Running Scared

by Linda Ladd

  “And Betty Lou, wow, you got yerself a looker there, man. She's lookin’ good enough to eat, ain't she, Miller?"

  Sugar doubled her fist and gave Panther a good jolt to the right temple in mock outrage, but he thought it cute and guffawed good-naturedly and took to nuzzling Sugar's deep cleavage. When he came up for breath about five minutes later, he was still indulgent of her transgression. “Don't mind her none. She's as jealous as a stray cat. Cain't look at nobody no more without her popping me one up the side of the head.” He nodded and gave a gap-toothed but pleased grin.

  Kate nodded agreeably as the couple dissolved into another slurpy kiss that never did stop. When he started groping Sugar's anatomy right then and there, she transferred her attention elsewhere and decided they truly must be in love. Booker was glancing around now, too, totally forgotten by everyone, including Miller, who had another guy in a stranglehold around the neck while he rubbed his knuckles on his bald head hard enough to make the man scream for mercy. When his friend finally began sputtering and turning red in the face, Miller let him go and they shared a good chuckle over their shenanigans.

  “C'mon,” Booker said aside to Kate. “There's a booth in the corner."

  Gratefully she let Booker lead her out of the fray. Another scuffle was commencing at the bar but she tried not to notice. Joey was grinning up at her, as if he thought it all very amusing, as if they'd taken him to Disney World. Booker sat her down, his eyes continually scanning the place. He sat down on the opposite side of the black vinyl booth.

  “Look, I've got to make that phone call. You be all right here alone a minute?"

  “You're kidding, aren't you, Booker? Tell me you're kidding, please.” Kate glanced around. The melee was proceeding on all sides with lots of sound and fury.

  “They're having too much fun to hassle us. They only pick fights when they're bored. Sit here and don't start anything.” As if she would, Kate thought, wide-eyed.

  “The phone's at the end of the bar, over by the door, see it?” Booker jerked his head to show her. “I'll keep an eye on you. If any of these guys gets too close, I'll come back."

  “Sure, don't worry about me. I'm a sucker for weddings. Maybe I'll catch the bouquet."

  Booker looked at her a second, unsmiling, and she decided he didn't get her sense of humor much, but hey, you had to have one in a place like this, scared out of your wits the way she was. She watched him walk off as the jukebox died at the end of a song. Yelling, screams of laughter, screams of pain, breaking glass, and pure pandemonium rocked the Do-Duck-Inn to the rafters.

  Joey chuckled and waved his arms happily, and Kate knew he really did have to be the bravest baby in the whole wide world, as one of the bridesmaids—at least Kate assumed she was because she had a nosegay of yellow daisies hanging around her neck on a black leather belt—climbed atop a table and began a striptease for a ring of admiring Tarantulas. Devil in a Blue Dress blared suddenly and seemed to give the woman all the incentive she needed to bare it all. Luckily, someone grabbed her down in a fit of amorous zeal before she took much off. Booker was still on the phone but he was watching her, thank God. If possible, the wedding reception was livening up.

  “Oh, boy,” Kate whispered under her breath as someone threw someone else over the bar with an awful crash and splintering of glass, “I really, really wish I wasn't here."

  Twenty-One

  BOOKER LISTENED as the phone rang at the other end, wondering where the hell Mac was. His old friend rarely worked mornings, never this early. Booker's recollection was that Branson theaters didn't open their shows till three in the afternoon, with a second evening performance. His initial plan had been for Mac to drive down and pick them up at the Do-Duck, but now he'd have to think of another way.

  One thing Booker did know, he didn't want anymore to do with Miller. There was something about the guy; he was a bit too interested in Kate and the baby. Booker had caught him watching her since they'd arrived at the tavern and that worried Booker. He'd have to keep an eye on the guy, and he wanted to get Kate out of the tavern before the rowdy wedding reception got too wild or was raided, whichever came first. They could probably hitch a ride with a trucker, but that was even more dangerous with roadblocks and frequent radio reports about Kate.

  Booker glanced at Kate's booth to make sure she was all right. She looked petrified. Her brown eyes were wide, watching the goings on as if she'd been beamed down from the Enterprise to an alien convention. Still, she was holding up fairly well. Booker was damn sure she'd never stepped foot in a biker bar in her entire life. Too classy a lady for that. Even with her hair whacked off and dark, she looked good. He scowled, cursing as the phone continued to ring off the hook at Mac's place. He'd try again later. He had a feeling they'd be forced to stay put awhile, at least until everyone passed out. The bikers were nowhere close to that point yet. Most were stumbling around table to table, only a couple of guys already unconscious on the glass-strewn floor.

  The Tarantulas were trying their best to get down, Booker'd give them that. Jumbo was missing quite a bash with his good ol’ buddies. Near the back door unopened beer cases were stacked, waiting to be noticed. The bartender was keeping out of sight and letting everyone fend for themselves. Booker thought he was a smart guy to make himself scarce. Panther's guests were definitely not guys to wait in line for booze.

  Deciding he'd left Kate and Joey alone long enough, he hung up the receiver and wound his way across the crowded room. An amorous couple was making out beside the jukebox with no thought to the laws of decency. Others, including the bride and groom, were stamping around on the littered dance floor to Unchained Melody, obscenely groping each other to beat the band.

  “I'm sure glad you're back,” Kate whispered as he slid into the booth opposite her.

  Booker nodded, searching the crowd for Miller. He didn't see him at first, then caught sight of him at the pay phone. Instantly he was alert. Who the hell would an out-of-towner like Miller be calling?

  “Did you get hold of your friend?"

  Booker shook his head but kept his eyes on Miller.

  “What are you going to do, call again later?"

  He nodded. Miller talked a minute or two and hung up, but Booker didn't like it. His attention was diverted briefly when a table full of bottles crashed over on a guy holding a girl on his lap. Glass tinkled and curses resounded. Everyone laughed uproariously ‘cause gee whiz, accidents happen when you're having fun.

  “That's my favorite song,” Kate told him loudly over the racket. “I love the Righteous Brothers."

  Booker watched Panther pick up Sugar and carry her back to the table, her legs wrapped intimately around his waist. Oh, boy, and things were just getting started.

  “Wanna dance?"

  A biker who gave the word hideous new and greater meaning was leaning over Kate. She cowered away from him as if he were a fire-breathing dragon, but all things considered, a fire-breathing dragon was tame stuff up against a drunk-out-of-his-mind Fighting Tarantula.

  “Well, thank you very much, Psycho Man,” Kate was replying politely to her new suitor, reading his name off the black leather cap he wore. “I'm flattered you asked me, really I am, but I'm here with my husband and baby—"

  The guy grabbed her by the arm. “Let yer old man watch the kid then. I wanna dance so come on, git up, now don't go gettin’ me pissed off."

  “Shove off, pal."

  Booker kept his voice low but he wasn't in the mood to prolong the confrontation. He stared unflinchingly into the guy's bleary blue eyes. Booker could see Psycho Man's fighting spider tattoo through his ripped black T-shirt, and it looked as if some drunk had inked it on free of charge.

  Psycho Man really got pissed off then but hesitated since Booker made two of him. Fortunately, somebody grabbed his arm and dragged him off to look at a Penthouse pinup poster, one of Panther's favorite wedding presents from Sugar. He went eagerly to adore Miss March.

  “My hero."

 
Kate smiled at him but it looked forced. Booker had to admit the situation was ludicrous. He wished he could hurry up and get them on their way but he wouldn't let her come to harm. He'd been around the Tarantulas a couple of times when Jumbo was hosting their knock-down-drag-out reunions in his café. They were drunken, disorderly, profane, crude and given to brawls, but all in all, they weren't bad guys. Not like some more murderous biker gangs he'd run across. The Outlaws came to mind.

  “I can't tell you how much I hate to say this but I need to use the ladies’ room,” Kate said after half an hour watching the fracas grow rowdier. “Is it safe?"

  “If there's a lock on the door, it is."

  Booker went to check it out for her and found the women's bathroom vacant with a sturdy slide bolt on the door. Incredibly, it looked halfway clean, too.

  “It's not a McDonald's, but it'll lock,” he said when he got back to the table. “I wouldn't touch anything if I were you."

  “As if I'd want to. You better keep Joey here, don't you think? Where he'll be safe.” She lowered her tone so as not to offend the guy staggering past.

  “Yeah. I'll watch until you get inside."

  “Thanks."

  Kate rose, took a bracing breath and started off as if she was navigating an armed minefield. Booker eased in beside the baby, who was reclining comfortably in his yellow infant seat and grinning as if he owned the place. The wedding party was involved with jumping around and yelling to the strains of YMCA, and Kate had a fairly easy route to the restroom amidst loud, slurred voices drowning out the Village People. The Tarantulas did go for the Oldies.

  Booker sat watching the bathroom, thinking Kate Reed was holding herself together pretty damn well. Most women would have crumbled to dust by now, and he'd frightened the wits out of her last night. He frowned, forcing the nightmare from his mind. He had bigger things to worry about at the moment. He realized how true that was when Matty Jones and Misha walked through the front door like Tarantulas in good standing.

  Booker crouched down and shielded Joey with his body. His gaze went to the bathroom, only a few yards from where the two were standing, and he prayed Kate wouldn't come out. They were searching the room, and Booker eased lower when two more of them showed up. The Russians were no longer dressed in the black sweats and nylon windsuits they'd worn in the woods. Now they were dressed redneck à la Matty Jones.

  Misha wore his new dangly earring, his long blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail. All of them wore flannel shirts and jeans with St. Louis Rams football caps. All obviously had been shopping at the same Kmart; all looked like Mafia hitmen dressed up as lumberjacks.

  Most of the spiders hadn't noticed them yet, but Miller had. He hastened to Matty's side and talked urgently a moment. Then both men turned to pick out Booker through the gloom and hazy cigarette smoke. Goddamn it, Miller must have gotten his pot that morning from Matty and heard about Kate and the kid. Booker cursed himself for not putting it together sooner. He pulled his gun and glanced at the ladies’ room. Don't come out, Kate, stay put, stay put just a few minutes longer.

  Two seconds later Kate walked out and stopped as if to gauge her chances of making it to the booth. When she looked in his direction, Booker pointed at Matty. She followed his warning, then froze when she clashed eyes with Misha. The Russian recognized her at once, and Kate darted away but not fast enough. Misha grabbed her arm and brutally jerked her back.

  Booker was up and heading toward them as Misha dragged Kate toward the front door. Booker couldn't cut them off in time, and he looked around frantically, saw Panther dirty dancing with Sugar a few feet away. He stepped forward and grabbed Panther's arm, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “Hey, Panther, that guy said Sugar's legs open up more than Jumbo's refrigerator door!"

  That insult shocked most of the gang out of their boozy daze. For the first few seconds only the loud strains of Born to Be Wild rocked the room. Everybody knew how Panther doted on his Sugar.

  “What'd he say? Who said that shit ‘bout Sugar?” a guy demanded from a table nearby, smashing a full beer bottle on the floor to show his dismay.

  “That guy at the door,” Booker shouted in outrage. “Now the bastard's got hold of Betty Lou. Get him, boys!"

  That got the job done. Enraged wedding guests rushed the hapless Russian backing toward the door. A burly biker grabbed Misha around the neck, and the kid made short work of his half-drunk attacker but not before Kate had jerked free and fled back to Booker. The rest of the Fighting Tarantulas descended in a bellowing mass upon Sugar's detractors with a zeal that gave new glory to their club name.

  Panicked, Kate reached Booker and grabbed Joey, and Booker pulled her toward the back door as the rumble developed rapidly into a full-fledged, all-out brawl with the sickening thunk of fists on bone, grunts and screams, and the shattering, crunching sounds of breaking glass. Booker and Kate burst through the storeroom and out the rear of the tavern. The back parking lot was clear and they raced around the side of the tavern. The black Cadillac the killers had been driving was parked by the front door, and Booker headed for the driver's seat and jerked the door open. No keys. Shit!

  “Hurry up, get in!” he yelled at Kate.

  Kate ran around the front of the car with Joey, and Booker leaned inside and worked frantically to hot-wire the ignition.

  “Hey, there, what the hell you doing?"

  He looked up and saw Dmitri heading toward them, his hand inside his coat.

  “He's got a gun, Booker, get it started, get it started!” Kate thrust Joey down on the seat on the passenger's side and grabbed up the Glock nine millimeter that she found on the floorboard. Booker hoped to hell she knew how to get the safety off the pistol as he fumbled with the wires.

  Phut. Phut. Phut.

  She knew how to get the safety off, all right. The ignition revved, music to Booker's ears. “Get in, get in!” he yelled, jumping and slamming the gear into drive. Kate was braced outside the door, a perfect police stance with arms extended, forearm supporting the gun barrel.

  Phut. Phut. Phut.

  Booker yelled at her again, looking over his shoulder just as she blew out the front tires on Dmitri's Grand Cherokee. Another phut. The windshield exploded in a shower of glass, and Dmitri dropped for cover behind the driver's door. Kate jumped inside, dropping the smoking gun and grabbing Joey's yellow plastic seat. Booker peeled out, throwing gravel all over the place, the back end fishtailing wildly as answering gunfire hit the trunk with staccato little pings. He swerved out onto the highway in a screech of burned rubber and stomped the gas pedal to the floor, heading west.

  Panting for breath, eyes glued on the rearview mirror, he kept the accelerator floored, bringing the big luxury car up to seventy in nothing flat. Kate had done a job on the Jeep, so no one was in pursuit, not yet. Maybe they'd get lucky and the Tarantulas would finish them off. Neither of them said a word, Booker concentrating on driving and Kate comforting the baby. Joey was whimpering a little but obviously under the impression that gunfire and squealing cars were everyday occurrences for him and his mommy.

  “Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?"

  “My grandpa was a sheriff."

  That's all the explanation he got, so he kept his eyes on the road, aware they'd have to ditch the car as soon as possible. A brand-new black Seville didn't exactly blend into the Ozark countryside, especially a stolen one.

  The chance to hide the car came about sixteen miles up the road. At the junction of 60 West and 63 North out of West Plains were a couple of big combination gasoline station/restaurants that catered to tour buses heading to Branson. One was called Gramma's Kitchen and the other one was Hillbilly Junction. Hillbilly Junction was the closest and had the most crowded parking lot, so Booker pulled in and stopped near the gas pumps. Three tour buses were parked outside waiting for their passengers, and he could see the dining room was chock-full of people.

  “Take Joey inside and wait for me. I'm going to
find a place to dump the car, then I'll be back."

  Kate seemed reluctant but she obediently opened the door.

  “You gonna be okay?” he asked, but he knew she would. She was tough, no question about it.

  “Yeah. I'll wait inside for you."

  “Find some people and act like you're with them. I'll be back in ten minutes or less."

  Kate nodded and headed for the entrance, carrying Joey's seat tightly against her chest. Booker found it hard to leave her there alone but he knew he couldn't keep her in the car. He doubted if Dmitri would call it in as stolen, but the sheriff's department would reach the Do-Duck-Inn eventually and might get a description of the Cadillac fleeing the scene. He waited until Kate was safely inside, then drove down the access road in search of woods thick enough to conceal the Caddy from cars passing on the highway.

  Shit, shit, shit! Dmitri cursed violently in his own tongue as the Cadillac disappeared up the highway at incredible speed. He could hear the commotion inside the tavern, an ugly fray by the sound of it. Misha and the others were outnumbered by the trash on the motorcycles. He turned as a man ran out from behind the tavern and barreled into the front seat of a white Isuzu Scout.

  “Yuri! Get that car! We don't have time to change tires!"

  Yuri ran to obey, brandishing his gun at the frightened man as he jerked open the driver's door and pulled the hapless fellow out onto the gravel. He pistol-whipped him about the head and when the man fell, he jumped in and revved the engine a few times.

  Rock-faced with anger, Dmitri ran to the front of the Do-Duck-Inn, wanting only to get the hell out of there before the cops showed up. He raised his silenced Beretta and fired at the high windows under the eaves. The panes imploded with a loud splintering, which no doubt got the attention of those scuffling inside. Within minutes a tide of bleeding, drunken humanity came flooding out the door, Misha at the forefront, his nose bloody and swollen. Matty Jones burst out right behind him and sprinted for his own pickup truck, obviously wanting no trouble with the law.