by John Gilmore
Clyde said, “No, I can’t have you or Bonnie’s mom gettin’ arrested or bein’ in a line of fire. For the love of God, you know that’s bound to happen.” She stared at him, tears gathering. “I got an idea Billie Jean’ll come with me.”
He arrived at Bonnie’s a little later, and told Emma the same thing he’d told Cumie. Too dangerous for a mother. It was Billie Jean he wanted to talk to—Billie Jean he’d come for. It was impossible for their mothers to join them, and he couldn’t trust anyone else. “Billie Jean’s at a movie,” Emma told him. “She’ll be back around eleven o’clock. You stay until she gets back, Clyde. You stay here ’cause it won’t be safe for you on the road.” She then began to cry and left the room.
Laying on the couch he’d slept on when Bonnie was at home, Clyde felt his muscles falling loose from his bones. He could smell Bonnie’s perfume on the couch. He could smell her body when he closed his eyes. He dozed in a gray haze, then jerked up, grabbing the .45 when the front door opened.
“Billie Jean!” he said. He told her what was happening, how Bonnie’d gotten hurt and was now crying for her mother.
“I knew she’d been hurt and nobody told me,” Billie Jean said. “I have to go—I gotta be with her. I’ve been scared for her, Clyde. I’ve been so scared for all of you.”
“Get what you need,” Clyde told her, getting up from the couch. “I’ll be back for you in a few minutes, ’cause I gotta get the car.”
“Be careful,” she said. “Laws are up and down Eagle Ford all the time now. They go up and down, damn near smellin’ the dirt like dogs.”
Twenty-Eight
Recalling that last day at the Twin Cities cabin, W.D. said, “It was a long time before I stopped shakin’ over how dumb and fucked up Buck’n’ I’d been, runnin’ on our own without Clyde. Robbin’ and gettin’ nothin’. Shootin’ a goddamn sheriff and other laws, then losin’ the car we lifted and walkin’ all the way back in the hills, leavin’ the cars we had at the roadsides so as not to get tracked, but dammit, we got tracked all the same. They didn’t catch up with us. Though Clyde blew his top, and I’d never seen him mad as he was; he had poor Billie Jean shrinkin’ and scared. It was such a mix-up. Buck shootin’ that old sheriff guy way over the hill and bustin’ us gettin’ outta there, gettin’ back with twenty stinkin’ bucks.
“Bonnie just kept sayin’ she knew it’d happen—we shouldn’t’ve gone like that, thinkin’ we could do somethin’ we couldn’t do. Buck was arguin’ back that it wasn’t his fault, though he didn’t blame me for it. Clyde knew Buck’d fucked up and instead of helpin’ Bonnie and him what we’d done was get all of us on the run with laws now diggin’ around every bush on our trail. ‘We gotta get the fuck out of here,’ Clyde told us.
“Buck and Clyde went outside the cabin, and Clyde told me to go check the car and make sure it’s runnin’ good, check the tires, the water and oil. He said then fetch Billie Jean’s belongin’s and all of Bonnie’s stuff, and pack it in the trunk. Him and Buck were gonna load guns and ammo on the second time.
“I asked, ‘Second time for what, Bud?’ He said we can’t get six of us in the coupe so we were goin’ in shifts, and ‘Right now!’ he said. He was gonna run Billie Jean to the train and get her headed back to Dallas, then run Sis and Blanche to a hidin’ place ‘way the fuck outta here,’ he said, then comin’ back for me and Buck.
“The car was parked right at the side door, and I said okay, and started checkin’ the car. Must’ve been only a few feet from the cabin door and I could hear Blanche’s voice comin’ through it, sayin’ to Bonnie, ‘Don’t you ever think of gettin’ out of this?’ and Bonnie sayin’, ‘What the hell’re you talkin’ about? Gettin’ outta what?’
“Blanche said, ‘Breakin’ free’s what I’m talkin’ about, livin’ free and stoppin’ this runnin’ that’s got no end to it—goin’ back and forth without any sense—you gotta know that?’
“Bonnie started coughin’, maybe tryin’ to move around, coughin’ weak but she said, ‘I know what I know, Blanche, and you know Clyde can’t go free any more than Buck can who’s now bein’ seen for puttin’ some sheriff on the spot this afternoon, whoever they’re talkin’ about, but it’s too late for that ‘breakin’ free,’ ’cause we’re all wanted now, and you know that.’
“I could hear Blanche gettin’ up on her high horse, and she’s sayin’ she hadn’t killed anybody!
“Bonnie said, ‘Buck’s wanted along with Clyde and you gotta resign yourself to it, honey, long as we’re livin’ there’s no way out to runnin’ around bein’ free. Buck got his chance of bein’ free and see where’s it got him.’
“I was checkin’ the plugs, close to the door and hearin’ plain’n’ clear. Blanche sayin’ there was a way out by goin’ to Mexico. Bonnie stayed quiet for a moment, then says, ‘So why don’t you go to Mexico?’
“Kind of a little hysterical as she’s talkin’, Blanche says, ‘Buck’d like to go but he doesn’t wanna leave his family. You gotta know Clyde’s worse than Buck at bein’ sorry to leave the family, though even in prison the family comes to see you. Even if they got you on death row the family’s gonna come see you.’
“Bonnie coughed again, spittin’ something up, and I hoped to hell it wasn’t blood. She said, ‘Why don’t you shut up a spell? You talk too much, Blanche, and sound dumb most of the time. You want to talk about Clyde, you go talk to him. You talk to me like that I oughta hit you in the teeth!’
“Blanche says, ‘I’m tough, too, Bonnie girl, and don’t think I’m not.’ Then Bonnie’s soundin’ mad and I know it ain’t no good for her. She said to Blanche, ‘You’re not as tough as I am, Blanche girl. Ever hear me talkin’ like you’re talkin’? Dreamin’ up ways of gettin’ out of here and leavin’ others behind? Death row? You’re livin’ on it right now! I ought to bust your nose so you see you aren’t as cute or pretty as you think you are. I’m pretty and everybody knows it, and I’m tough like they’re reportin’ me in the newspapers, sayin’ I’m a gunmoll and a gangster—’
“‘—and you are a gangster,’ Blanche is sayin’. ‘You’re a gangster the same as Clyde!’
“Bonnie says, ‘And what the hell are you, bitch? What the hell’s Buck—just a big dumb clud with his kid brother shootin’ the way out for him. You sound like a rat, Blanche, that’s what you sound like. A rat!’ She’s coughin’ again—not good. It’s gettin’ me mad. Where the hell’s Billie Jean?
“Blanche is sayin’, ‘If you weren’t so hurt I’d hit you for sayin’ that!’ That gets Sis mad now, and her voice gets hoarse as she’s sayin’, ‘You pull somethin’ on me and Clyde’s takin’ care of you if you did. Anybody puts a hand on me they’re fuckin’ dead!’
“Blanche was comin’ to the door, sayin’, ‘I’m gettin’ outta here!’
“‘Good! Give a holler,’” Sis says. ‘Run and you’ll see there won’t be no end to your runnin’!’
“The cabin door opens and out Blanche comes all bustlin’, all chuggin’ and sweatin’. I got my head in the engine, and she says, ‘How long you been out here?’
“‘Just a minute or so,’ I tell her. She says Bonnie’s arguin’ with her, and I ask, ‘Where’s Billie Jean?’
“‘She’s out back by the cabins, cryin’ and horsin’ with someone’s dog. You better go fetch her.’
“When I went around back of the cabins I see Billie Jean sittin’ on an old wood chair. Just sittin’ there. I said, ‘Billie Jean, did you get your stuff ready to go?’ She said her stuff was sittin’ in a couple bags at the foot of Bonnie’s bed. I told her I’d go get her stuff and get ready.
“We went around to the cabin and Billie Jean went into Buck’s cabin where Blanche’d gone. I gave a knock and went into Clyde’s cabin to get Billie Jean’s stuff. Bonnie was layin’ there with the back of her hands on her forehead. I said, ‘Sis, are you alright?’
“‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘Where’s Bud?’
“‘Him and Buck’re in the cabin cook
in’ up some kind of plans. I’m gonna put Billie Jean’s stuff in the car and load a bunch of this other stuff out of here.’ She nodded. She asked me to step close to her. I did, and she took hold of my hand and said, ‘You must’ve had a rotten day.’
“‘I guess I did,’ I said. ‘Bud’s got a right to be mad, you know. Weren’t no good reason for what went on. Buck’s older so I figured he knows, but Sis, he don’t know too good at all.’
“She was looking at me sad-like, and she said, ‘Do you think I’m a pretty woman?’
“I brought her hand up to my face and kissed the back of her knuckles. ‘You’re as pretty as a princess I saw in a book once. Sis, you’re as pretty as one of those movie stars in the magazines you’re lookin’ at. I honor you, Sis, and I kiss your hand like I just done.’
“I got Billie Jean’s stuff in the car and some bags Sis had, then Clyde came out and got me and says, ‘Blanche’s comin’ so we’ll put Sis in the car next to me. The other two’ll sit together.’ I asked where he’s takin’ them but he said, ‘Same place I’m takin’ you and Buck soon as I get back.’
“I said goodbye to Billie Jean, hugged her, and she got in the car on Blanche’s lap. I nodded to Sis, and Clyde drove off, not speedin’—just a casual drivin’ off.
“Buck said to me, ‘Well, boy, we sure fucked the day, didn’t we?’ I felt like sayin’, ‘You were runnin’ it today, stupid.’ But I didn’t say nothin’.
“I got my pockets full of ammo, had the .38 in my belt and waitin’. Buck was nippin’ at another bottle, gettin’ fuckin’ drunk, and every minute I’m thinkin’ how those deputies and laws chasin’ us could track us over the hill and here we’re sittin’—like those tin ducks Clyde told me about.
“It wasn’t a real long time but sure as hell seemed like it, and maybe it was a long time. I just couldn’t tell nothin’. Bud must’ve been crankin’ that coupe’s limit to the top, just goin’ mad as a racin’ car. Me’n’ Buck just stayed outta sight like it was any other night, me with the .38 and him with the shotgun.
“Clyde wanted to take Billie Jean to the train, but then drove way in the woods, droppin’ Blanche, Billie Jean and Sis in a hidin’ place. ‘C’mon!’ Clyde was yellin’ at us. We took off. I felt sick in my gut. I was more pooped than I ever was anywhere. I figured if we got stuck and shootin’ started, I was just gonna lay down and die.”
Twenty-Nine
It was late night when Clyde drove past the Twin Cities cabin, catching a glimpse of W.D. at the window. He turned the car around, killed his lights and stopped at the side of the cabin, the engine running. Quickly, W.D. came out of the cabin with a canvas suitcase. He climbed into the car, saying, “Buck’s gettin’ his stuff.” Moments later, Buck appeared, his arms loaded with belongings he’d bundled into the cabin blanket. He pulled the car door shut and Clyde drove ahead to the highway, then made a sharp turn and disappeared into the night.
“We gotta have another car,” Clyde said. “Can’t fit us in this fuckin’ car. We’ll get one tomorrow, soon as Billie Jean’s on the train.” To W.D., he said, “We get in the woods you get Bonnie on the car seat, and see she’s restin’ okay.”
W.D. said, “She likes sleepin’ in the car. She told me she don’t like bugs and snakes.”
“She’s not worryin’ about bugs and snakes,” Clyde said.
Buck said, “Blanche frets about bugs, but she’s sure not nuts about snakes.” He shook his head, and said, “What a mess this day’s been, Bud. I’m glad it’s night and I’m glad we’re outta that cabin—no more shootin’ tonight. Whatta fuckin’ mess. Fucked up good.”
“Brother,” Clyde said, “you’re cryin’ over spilled milk.”
W.D. laughed. Clyde glanced at him.
“Just sleep,” Buck said. “That’s all I want to do tonight.”
“Welcome to bugs and snakes,” W.D. said.
“Fuck the bugs and snakes,” Buck said, and W.D. laughed again.
Clyde said, “Boy, you sittin’ on a bag of bugs that’re ticklin’ your butt?”
“Naw,” he answered, “I’m just sayin’ goodbye to today. That’s all I’m doin’.”
Leery of drifting too far on the main roads, cautious about markets and roadside diners, Clyde stayed nervously alert the following morning as he and W.D. drove Billie Jean as far as Sherman, Texas, to catch a Dallas-bound train. He told her to see the folks and talk about another meeting in “maybe a couple weeks from now.” Then he stopped at a drugstore and sent W.D. in for peroxide, gauze and bandages, and rubbing alcohol.
Closer to the woods, he stopped at a gas station, also serving as a small market. “We’re gettin’ gas,” he told W.D., handing him some money, “and go on in the store for a couple bags of eats, some cookies and bottles of soda pop. And get some smokes and matches.”
Later, without success at stealing a bigger car, they carefully made their way back into the woods where they would not be seen. Bonnie was still on the blanket, cushioned by leaves beneath her that W.D. had piled earlier that morning after helping her from the car.
Clyde switched the license plate on the car, then joined Bonnie eating cookies and drinking soda pop.
Buck was sitting on the ground, his hands to the sides of his head as Blanche sat alongside him, saying, “I swear it’s every one of us caught in a damn hole, and we’re like ducks to be picked off by any hick with a gun.”
“No, we’re not,” Clyde said. “We’re okay here. There’s nobody around for miles.”
“Ain’t that a damn fact!” she said.
Clyde smiled. “You’re eatin’, you’re sleepin’ on a cushion. You gotta go to the toilet, you go in the bushes. We got toilet paper and soda pop—”
“—and we still got a bottle of rye,” Buck said.
Clyde said, “So no point in gettin’ huffy and bothered, Blanche.”
Bonnie said to her, “You’re sure as hell better off than I am,” and groaned a little as she turned to her side. “Clyde’s doin’ all he can to take care of us—”
“—I didn’t ask Clyde to take care of us!” she said. “I’m supposed to have a husband to take care of me and look where I am—sleepin’ in the goddamn woods and crappin’ behind a bush!”
“Be quiet!” Buck said. “Quit shootin’ off your mouth. It’s hard on every one of us. You married me and we’re in a jam and there’s nothin’ my brother or anyone else can do about it. We gotta lay low.”
“Well, get more food for us!” Blanche said. “I gotta eat somethin’ besides goddamn beans and dried-up jerky and cookies. I’m gettin’ sick!”
“Blanche,” Clyde said. “We’re not gonna be livin’ here till doomsday—”
“Who says!” she cut in.
“I say it,” he continued. “Doomsday ain’t around any corner ’cause we’ve got plans for more than this. We’ll get other cabins—one for each of us like we had, and we’re gonna lay low till Bonnie’s movin’ around better’n she is. We aren’t down to eatin’ grass and crickets, ’cause we got money, but what we ain’t got’s the guns and ammo to get us more.”
“I’ll tell you,” Blanche said, “get some shotgun and shoot these damn birds ’cause they’re drivin’ me crazy.”
“Maybe you are crazy,” W.D. said.
“Kiss my ass!” Blanche spit out.
W.D. said, “I don’t mean you are crazy, Blanche. I don’t mind bein’ here, bein’ in the nature we’ve got that’s dead as hell except for the birds. But like Bud’s sayin’ when we got in here, you see a bunch of birds bustin’ out of the bushes, then you’ve got a whole bunch of watchdogs. Makes me comfortable with them sittin’ overhead.”
“And shittin’ right on top of you!”
“Why don’t you all shut up about shittin’ and birds runnin’,” Bonnie said.
“We’re just waitin’ like we’re in a train station. Isn’t that right, daddy? We’re like Billie Jean sittin’ in the dinin’ car of that train.”
Clyde nodded. “That’s ri
ght, honey. We aren’t in any pickle here, so no one’s got reason to be complainin’. Anyway, we got work to do and we gotta get movin’. So, Blanche, you’re gonna feel just right, you’n’ Buck in a cozy nice cabin.”
“Suits me,” Buck said. “We know what we’re after. We’re huntin’ the prey—a bank job, smooth as butter, no fuckin’ in and out of it, and one not big enough to be armed to the teeth. Hell, we got gasoline stations and markets instead of sittin’ here eatin’ beans and chasin’ flies.”
W.D. gulped at the neck of a soda pop bottle, looking at Clyde as he tipped the soda and drained it. Wiping his mouth, he said. “What if your dad’s fillin’ station gets held up? Whaddya think about that, Bud?”
“I don’t think about it,” Clyde said.
Buck said, “Anybody dumb enough to rob Star Service’s gonna get himself filled with lead. Ain’t that right, brother?”
Clyde smiled. W.D. said, “I got the feelin’ that’s what they’re thinkin’ about me. Gonna fill me with lead. Some mountain boy comin’ down after my ass for robbin’ his folks’ gas station.”
“Nobody’s got a gun in your ass,” Clyde said.
“No, sir,” W.D. said, shaking his head. “Nobody’s got a gun in my ass except the laws, and you think we got a chance of livin’ where they aren’t breakin’ our necks? I can’t help thinkin’ about that. Can you help thinkin’ about it?”
“I don’t think about it,” Clyde said.
Annoyed, Bonnie said, “Nobody’s thinkin’ about it. They got our death warrants signed, and that’s it.”
“Nobody’s signed my death warrant,” Blanche said. “I didn’t shoot anybody.”
“They got mine signed,” Buck said, “and they got yours, boy—tied up with a pink bow like a Valentine’s box of sweeties. Soon as they find out who the hell you are, then you might as well go swipe yourself a headstone.”
“I don’t like any of this talk,” Clyde said. “Gets bad without all this moanin’, and the truth’s that it doesn’t make a shit of difference. W.D.’s got no choice anymore ’cause they’ll get his name on the hot seat. That’s what you got to be lookin’ forward to—all of us, whether you like it or not, or gettin’ buried out here in the weeds with a bunch of critters pickin’ at our bones—”
