On the Run With Bonnie & Clyde

by John Gilmore

  Early the next morning, as soon as Clyde dressed, he pushed W.D. awake. “We’re goin’, boy, so take your piss or whatever you gotta do, and bring this cushion with you.”

  W.D. bolted up. He went into the toilet and soon as the makeshift door was shut, Clyde removed a pillow case into which he tucked the .45 Colt pistol. He handed it to Bonnie who had gathered the towels, napkins, personal wipes, and the pillow without the case, and took the gun-heavy case. She was ready to go. When W.D. came out of the bathroom, he said, “There’s no towels in here.”

  Bonnie said, “Wipe your hands on the sheet, then fold it and take it with you to the car.”

  Gray and cold outside. Clyde had the engine running as they waited for Bonnie. She came out wearing her coat and hat, and handed all she was carrying to W.D., including the pillow case containing the deputy’s gun. Getting into the front, she leaned to Clyde and kissed him. “Merry Christmas, daddy.”

  As Clyde drove away from the cabins and onto the road, an excited W.D. said, “There’s a gun in this stuff!”

  Bonnie said, “I already told you Merry Christmas. That’s your present.”

  “Wow!” W.D. said. “Kinda pearl handles with cows’ heads—”

  “—cattle heads,” Clyde said.

  “It’s loaded,” W.D. said.

  “Not much good if it weren’t,” Clyde said. “You’re gonna be on lookout while I got some business, so you keep your finger off that trigger unless it looks like you gotta stick it there, and that’s only if one of those are pointin’ at you. Don’t point that at the back of these seats, and don’t push that barrel down your pants or you’ll be blowin’ your balls off.”

  The orange sign outside the grocery store read OPEN CHRISTMAS DAY. Clyde entered the market, picked out half a dozen doughnuts, and waited until an old woman customer left the store. He reached the register and drew his pistol. Clyde said, “It’s a stickup.…” The proprietor, confused, stared at him for a moment, then without an argument, opened the cash register and handed Clyde the bills, then the bag of doughnuts. Nodding, the man said, “Merry Christmas, and I hope you’re not gonna shoot me on our Savior’s birthday?”

  “I won’t be shootin’ you,” Clyde said, backing towards the door. “Thanks for the doughnuts.”

  W.D., waiting outside, quickly followed Clyde into the car. Steam and smoke from the exhaust was clouding the cold air. Clyde sped away from the market, leaving the proprietor watching from behind the window.

  Clyde ate one of the doughnuts. Bonnie and W.D. munched more as they cruised the streets north of the town, looking for another car. Spotting a new Ford model A roadster parked facing the wrong way on Thirteenth Street, Clyde told Bonnie, “Me and the kid are gettin’ out and we’ll push that car away from the house. You go on a couple blocks, and I’ll pick you up.”

  W.D. and Clyde both pushed the Ford a short way from the curb. W.D. said, “I’ll start it.”

  “Hurry up,” Clyde said, and stood impatiently for seconds, then turned as two men—one younger and one older—charged from the house, yelling for Clyde and W.D. to get away from the car.

  Clyde drew out his pistol. “Go on back!” he hollered to the men, making sure they saw the gun. “Go on back in your house!”

  The two men stopped, then slowly backed away, but stayed in front of the house while W.D. tried but failed to start the car. “Move over!” Clyde said, pushing him to the passenger seat, and got behind the wheel himself.

  W.D. said, “There’s a woman on the porch! She’s lookin’ right at us but those guys haven’t moved.” The engine started immediately and W.D. suddenly cried, “Here comes some guy runnin’ right at us!”

  In a moment, a third man, younger and athletic-looking, ran to the driver’s side, jumped on the running board, and grabbed at Clyde to pull him out of the car. “I’m gonna shoot you!” Clyde yelled at him. “Get the fuck off or I’ll shoot you!”

  As they struggled, Clyde’s gun fired but the bullet went wild, hitting the left front fender. Accelerating the engine, Clyde went for the clutch, still trying to fight off the man’s grip. As Clyde pulled down on the gearshift, W.D.’s hand, gripping his Christmas gun, pushed past Clyde and fired point-blank at the man on the running board. The bullet entered the man’s neck and threw him backwards into the street. “Damn fool!” Clyde shouted at the shot man, then floored the gas. At the corner he yelled at W.D., “You just killed that fuckin’ guy! You’re stupid, boy!”

  W.D. said, “Might justa wounded him!”

  “Like shit!” Clyde said. “You got him dead as hell right in the neck.” He turned on the next street, pulled behind the car where Bonnie was waiting, and told W.D. to get out and get in the other car. “Laws’ll be huntin’ this one and we got no time!” Quickly, they climbed back into the V-8 they’d driven, Clyde at the wheel, and they sped away from the dead man’s car. Clyde said, “Son of a bitch just shot that guy.”

  Bonnie turned to W.D., who was looking at his gun. “You killed him?” she asked.

  “I reckon,” he said. “Bud says he’s dead—I guess he’s dead. He was tryin’ to stop us.”

  “Wasn’t anybody I’d’ve shot,” Clyde said. “Fucker was damn near off the car when you pulled that trigger.”

  “Well,” W.D. said, throwing the spent shell out the window, “here I’m sittin’ bein’ an outlaw.”

  “You can bet your fuckin’ ass on that,” Clyde said. He pulled to the side of the road. “Get those wire cutters off the floor at your feet and go climb that telephone pole. Cut the wires right now and make it fast!”

  “Like an Indian,” W.D. said, jumping out of the car.

  “Yeah,” Clyde said to Bonnie, “like a dumb fuckin’ Indian.”

  While W.D. shimmied up the pole and was cutting the phone lines, Clyde urging him to hurry up, Bonnie asked, “You sure he killed whoever it was?”

  Clyde nodded. “Got him square in the neck, from close as you’re sittin’. Damn guy went off the runnin’ board like a sack of cement.”

  Having cut the wires, W.D. climbed down and into the car. Looking at W.D. through the mirror, Clyde said, “You got your wish, boy. Might as well see it, boy. You won’t be goin’ anywhere else now, seein’ you’ve killed somebody.”

  W.D. nodded, then asked Bonnie, “Sis, we got any of them doughnuts left?”

  Twenty-One

  Ray Hamilton was back behind bars, picked up on a bank job with another partner the law was hunting. The stickup scored $3,000, but Ray wouldn’t be blowing the money so quickly since he’d been transferred to Hillsboro to be tried on first-degree charges for the murder of old man Bucher.

  “Ray didn’t do the shootin’,” Bonnie told W.D. “Someone else pulled the trigger, and told Clyde it was an accident. Ray says he wasn’t in Texas when it happened, but the laws’re gonna try him and fry him. That is, unless Clyde can get him busted out. That’s why he had Ray’s sis Lilly take that old radio to Ray, ’cause there’s two hacksaw blades behind the tubes.”

  W.D. said, “Ray’s gonna saw his way out of jail?”

  “He’s done it before,” Clyde said from the front seat as the car bumped over Eagle Ford. “He knows what he’s doin’, least he thinks he does. Problem’s he’s bank happy. You can’t be fuckin’ happy when you’re stickin’ up a bank.”

  “We don’t know if Lilly got the radio to him,” Bonnie told W.D. “That’s why we’re goin’ to Ray’s sister Maggie’s.”

  “Yeah,” W.D. said. “I know her. Everyone knows Lilly. They all know the McBrides, but these laws’re lookin’ for Bud, and you aren’t worryin’ bein’ seen around here?”

  “They’re lookin’ for you, too,” Clyde said. “Only they don’t have a name stuck on you yet, so aren’t you worryin’? They haven’t got a name but they’ve got a face. They get you, they’ll put you in Ray’s lap and start pullin’ that switch.”

  “I’m not worryin’ about any switch,” W.D. said. “Long as I’m bein’ with you and Sis, I’m
not gonna be worryin’ ’cause you got some juju that gets you goin’ past ’em while they’re lookin’ straight at you. You both got it, too. Sis, it’s like you’re holy or somethin’, castin’ spells so nobody’s seein’ you. Makes me feel like my bein’ with you’s like nobody’s gonna see me either. That’s why I’m not wastin’ time thinkin’ about gettin’ stuck sittin’ with Ray when they’re pullin’ a switch…” Bonnie laughed, but then W.D. said, “It’s had me worryin’ over shootin’ that fella jumpin’ on the car, but I swear I figured he was hurtin’ Clyde and set to get us crashed in that car.”

  “Sit back,” Clyde said. “Stop breathin’ on my neck. I can hear you from where I’m sittin’.”

  The car cruised slowly along Eagle Ford, passing the small Hamilton house. Clyde parked on the opposite side of the road. Leaving the engine running, he tucked the .45 into his belt, buttoned his coat. “I’m goin’ over there,” he said, opening the door.

  “You want me to go with you?” W.D. asked.

  “No, I don’t want you goin’ with me. Stay put and shut up. If somethin’ starts happenin’ you get alert.” Bonnie slid over to sit behind the steering wheel as Clyde walked across the road.

  Up on the porch, he stood at the front door for a couple minutes, several minutes, talking through the screen. Bonnie asked W.D., “You see who that is he’s talkin’ to?”

  “It ain’t Lilly,” he said. “Could be her sis.”

  Clyde then turned, stepped off the porch, and quickly crossed the road. “Lilly’s not here,” he said, getting into the car. “Ray’s other sis says laws’ve been around for Ray’s pals. She’s scared ’cause of those kids in there. Says laws made her swear not to say they might be headin’ back, but she’s got a red light in the window. If it’s burnin’ after dark it ain’t safe, and for us to keep on goin’.”

  “What about the radio?” Bonnie asked.

  Clyde shook his head. “She ain’t sure he’s got it. Lilly’s goin’ back tonight. We’ll drive around till the sun’s down.”

  “Let’s stop at my momma’s,” Bonnie said. “Get Billie Jean and cross the river—get us some sandwiches at the market.”

  Emma looked thinner, almost sickly, her face creased with concern. She said, “No, I‘m just sick all over. I thank God your sister’s here.” When Clyde asked about the laws’ visiting Hamilton’s house, Emma said, “They’ve been back and forth and in and out of here and I’m surprised they aren’t sneakin’ around right now. For God’s sake, y’all better stay outta these parts for now. Where’s that boy? Is he tailin’ after you?”

  “W.D’s out in the car,” Bonnie said. “We’re takin’ him a ways.”

  Driving across the bridge, Billie Jean said, “The cops’re comin’ back, gettin’ up a posse. I think they’ve got Floyd to find out where the rest of Ray’s pals are. Looks like they’ve cleared out now that they’ve got Ray in jail, but you can’t trust ’em to not be comin’ back.”

  W.D. was elected to do the shopping with Billie Jean. Egg salad sandwiches and soda pops, plus a handful of candy bars. Neither Clyde nor Bonnie left the car until they parked at the tree-thick turnoff to eat sandwiches, and then Bonnie and Billie Jean got out as the sun was setting, but stayed close to the car.

  W.D. asked Clyde, “We have to go back to Lilly’s?”

  Clyde looked at W.D. through the rearview mirror. “If he got the radio he’ll be usin’ the blades. If he didn’t get it, he won’t be helpin’ us. We’re damn near broke and I can’t be usin’ you.”

  “Yes, you can, Bud. You’ll be seein’ what I can do.”

  “I’ve seen what you do,” Clyde said.

  With a mouthful of egg salad sandwich, W.D. said, “You can trust me, Bud. I swear it to you.” He looked out the window. “Sun’s down now. We gonna go see if the light’s burnin’?”

  “When it’s dark,” Clyde said.

  Billie Jean got into the car, sitting on the backseat with W.D. Bonnie leaned close to Clyde and said, “Gimme a kiss, daddy.” Then she said, “You taste like chocolate. You eat a sandwich?”

  “I didn’t want one,” he said. “The kid’s eaten mine same as the one Billie Jean got him. Seems to just swallow ’em without much chewin’.”

  After dropping Billie Jean off, Clyde told Bonnie, “Someone’s gotta go to Hillsboro. Seems like Ray’s got this chance of gettin’ out before they fry his ass.”

  “You think that’s what’s gonna happen to him?” she asked.

  “I know that’s what’ll happen. Take ’em a while but he hasn’t a Chinaman’s chance, ’less he gets his ass out of there. Anyone gettin’ in there to get him out’s gonna be in a war nobody’s gonna win.”

  Bonnie took Clyde’s hand. “I love you,” she said. “I never want to lose you.”

  “I love you, too,” he said.

  Again approaching the house, Clyde slowed for moment. W.D. said, “The red light’s burnin’, Bud.”

  “We’ll just keep checkin’,” Clyde said.

  After a visit to the Barrow’s Star Service gas station, Clyde followed the back route, off Eagle Ford. He circled once, then twice, looking for anything that didn’t belong on the road.

  “Ain’t no good to see what we need headin’ this way,” he said, turning off the headlights. “We’ll take another drive, cruise past the house.”

  “No red light!” W.D. said.

  Clyde slowed to a stop opposite the house. “There’s a couple people movin’ in there,” Bonnie said. “Those blinds are shut but there’s movin’ around.”

  “Could be Lilly and her sis,” W.D. said. “I can’t see who it is.”

  “Could be the fuckin’ laws,” Clyde said, reaching for the cut-stock shotgun with the leather shoulder strap. He opened the car door silently, put his arm through the sling, then into the sleeve of his raincoat. “You get over here and take the wheel,” he said to Bonnie. “Get the hell out if you see you gotta take off.”

  W.D. started to speak but Clyde waved him quiet. He walked across the road, his right arm pressing the hidden shotgun at his side. He hadn’t reached the porch when Maggie screamed, “Don’t shoot! Think of my babies!”

  Clyde had no idea who was in the front room. He threw open his raincoat and swung the shotgun into action. He fired high, and the blast blew out the window. Laws were scrambling on the floor, avoiding a second shot which was delayed as Clyde worked to pry the empty shell jammed in the gun’s breech. He could hear someone hurrying from the rear of the house, alongside the building towards the porch. “Get back!” Clyde yelled as the man came around the side of the house, a pistol in his hand that dropped into aim as the spent shell cleared from Clyde’s shotgun and the second shell fired.

  The man was knocked back several feet as if lifted from the ground. A second man escaped Clyde’s third shot by dropping to the ground, as bullets fired from the house zipped past Clyde, cornering him in a cross-fire with W.D.’s shots ringing from the car.

  “You’re gonna hit Clyde!” Bonnie cried, grabbing at W.D.’s arm. She threw the car into gear and sped away from the gunfire, seeing Clyde running towards the road. For moments he was out of sight as he ran between houses, then appeared again, running and waving at the car.

  Bonnie slammed on the brakes as Clyde ran into the road, threw open the driver’s door and climbed in behind the wheel. He killed the car lights and sped west over Eagle Ford into the night.

  Twenty-Two

  “Shit, Bud,” Buck said, grabbing Clyde by the shoulders. “Seems like a damn hundred years! I can’t say I don’t know why you haven’t come visitin’!”

  “Me’n’ them convict hotels,” Clyde said, “don’t go seein’ eye to eye.”

  “They done signed my butt outta there, so I’m one free man, brother. Got me a genuine Texas pardon, and bought a Marmon automobile, so I’m ready to roll. But what’s with you, Bud? Blanche told me what’s been happenin’ with your havin’ a helluva tough time.”

  “Brother, I’m not havin’
a tough time,” Clyde said, and glanced at W.D. “We’ve had times goin’ on, ain’t that right, boy?”

  “That’s right,” said W.D. “Ain’t been so tough. I got me these new pants, and Sis bought me this tie, says it’s high class so I can act like a gentleman.”

  “You need more’n pants and a new tie,” Buck said. “Gotta get yourself a woman! Get yourself hitched— ”

  “—he don’t need a woman right now,” Clyde said, “’specially one’s gonna stick a bridle on his head. Sure don’t mean to be sayin’ that’s you, brother, just this boy’s got no time for chasin’ cunt since we’re headin’ up to Missouri. Gonna stop in Joplin and see what’s goin’ on.”

  “You mean—” Buck said, holding up one hand like a gun. “That kinda what’s goin’ on?”

  “Hell, that’s how we’re livin’,” W.D. put in proudly. “Livin’ by the gun like it says in the newspapers.”

  Clyde smiled. “Boy here gets to exaggeratin’. Been tight in spots but a helluva lot of movin’. I got laws lookin’ in holes for me in half these United States. But listen, brother, you’n’ Blanche don’t seem to be goin’ nowhere in that Marmon, so I’m sayin’ why don’t you gas it up and follow me’n’ Bonnie—all of us’ll get a place in Missouri and take it easy. Gotta relax for a spell. Bonnie and Blanche’ll be havin’ a good time shoppin’, gabbin’. Gonna get us a regular apartment, you see. Whaddya think, brother? Y’all want to come make us a family?”

  “Listen, don’t sound half bad, Bud, but I sure don’t want my ass in any of them tight spots, y’know.”

  “I don’t get in tight spots I don’t see myself gettin’ out of—” Clyde snapped his fingers, “—that fast. No one’s gonna get me in a tight spot I’m able to see comin’ from a mile off.”

  “I hear you,” Buck said. “You always had lady luck sittin’ on your shoulder.”

  “She ain’t sittin’ on my shoulder,” Clyde said. “She’s sittin’ in the car alongside me, and bein’ my ticket to heaven. We can work good together, brother, and you damn well know it. Haven’t we always done that?”