Running Scared

by Linda Ladd

  Joey had been googling as she babytalked him, but now he was beginning to get sleepy. Thank goodness he had a place to lie still, without being jostled around. He deserved a long, peaceful nap. She thought of how close the timber rattler had come to biting him, and shivered with renewed revulsion. She needed to get dressed quickly. She'd had to work up enough courage to take a shower and only ventured that because of the lock on the door. She hoped Millie Mae's bedroom door was similarly equipped.

  Millie Mae's old-fashioned sundress with its matching red sweater still hung on the wire hanger. She'd seen pictures of her own grandma in similar garb, and realized the outfit probably dated from the Second World War. She lifted the full skirt and examined the fabric, finding it in remarkably good shape for vintage forties.

  Kate stepped into it, thinking it odd the zipper was on the side, but the dress fit her tolerably well, only tight across the bustline. Ruffled straps crisscrossed in back but had adjustable button holes, and she struggled to make them fit. The skirt hit her slightly above the knee because she was tall, but she was only glad the dress was clean and dry, and not caked with river mud. She slipped on the short sweater and felt like a normal human being again.

  The jelly jar of salve looked rancid, but when she unscrewed the lid, it smelled all right—not good, but not rotten. She dipped her forefinger in the oily gunk and gingerly smoothed it over her burned palm and bitten ankle, then dabbed some more on the cuts and bruises covering her face and arms. The deepest wound was on her temple and still throbbed if she turned her head too quickly. She hadn't had time to worry about it, but now she parted her hair and eyed a raw scab about the size of a quarter. Now she wasn't even sure where she'd gotten it, but thought it might be during her mad scramble to get across the river. That terrifying flight seemed an eternity ago but was only yesterday morning. She winced with loss, eyes burning with tears when she thought of Michael lying on the ground, shot to death. They'd finally begun to get their lives in order, their dreams of renewing their marriage, raising Joey, all dead with him, destroyed forever. Kate forced the horrible pictures from her mind and concentrated on doctoring a long, ugly scratch down the back of her arm.

  A short time later she heard the sound of tires crunching upon gravel outside the mobile home, followed by a distinct roaring sound, more like a farm implement than a family vehicle. Her pulse quickened, not sure who to expect, fearing it might be the Russian killers or even the Highway Patrol now that she was accused of kidnapping. She didn't want to turn herself into anyone but Gus, or they'd surely take Joey away from her.

  Cautiously she raised the tiny window above the commode. She breathed easier when it appeared to be Millie Mae's wayward brothers who'd arrived home. The throbbing idle came from a jacked-up black Dodge pickup truck with big chrome pipes all over it. The three boys inside seemed to be enjoying the jet-engine roar until the ignition was suddenly cut, dropping total, complete silence over the farm. The Jones boys piled out of the cab, all smaller versions of big brother, Matty. She could see him now, too, striding up to the truck from the shack she feared housed their meth lab. What if it occurred to Matty that Kate might turn him in to the sheriff? They'd never let her leave if they thought that, at least not alive.

  “Where the sam hill have you guys been? I thought you mighta run into the law again."

  “Nah, Matty, we stopped at the Dairy Queen and got us one of those big sundaes called Peanut Buster Parfaits, with the peanuts and stuff in it, after we picked up Little John at the jailhouse. Um, um, they put cherries and whipped cream on top if you ask ‘em to, and man, oh, man, it was serious good eatin', scrumpdilicious, right, Mark?"

  The speaker who liked his ice cream appeared to be a younger member of the motley-looking group. He stood a little shorter than the others and was probably still in his teens, fourteen or fifteen, maybe. He was dressed in a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and dirty denim jeans with a ripped-out knee. Kate didn't think the hole was a self-inflicted fashion statement such as the college kids liked to do. His hair was long and carroty red, held back in a ponytail low on his neck. All the Joneses had various shades of red hair, most of which were displayed in the hairbrush on the vanity.

  “I don't give a shit about cherries and whipped-up cream. Did the deal go down without the fuzz showing up?"

  The ice cream lover looked suitably chastised. A different brother came to his defense and faced Matty's fierce scowl. “Yeah, ain't no reason to get down on Luke. Monty showed up and said he was gonna run things by hisself now that his brother's doin’ eight to ten in the Jeff City pen. Said he had a big deal going down in a couple of days with some biker gang up north and wants you in on it."

  “Did he bring the dough?"

  “Yeah. Cash. Luke, open it up."

  “Did you count it?"

  “Yeah, it's all there."

  Luke quickly obeyed, setting a tan duffel bag down on the truck's hood. Matty unzipped the bag and sorted through stacks of bills held together with rubber bands. Obviously overcome with exuberance now that he'd gotten his loot, he ruffled his kid brother's bushy hair. “Attaboy, Luke. Next time don't be stopping for no snacks. You know how I worry about you and the boys.” He turned to another brother, the one who'd not had much to say. He was the tallest, but not by much. “Hey, Little John, how'd you like the pokey? Did anybody make you their woman?"

  The men guffawed, appreciating his witty quip, and Kate shut her eyes and felt sick. Little John vociferously denied any such dalliance, citing his fists and his big brothers’ collectively vicious reputations enough to keep other prisoners at bay. When Kate slid the window back down, he was showing off the black eye he got from a deputy. She didn't want to hear any more. Maybe she should stay in the bathroom until morning with the door securely locked, or maybe she should sneak out the back door with Joey and make a run for it. On the other hand, she didn't want to make any of the big hillbillies mad at her. She shouldn't ever have come here with Millie Mae, but now that she'd made that mistake, she had to trust the little girl to control her scary redneck brothers.

  “Miss Kate, you ‘bout done in there?” Millie Mae's voice filtered in from the hall again. “I just about got the chicken all fried up crispy and ready to eat. And guess what else, the boys are all here now and dying to meet you. I already told them how you're as pretty as a picture."

  Great. Kate hoped to God none of them were wife hunting.

  “I'll be out in a minute, Millie Mae.” She tried to make her voice sound pleasant and eager but feared she sounded terrified.

  “Okay. I'll just leave you some sandals out here by the door, okay?"

  “Okay, thanks."

  “Did Granny's dress fit you okay?"

  “Yes, very well."

  Kate listened as the child moved off down the hall toward the other end of the trailer, heard some of the men, maybe all of them pile into the living room with a flurry of loud greetings and clomping boots, and lots of teasing for their baby sister. Kate's trepidation mushroomed as their conversation dwindled to lots of hushed whispers.

  Kate had a sudden vision of them kicking down the bathroom door and dragging her out, for God knew what horrendous purpose. Oh, please, Lord, please let me make it through one more night, just one more night's all I ask. She lifted Joey, who roused enough to sputter and fuss a couple of seconds. She placed one hand on the doorknob. Still she hesitated, not wanting to leave her sanctuary. Setting her shoulders, steeling her resolve, she took a deep, fortifying breath. Okay, this is it, crunch time. Just go on out there, go along with whatever they say, do what they say, make any promises you have to. Survive through the night.

  The hallway felt cool after the steamy bathroom, and as she slipped into the sandals, the delicious aroma of pan-fried chicken hit her. Her mouth watered and her stomach growled like a starved puppy. She realized then how hungry she was, how little she'd had to eat in the last two days. She hadn't even thought about food until now. She'd had a cracker or two, a handful of
dried fruit, water, but that was about it. She needed to eat something, keep up her strength, in case the boys turned out not to be as friendly as their kid sister.

  The entire Jones family was waiting for her in the living room. The men were all lounging around in their respective recliners. Millie Mae stood in the kitchen area, grinning from ear to ear, as if she were a magician and Kate was her best trick. All she needed was a top hat and cane.

  They all stared at her as if she were something rare indeed.

  “Hello, everyone,” she said as brightly as she could muster with her heart beating ten miles a minute. She felt herself getting all tensed up, ready to run for the bathroom.

  Then all four boys rose in tandem, even Little John, who looked a little worse for wear after drying out in one of Gus's cells. He was the closest to Kate, and she could smell him big time. The odor of unwashed underwear and urine. She smiled real friendly-like at him. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but he grinned back and nearly blinded her with his teeth. Moviestar teeth was indeed a family trait with the Joneses, all right, she thought, her eyes moving from one gleaming white mouth to another.

  “This is my new friend, boys. Miss Kate's her name, and her little baby's name is Joey. She's in trouble and Matty says we can help her, didn't you, Matty?"

  “That's right, sweet pea.” Matty was looking Kate up and down with a good deal of interest, and Kate prayed he didn't find her the least bit attractive. She should never have taken a bath and cleaned up. That was stupid, stupid, stupid. “You clean up real good, ma'am, now that you got all the blood and dirt off you, even with all them bruises and bite marks."

  “You're very kind to say so,” she said carefully. “I want you all to know how very much I appreciate your help. I don't know what I'd have done if Millie Mae hadn't found me."

  “Millie Mae's a good girl. Always bringin’ home strays and whatnot.” Matty seemed to remember his manners then, maybe because all his brothers were staring at her as if she was a Peanut Buster Parfait. “That one, there, standing by the new Magnavox, he's Luke, he's the third brother Mama bore. He got all the way to the tenth grade so he's the brains of the family.” He guffawed, and poked said brain in the ribcage.

  Luke was slighter of build and the only one who had on eyeglasses. They were old-fashioned rimless granny-type glasses that hooked over his ears. Kate had a feeling they might have belonged to the same grandma who had owned Kate's dress. Luke grinned, and seemed as though he might be a bit shier of nature than the others, despite the red and blue swastikas tattooed on both his forearms.

  “How do you do, ma'am?” Luke politely took off a filthy white baseball cap emblazoned with john deere in fluorescent orange letters. A smudge of motor oil blotted out the J and the O. “Don't you worry none now about them men that be wantin’ you dead and all. Nobody's gonna mess with you while we're around.” To prove his mettle, he pulled up his navy blue T-shirt heralding murphy's texaco and bait and revealed a huge pistol stuck down inside his pants. Kate was not relieved but tried to appear thus.

  “Thank you, Luke. But these men are dangerous. I wouldn't want any of you to get hurt because of me."

  Everyone seemed to think that was extraordinarily funny. They laughed and laughed, even Millie Mae, so Kate grinned, too, very pleased to find them in such jovial moods.

  Matty was the one who chose to explain. “Don't reckon nobody's ever gonna mess with the four of us together here on our own place. People ‘round here know better. Pa always said, ‘take no prisoners, boys, take no prisoners.’ We never forgot that and it's done us to good stead, ain't it, boys?"

  There was solemn nodding of heads all around, and Kate paused but knew they had no idea what kind of men they were dealing with. Michael's killers were professionals, totally merciless. “These men, they aren't from around here. I think they might be foreigners down from St. Louis—"

  “I hate them foreigners and city folk worse than water moccasins,” said Mark, who wore a waxed red mustache. He politely introduced himself. “I'm Mark. The second one."

  “Hello, Mark.” They exchanged smiles, and she was startled to find that one of his front teeth was slightly crooked. But still very white. But she was beginning to feel a bit more secure in their company, her rock-hard muscles loosening to the consistency of concrete. They obviously intended to play Galahad to her damsel in distress, and she was all for it. “A couple of them sounded like they spoke in Russian accents, but I can't be sure. I know one of them did, a young blond guy who tried to kill me."

  “Ruskies? You mean like in The Hunt For Red October?” demanded Luke, obviously impressed.

  Kate nodded.

  “We seen that movie on HBO a couple weeks back,” Matty informed her, nodding. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are they doing way up here in the hills?"

  “I don't know who they are but I think they want my baby. That's what my husband told me before they shot him.” Her voice choked a little on the last. Michael couldn't really be dead, could he? “Haven't you heard anything about this on television or the radio?"

  Kate tensed, hoping they hadn't heard her portrayed as a kidnapper, pleased when everyone shook their heads.

  “We ain't ones to watch much news,” Matty informed her. “Too many sports channels with racin’ and wrestlin'. We like to watch movies, too, when we ain't out on runs."

  “So you're a widow lady now?” Mark seemed pleased about it. Kate stiffened up again.

  “Can I see that little baby?” Little John came over, bringing his cloud of jailbird body odor with him. Kate was glad there was a working shower just down the hall.

  “Sure,” she said with extreme and utter reluctance.

  “He's a little fella, ain't he? How old is he?"

  “About four weeks."

  “Lord have mercy, imagine that. I like babies,” Luke shared with her, smiling to prove it.

  “Yeah, me, too."

  Millie Mae was beaming, apparently pleased by Kate's warm welcome into the household. “See, I told you she was all right. She ain't gonna rat us out, are you, Miss Kate, and tell the sheriff about the weed we grow out here?"

  Everyone froze, very interested in her answer.

  “No, of course not, absolutely not. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your hospitality. I'd never say a word to cause you any trouble, not after you took me in like this."

  “That's okay, I keep telling her that,” Millie Mae deferred, shaking her head. “We're sort of known in these parts for helping out needy folks. Granny taught us about helping your neighbors and that Golden Rule and all the Commandments in the Good Book. Ma named the boys after the apostles, I guess you noticed that, though. Not me, though. I'm named Millie ‘cause my grandpa was in the military.” More nodding all around and proud looks directed at Kate for her approval. “Now let's go eat before the mashed potatoes gets cold. Let's all just fill up our plates off the stove and go outside on the picnic table to eat. It's nice and warm out there. I got some milk for Joey, Miss Kate, if he's getting hungry, too."

  “Yes, he'll want a bottle any time now."

  “Millie Mae's a real good cook,” Luke told her as they followed the little girl into the kitchen. “She makes hotcakes just like our Granny did but sometimes she puts raisins in mine, just for me."

  Kate nodded and kept smiling, standing back and watching the boys heap absolutely gigantic portions from various pots and kettles simmering on the burners. Mashed potatoes and milk gravy. Canned green beans seasoned with a hunk of pork fat. Creamed corn. Combread. Golden brown chicken draining on a paper towel. All perfectly prepared. Kate's stomach began to churn again and she fought the desire to snatch up a drumstick and devour it like locusts in a biblical plague.

  The Jones family apparently did everything in the order of their births, so Matty was the first to pop open one of the Budweiser cans in the chilled six-pack waiting on the counter. Mark came next, then Luke. Little John actually offered his place in line to Kate, but she refused,
citing the excuse that she had to prepare Joey's bottle. She did so and warmed it under the hot-water tap while Millie Mae fixed both of them a heaping plate.

  “I like to cook a whole heap at once so we'll have plenty of leftovers the next day. That way I only have to cook once in the evening. The boys don't mind much. I just fix the things they like the best so they don't mind eating them twice in a row."

  “Well, it all smells very good. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

  Millie Mae found that highly amusing, as if she'd never heard the phrase before. “Well, c'mon, before they come for seconds and scrape up everything that's left. Gotta be quick as greased lightning ‘round here."

  The picnic table was under the wide, leafy branches of an enormous oak tree, the shade cool and comfortable. Two detached benches were set beside the table, filled up by two boys on each side. Millie Mae squeezed in beside Mark at the end of the nearest bench, and Kate dragged up a rusty green metal outdoor chair and sat at the end. She was a little lower than the rest of them, but it was the kind of chair that rocked slightly and she positioned Joey in one arm to feed him his bottle.

  “Does he cry much?” Little John peered down at Joey, his black eye looking very painful indeed, now that Kate saw it close up. Grease from the chicken wing he was eating covered the sparse blond whiskers on his chin with an oily sheen. Actually, chicken grease covered all their chins in an oily sheen.

  “Sometimes. He's a really good baby, though."

  “Wonder what them Ruskies want him for?” Matty shook his head, befuddled.

  “There was a story about that the other night on Matlock,” Luke suggested, obviously the television aficionado of the family. “They was counterfeiting American money and stuff."

  “No shit,” said Little John. “Bet that one was a good episode, huh?"

  “I really don't know why they're after us,” Kate said. “That's why I'm so eager to get to the sheriff's office."