview mirror and looks at himself. “Ugly too. Would probably get me five years just for that.”

I smile. “Ha! Jack's good-looking and you know it. And he doesn't have monkey ears like someone else I know.”

“How'd you know that?” He looks confused. “You seen pictures of me?”

I don't dare mention the mind movies. “I've seen lots of pictures of you and Bonnie. Movies, too. The
Bonnie and Clyde
movie was my mom's favorite.”

I love the picture show! My mama would be so proud!

Proud you were an outlaw who killed and robbed people? I don't think so.

Clyde's eyes get wide. “A movie? Now don't that beat all?” He lets out such a loud, boisterous laugh, that I can't help but laugh too. “Sounds like your ma was pretty taken with me, huh, Twinkle? Maybe you're taking after her, trying to find out my life story and all.” He chuckles long and hard. “I sure would like to see that movie sometime. If it's you and me after the deadline, maybe I can accompany you to the picture show. How about it, Miss Twinkle? May I take you for a night on the town? I'm hoping that you have such a nice time, you'll consider giving me a kiss goodnight.” He smiles at me then, genuine and sweet.

He's only saying that because he knows it'll be me using your body.

She's probably right. He's definitely a charmer, a guy who knows that flattery wins a girl's heart every time. And stupidly, I keep falling into his trap. As long as I remember this is all a game, I'll be fine. “I'd go with you, but I doubt you'd like the movie. They made you… never mind.” I wince, wishing I could learn to keep my thoughts to myself for once.

“Made me
what
?”

“Nothing.” I smile dismissively. “Forget it.”

“I thought you said we was gonna be honest with each other. I want to know.”

I close my eyes, rubbing them. “Oh, God. Now don't get mad at me—I'm only the messenger.”

“Say it already, girl!”

“Okay, okay. They made it seem like you were…” I take a deep breath, wanting to break it to him gently. “Impotent.”

“What's that mean—weak? Dumb? Mean? Tell me.”

Could this be more awkward? “No. It means you can't get it up in bed.”

“Whaaat!?” His face contorts, like he's panic-stricken, before he busts out laughing. “They finally tell my life story, and they lie about the one thing I'm best at? I can't think of nothing lower to do to a man than lying about his manhood. That's Hollywood for you, I guess.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Say, does that movie show anything about, you know, me killing some deputies on Easter Sunday in Grapevine, Texas?”

The name of the town makes the words “Grapevine Killings” jump out at me. I remember Jack saying it was a turning point, but I can't remember why. “I've seen the movie a bunch of times, but not since my mom died. What happened again?”

He checks the mirrors, switches lanes. “Was a big mistake, that's all. One that haunts me to this day.”

My brain screams
LIAR
, but I keep it to myself. “A
mistake
? Ordering the wrong flavor of ice cream is a mistake. Killing a cop is intentional.” I might be gullible, but I'm not stupid.

“It hurts me to hear you say that, but honest to God, it was a misunderstanding. When I yelled, ‘take him,' on that hot spring day, I meant that Henry should grab the officer closest to him so we could kidnap him. I did that a lot—kidnap, not kill. But that dumb cluck Henry thought I meant to kill the cop nearest him, so's he did.” He shifts in his seat uneasily. “Left me no choice but to shoot mine, too.” He looks over at me, his eyes filled with pain. “Wish you could see it for yourself.”