Better Run

by Shel Stone

  That was the impression she had. His apartment had been spotless. Not a single personal item as far as she’d seen. It had been spartan, and she suspected the same went for the man who lived there. Could have been Spartan way back when. Had the body for it, and the single-minded determination.

  But there was also something he hid—she could feel it. No one lived like that, dressed like that, unless there was something underneath they felt they needed to control.

  Fuck his body was nice. The mind inside not so much. Her eyes roamed down the taut planes.

  When he was awake, she felt uncomfortable looking at him, when those eyes came to hers and pierced her with their coldness. This was the guy that was going to kill her. Maybe it would be better if he hated her, but he didn’t. It was indifference mostly. And calculated, like putting these handcuffs on her. Couldn’t run now. Clearly while he slept wasn’t going to be her opportunity.

  Watching some TV comedy show that didn’t make her laugh, her eyes grew heavy. Every time she moved, she’d end up lifting his heavy arm, which didn’t seem to wake him. Not the lightest sleeper then. Good to know.

  Chapter 20

  FOR A MOMENT, Palmer had no idea where he was. Strange room—a woman’s room by the look of it.

  “Okay, easy with the tugging,” a soft voice said and he looked over, seeing Nook sitting against the headboard, flipping through silent channels on the remote. “You have to unlock me. I’m totally busting. Seriously, you sleep like the dead.”

  Blinking, he tried to get his mind working as he sat up, accidentally dragging the girl with him. He’d forgotten that he’d handcuffed her to him. Reaching down into his shoe, he pulled out the small key and released her. Immediately, she darted into the bathroom and he put his shoes on in case she went for the door after. The chain would slow her down in case she came out with any hare-brained ideas.

  Rising, he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the time. He’d crashed for six hours and it was now mid-afternoon.

  “We should get going?”

  “You in a rush?” she said through the door. “I don’t even have a toothbrush.”

  “I can get you a damn toothbrush.” Actually, he could use one himself.

  “And cigarettes.”

  “Smoking is a disgusting, filthy habit.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Mom. Some would say killing people is a disgusting, filthy habit.”

  She was brave at a distance, like through a door or over the phone. Tended to be more quiet when near him.

  Eventually she got out. “Go sit on the bed,” he ordered and with only a moment of defiance, she did as he asked. Following her, he put the handcuff back on her.

  “No,” she said.

  “Or you can sit in the bathroom with me while I have a shower,” he said. “And give me your phone.”

  Her glare conveyed her displeasure. “Fine,” she said with a groan and took it out of her bag. Pulling out the SIM card, he folded it in half, crushing the fine circuitry inside.

  “Thank you for your co-operation.” Unwilling as it was. Unhooking the phone at the bedside table, he took it and his gun with him. Didn’t see a reason to close the door, so he didn’t.

  Stripping off, he got in the water and washed. He didn’t like being unclean. It brought back memories of times when he had been. To him, it signified being out of control. But he didn’t take long, and was soon dressing again. Neither of them had much in terms of spare clothes. Maybe at the next motel, he would pay to have their clothes laundered. Probably wouldn’t do the fine Italian wool of his pants a world of good, but that was not important right now.

  “Alright, let’s go,” he said as he came out of the bathroom, seeing her sitting with her legs crossed, biting a nail. She looked so young like that. Scared. It annoyed him because a part of him didn’t like seeing it.

  Going over to her, he unlocked her and again took her by the elbow as they exited the room and got in the car. Taking the gun out of his jacket pocket, he placed it down the side of his door so it was out of her reach. Her desperation would likely be growing.

  “Aren’t you going to return the key?”

  “I left it in the room.”

  “Right,” he said. “Seatbelt.”

  “Well, I’m so touched you’re so concerned with my safety. Considering.”

  “I don’t like the noise.” In fact, he was tired and grumpy, and repetitive and annoying noises were making it worse.

  It took seconds to get out of town. This was a strange part of the country. So different from what he knew. It was almost like being in another country entirely. They dressed differently, spoke differently, and thought in ways he didn’t understand. But then she wasn’t local either.

  “Why’d you leave Buffalo?” he asked.

  “It got boring,” she said tersely.

  “Did it, though?” he said disbelievingly. Girls like her were trouble, even if she didn’t want to be. Her desire for freedom stemmed from somewhere.

  “Fine, there was a guy. A total headcase as it turned out. Happy now.”

  “So you ran all the way to Florida.”

  “And found another headcase.”

  “Perhaps it’s more of an issue of you refusing to own your part in it.” It was a character trait he derided, people who refused to accept their own responsibility for the things they did.

  “What’s the point of talking to you about it? You clearly don’t believe a word I say.”

  After an hour, they reached a town where there was a pharmacy. Pulling into the parking lot, he killed the ignition, then turned to her. “Same rules as yesterday. You cause a problem, people die.”

  “You really are a barrel of laughs, you know that?” she said dismissively as she opened the door and got out. “You must be a hoot on a night out.”

  “I don’t do nights out.”

  “I forgot. It’s all business with you.”

  “Yes.”

  Air-conditioning rushed down on them as they walked through the door. The day's heat was heavy and languid ahead of the rapid cooling down when the sun went. Music was playing quietly and Palmer scanned the store for any trouble. An elderly lady was shopping and a guy in a baseball cap was languishing around one of the shelves.

  “This way,” he said, seeing the sign for dental care. He picked a red and a blue toothbrush, and some paste. “Anything else?”

  “I am not using motel shampoo. That is a stretch too far. I don’t care if you intend to kill me. I am not going to look like things are nesting on my head.” The harshness in her voice clearly showed one of her hard lines had been reached. Shampoo was never a hard line for him, but he had to concede that women were at times utterly illogical.

  “Fine, get whatever shampoo you want.”

  She led the way and bent over, carefully searching through bottles, her hand going from one bottle to the next, grabbing one to turn over to read the back. Why the hell was she reading the back? It was shampoo.

  “Just grab one,” he growled.

  “I need the right kind.”

  “It’s detergent packaged in a pretty bottle.”

  “I need one without parabens.”

  “In case of what, you die of cancer when you’re eighty?”

  Rising, she had that ‘don’t fuck with me’ look in her eyes. “I am not poisoning my body for you or anyone.”

  Palmer rolled his eyes. Shortly, her body would be severely poisoned by a slug of lead.

  Opening the bottle in her hand, she smelled it.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” he growled.

  Giving him a filthy look, she grabbed a matching bottle of conditioner. “I don’t know what your big rush is.”

  “I have a business to run.”

  “Oh, so sorry you decided to chase me across the whole fucking country. Maybe that’s on you, and you should get your priorities straight.” She was poking him in the chest and his anger boiled over for a minute, and he had to breathe to calm himself. At this poin
t, he wasn’t sure he’d ever met someone quite as aggravating as her.

  They walked toward the counter and she snapped another product off the shelf. He didn’t care to pay attention, but as they got to the counter, she walked away, and he was about to tell her off. “Just getting some stuff. Don’t worry, I’m not making a run for it.”

  With narrowed eyes, he gave her a warning look. Fortunately, the cashier didn’t seem to make anything of it. His eyes returning to Nook, he watched as she roamed behind a shelf, her attention down, grabbing stuff. As she returned, her arms were laden with chocolate, bags of chips and candy. “What?” she said. “It’s cheaper here than in the gas station.”

  “How can you insist on avocado and spinach with your breakfast and then eat this crap?”

  “Well, that was a meal, and these are snacks. They’re two different things. And we’re on a road trip. This is what you do on the road, eat crap.”

  What was the point in arguing with her. Pulling out another fifty dollar bill, he gave it to the cashier. “That will be four dollars fifty in change.”

  “What?” he said, expecting to pay half of that.

  “It’s the hair products,” the woman said apologetically.

  “You have to pay for quality,” Nook stated, completely unapologetically. “Your choice to drag me away from my stuff. Not my fault.”

  An urge to strangle her gripped his fingers, but he only sighed and turned to the cashier, who was handing him change. “A bag, perhaps,” he said and the woman behind the counter packed everything into a plastic bag.

  Finally they left, Nook carrying the bulging bag. In the car, she immediately opened a bag of potato chips, the small space in the car filling with MSG-laden spices. He turned to look at her.

  “What?” she said. “I missed lunch because you slept through it. So I’m hungry.”

  In fact, he was hungry too and he drove through town, searching for something edible among the endless fast food joints. Finally, he found a tiny Italian restaurant. It was early, so only the odd pensioner sat at the tables. “Let’s eat.”

  “Italian, how romantic,” she said and got out as he pulled over. The door had a bell on top as they walked in and immediately the smell of cooking garlic filled his nose.

  “Two to be seated?” a waitress asked chirpily.

  “Yes,” he said and the girl grabbed a jug of water and two menus before showing them to a seat halfway down the restaurant. Faded pictures of Italy lined the walls.

  “I always wanted to go to Italy,” Nook said as she sat down. “Guess I won’t get a chance now.”

  “If you think you will incite my sympathy, you are very much mistaken.”

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “Agreed,” he said coldly and brought his attention to his menu.

  The waitress returned. The menu was surprisingly sophisticated. Fine dining was one of the few enjoyments he allowed himself, and he’d tried all the best restaurants in Miami. “A tortellini en brood,” he said, “and the Pasqua Montepulciano.”

  “Fine choice,” the waitress said, turning her attention to Nook.

  “Uhm, the spaghetti bolognese and some garlic bread.”

  “Child food,” he accused. “There’s an excellent menu here, and you go for the child food.”

  “I like it,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Excuse me if I’m not trying to impress the waitress with my wide palette for Italian wines.”

  “Maybe you should broaden your palette.”

  “Which I am sure will serve me well during my remaining time on this earth.”

  Fine, he’d walked into that one. Grabbing a breadstick, she bit off the end. It was darkening outside and they had a long night of driving ahead. He wanted to reach Texas by morning. There was less traffic on the roads and less chance of being pulled over if they traveled at night as opposed to days. Besides, he found driving for hours in bright light tiring.

  Chapter 21

  THE FOOD WAS delicious and she had been dying to try one of Palmer’s little wrapped up parcels of pasta, but couldn’t bring herself to ask. He clearly thought her lowbrow and unsophisticated, and it annoyed her. Where did he get off looking down on her? And she didn’t love the wine, but then she wasn’t ever all that enthusiastic about wine. Nice cocktails were her thing if she wanted to drink, not wine.

  Palmer was up himself, she was starting to learn, and he really had no reason to be. He was a fucking drug dealer—the scourge of the modern world, so he could just get over his own snooty behavior.

  They were driving in darkness again, the only light ahead of them and the faint glow of green from the dashboard.

  Miles and miles of nothingness, although she was sure she saw a rabbit run across the road once.

  Because she’d slept most of the day too, she wasn’t tired, and there wasn’t anything to do. Palmer wasn’t open to listening to music, and apparently there wasn’t much radio signal out here anyway.

  “So why are you taking me back to Miami exactly? Why not just do the deed here?”

  “Because the message I need to send won’t serve any purpose here.”

  “What message?”

  “That it’s not worth fucking with me. That I don’t forgive, and I don’t forget.”

  Nook stared at him for a while, his jaw working as he drove, refusing to look back across to her. “So what exactly are you going to do to me?”

  He didn’t answer, instead casting a look into the rearview mirror.

  “So this is all about sending a message. You’re going to kill me for a message.”

  “I’m going to kill you because you made me a victim.”

  “We’re all victims at some point.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Categorically, you were.”

  “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

  “Just pointing out how messed up this is.”

  Reaching down into her bag, she grabbed her packet of Skittles and tore it open. Juicy fruitiness hit her throat as she thought through what he’d said. “You’re really arrogant, aren’t you?”

  “No, what you did was arrogant. Unbelievably arrogant.” The harshness in his voice was clear. “Now I have to act. I think you should know that. It is your behavior that forces me to act, because of you, people are starting to wonder if I am weak.”

  “Or that you’re human.” Her statement was met with silence. “Bet your mother is proud.”

  His hand shot up so quickly she didn’t have time to react, grabbing her around her neck and pushing her into the window. “Don’t talk about my mother,” he said, his voice low and sharp. The grip on her neck was painful, but it wasn’t crushing.

  Nook soothed the skin on her neck when he let go, returning to his normal position and staring straight ahead. Clearly a touchy subject. Stifling a breath, she tried to calm herself from the unexpected gesture. Adrenalin was still coursing through her from the shock of it. Guess his mother wasn’t proud. Why else would he react that way? In their interactions, she could forget how dangerous he was—and volatile if approached wrong.

  They sat in silence for about an hour. Nook was bored, but there wasn’t much she could do, considering the psycho sitting next to her, so she ate more potato chips, the crunch of each bite almost echoing within the car.

  Having had enough, she put the pack away and ran her fingers down her leg. God, she was bored and there were hours to go. “You know, if we drive during the day, there would at least be things to look at.”

  He didn’t answer. The car droned on like it had for hours.

  Welcome to Texas, a sign said as they approached. Nook had come along this same road when she’d traveled to Las Vegas. Occasionally, they passed trucks and other cars, but mostly there was just nothing.

  Silently, she groaned. There was going to be hours of this.

  *

  Dawn was cresting as Palmer finally pulled into a motel. Not quite as nice as the last one, but she was too tired to care. Gettin
g out, she reached her hands to the sky and stretched. Her back was sore and her eyes were dry. With her hand, she stifled a yawn. Palmer, of course, showed no signs of being weary, looking perfectly put together after driving through the night. Fine Italian suits fared well through such trials, it seemed.

  Through the window, she could see him checking in and wondered how far she’d get if she ran right now. This was a tiny town. It wasn’t as if there was a crowd she’d get lost in. He’d chase her down in two minutes flat, and from the look of his lean strength, there was no doubt about that.

  With a huff, she resigned herself. He never left the keys in the car and he never turned his back on her for too long. Even now, he could see her through the reflection in the glass panel ahead of him.

  But she had to do something—even if it killed her, because she wasn’t someone who would just meekly go along with this.

  “This way,” he said, again taking her elbow as he always seemed to do. People probably thought he was a possessive boyfriend. It was never brutal enough to indicate force, just a firm urge where he wanted her to go. They moved to a door and Palmer unlocked it. The room had a lot of brown. Brown carpet and wooden furniture. In every way non-descript. Obviously, she was never all that fussy about her surroundings, but this must be beneath him considering how modern his apartment looked.

  Nook veered into the bathroom and spent some time in there taking a shower, then drying her hair, knowing as soon as she got out, he’d handcuff her to him. As tired as she was, she couldn’t bring herself to being deeply offended. A yawn unfurled and she finished brushing her teeth, feeling a bit better now that she was clean.

  The hot water had lulled her and her eyelids were heavy.

  “Let’s get the shackling over with,” she said as she got out. He was sitting on the bed with his jacket and shoes off. The handcuffs were beside him. In some scenarios, this would be an ultimately kinky scene, but the truth was a far cry from that.

  Putting her wrist out, he wrapped the cold metal around it and clicked it into place. Always her right wrist, which meant he liked sleeping on the left. He went first and she had to climb over him to lie down. “I like the TV on when I sleep,” she said.