It’s ’cause of Henry’s well-known enthusiasm for robbing banks that Clyde asks him to sit out the first one. Hilton Bybee and Raymond go in alone, but they come out with a fella on their heels.
The boys actually laugh as the fella gets in his car and tries to chase us down.
Clyde snorts. “Who’s this lad think he is?”
Within two turns, we’ve lost him, and Clyde puts a thousand-mile jump between us and the bank. Jumping isn’t anything new for us. But Clyde used to only drive four hundred miles or so from a crime. Now Clyde won’t rest ’til we’ve fled at least double that. And it’s as if his body knows how many miles we’ve gone without him looking at the odometer. I lean over to see how far we’ve gone and, yep, one thousand and two miles.
This time, we end up in Oklahoma, and the boys have their eye on another bank. All of ’em, ’cept for Mullens. That little man suggests he go gather more clothes and other necessities for us all.
He says, “I’ll meet back up with y’all in a few days.”
Right. I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if we ever see that fella again. He didn’t get his thousand clams from Raymond, but he got a pocketful. It must be enough. Or rather, he’s had enough of the “Bonnie and Clyde” mode of living. That being, living out of an automobile. During the winter. Melting snow to drink. The smell of a campfire always in your hair. Eating straight from tin cans. Wearing multiple layers of clothing, day in and day out, stuffed with newspaper to help keep warm. Never knowing who to trust. Or how close the law actually is.
Clyde tunes in to a battery radio, and we all huddle ’round it. Sure enough, our gang’s the talk of the town. At first, Palmer’s at the heart of it, having pulled the trigger that took down the guard. But, then, there it is, just as we had hoped.
“No doubt,” the radio personality says, “fugitive Clyde Barrow, who’s wanted in nearly every state ’cross our country’s middle, was behind it all. There he stood, proud as a peacock. Even without her being seen, I’ll bet Miss Bonnie Parker was near enough for him to touch.”
Clyde and I exchange a smile. It feels mighty fine, knowing we stuck it to the law.
“Colonel Lee Simmons, manager of Eastham prison,” the personality goes on, “is said to have promised the dying Major Crowson that he’ll resettle accounts. ‘Those fellas had their day. We’ll have ours,’ are the colonel’s exact words. Clyde Barrow and his posse embarrassed the colonel and that prison amply. But you heard it here first. The colonel insists Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker won’t get away with it. The manhunt is—”
Clyde ticks off the radio. “Enough of that.”
I meet Clyde’s eyes again, and I shrug. It ain’t that I’m not startled. Knowing someone’s out to get ya will always be unsettling. But hearing the law is after us isn’t telling me anything I don’t already know.
Some of the fellas don’t take it as well. Raymond mouths off to Clyde that we should put a hole in Palmer’s back for the colonel’s vendetta against us.
“Palmer only added fuel to the fire,” Clyde says.
Seconds later, Raymond nods off. It’s a telltale sign he’s been using morphine. First he’s awake, not quite firing on all cylinders but spicy as a pepper. Then, he’s asleep, dead to the world.
A few days later, the boys rob again. We jump. The days are long, offering plenty of time to look over our shoulders. Bybee leaves. Now it’s just Joe Palmer, Henry Methvin, Raymond, and us. Three fellas too many.
The first day of February, they are at it again, this time in Iowa, I believe. We jump. Palmer takes his cut and—thank you, Lord—off he goes on his own, taking some of the heat with him.
We let things cool down after that, before Clyde, Raymond, and Henry pocket four thousand dollars from another bank job. Our collective cut of the pie is a couple thousand dollars, giving us plenty to celebrate whenever we’re alone. Clyde keeps it in a bag, tucked under his seat. It’s a nice amount, but we need more to get us off the road for good—before we’re found. Clyde taps Pretty Boy Floyd whenever he can by telephone, and we learn the law already picked up Bybee. That ain’t encouraging.
“Say,” Henry starts one morning, in his usual spot in the rear seat—him on the left, Raymond on the right. “I wouldn’t mind if we ended up in Louisiana this time.”
Clyde takes a drag from his cigarette. “Why’s that?”
I prop my elbow onto the seat’s back, cupping my eyes to avoid the sun’s glare. I’m just as curious for his response. The boys don’t often have suggestions for Clyde.
“My father’s got a place there,” Henry says. “And it ain’t one the law would know ’bout. It ain’t under his name.”
“It got beds?” Clyde asks. Henry nods. “Tell me which way to go.”
Henry does, talking over Raymond’s snores. For the first time in a long time, we’ve got us an actual destination, besides a bank to rob. I know Henry’s spooked by Bybee’s arrest and is only using us to get to his daddy safely, but everyone needs a helping hand now and again.
The sun’s sinking behind the trees by the time we’re traveling a long gravel road. Prairie land stretches left and right, front and back. “Just up ahead,” Henry says.
I ask, “All this your daddy’s?”
Henry nods, and I drink it all in with my eyes. Land, lots of it. Soon the crunch of gravel stops and our tires create their own path through the overgrown lawn.
I say, “Looks like your daddy could use another cow or two to keep this grass down.”
And in that tree—the big one, next to a pond—a rope swing would be nifty. I’d put fences lining the drive, telling people which way to go to get to the house. That is, if the law wasn’t hunting us and we could entertain visitors.
I smile at the farmhouse. It ain’t much, hardly more than a box with a porch out front. But even in the last minutes of daylight, I can see its potential. It ain’t nothin’ a few shutters and flower boxes can’t fix. Maybe a bright red front door.
Off to the right, between two oaks, a chicken coop would fit perfectly. Or maybe the pigpen. The leaves would let through rain, but not much sun, leaving the hogs with lots of mud to keep ’em cool when Louisiana gets over eighty.
“Bonnie,” Clyde says, standing at my side of the car.
I startle from my daydream and I ain’t exactly sure why, but my cheeks grow hot. Hotter, as Clyde carries me inside to meet Henry’s daddy. He resembles Henry a great deal. Dark hair, light eyes, razor-sharp cheekbones, and a mouth that’s always on the verge of a smile. Mr. Methvin ain’t exactly smiling now, though. Not at Clyde, Raymond, and me, anyway. Only at his boy, who he’s got wrapped in a hug. I get the sense Henry’s daddy is tolerating our presence, being we brought his boy home.
The farmhouse is bare bones. No plumbing, no electricity. But there’s a well outside and a bathtub inside, two things high on my list of priorities. That and, of course, a bed. I know Clyde’s got a shotgun within reach, but it feels safe here, the law without the wherewithal to come knocking on this door. So, later, with the campfire washed from my hair, a layer of dirt scrubbed from my skin, and in the arms of the man I love, I let out a contented sigh. Clyde presses his lips to my temple for a kiss, then to my ear and whispers, “Soon.”
29
It’s a punch to the gut to leave that farmhouse behind after only a day. I prop my chin on my gloved hand, resting on the car’s open window. There’s a chill in the air, and I snuggle deeper into my coat, the fur collar tickling my skin. The sun’s warmth on my face is the promise of a new day—and maybe that there’s a place like Mr. Methvin’s out there for us.
It also ain’t a bad thing that only Raymond is left in the back of our car—and at the moment, he doesn’t have a word to say. The road we’re on is narrow, too thin even for two cars to pass without one pulling off into the brush. Clyde ain’t in a hurry, he’s minding the dirt road to save us from any flats. I soak in the quiet, close my eyes, and let the wind have its way with my hair.
A drop of r
ain hits my face, and my eyes pop open. I’m quick to get the window up.
Clyde smirks. “Got ya, did it?”
“Nothin’ some powder can’t fix.”
“Bonnie, there ain’t an inch of ya that needs fixing.”
That boy. I smile. He returns it, and wowee, I like when he smiles. Clyde almost looks like a younger version of George Raft from Scarface. My very own Rinaldo. My very own right-hand man.
The rain comes harder, angry sounding. I’m searching for my tube of lipstick when I, instead, spot two figures up ahead in the road. Clyde’s fingers dance over his gun. We ain’t moving no more. “Clyde,” I say and look more closely through the rain hitting our windshield. “Those are two young’uns.”
Two young’uns caught in the cold rain. I motion for Clyde to get the car going again.
“Raymond,” I say. “Give me one of those blankets. Use another to cover up your gun.” I cover ours. The rest are in the trunk, out of sight. “Clyde, I ain’t ’bout to leave those kids to be soaked through.”
He lays a hand over his heart. “Wouldn’t think of it,” he says. “I got no problem giving ’em a ride.”
“Good.” I pump my arm ’round and ’round ’til the window’s down. Clyde stops the car alongside the kids. “Hey there, sweeties.” I smile, being careful not to make it too big to scare ’em off. “How ’bout we give you a ride?”
The little girl is a head taller than the boy. Her younger brother, I assume. He’s shivering plenty. So is the little girl, who’s got her eyes trained on my fur coat. “All right,” she says slowly.
I shout over my shoulder, “Raymond, help this li’l fella into the car and get him wrapped up tight.” Then to the girl, “How’d you like to join me up front?”
She bites her bottom lip, then pushes her brother toward the back of the car, where Raymond’s waiting. I push open my door and pat the seat beside me. “Bet this coat would look mighty good on you. I already got it all warmed up.”
I wiggle out of it, and the girl wiggles in.
“Would you look at that,” I say. “I was right.”
The girl grins and tries to wipe a wet strand of hair from her face, ’cept her arm is nothin’ but sleeves. I help her. We’re moving again.
“I ain’t ever wear anything this nice,” the girl says.
“I didn’t either when I was your age.” I search up ahead at nothin’ but road. “Where you two headed?”
Her arm points ahead. “School.”
“I always liked school.”
I get an eager smile, with a mouth full of teeth, none missing. “Me, too.”
“Let me guess, you’re ’round ten? Bet you’re a great speller by now.”
“Twelve,” she says, quietly yet proudly. “My brother’s ten.”
“Ah, I’m a big sister, too. Lots of work, ain’t it?” I wink.
That earns me a giggle.
Clyde bumps my shoulder. “Now don’t get yourself attached.” His head cocks, as if an idea yanks it to one side. “Unless ya want to keep ’em. I reckon the law won’t be quick to shoot at us if we’ve got two kids by our windows.”
“Shush now. Don’t frighten them,” I say. But I got to admit, “She looks a bit like me with that light hair and those blue eyes, wouldn’t you say?”
“Bonnie…”
I scratch along my collarbone and turn back to the girl. I was only pointing out the similarity, that’s all. Right? Before I can say anything more, Raymond says to the boy, “You want to see my baby?”
I scrunch my brows and shift to see him pulling back a layer of the blanket to reveal his machine gun. “Raymond, you put that away, you hear?” The little girl goes sheet white. “It’s okay, sweetie, we ain’t going to hurt you.”
They weren’t the best choice of words; I ain’t sure she even thought hurt was possible ’til I put the idea in her head.
Clyde curses under his breath at Raymond. Then says, “Pretty lass, is there a road by school where I can drive really fast? Wider than this one? With fewer holes?”
The little girl licks her lips, so much indecision dancing ’round her face. Finally, she nods. “My daddy uses it to get to town, the big one.”
“That’ll do just fine,” Clyde says.
“Clyde,” I say. “You ain’t really thinkin’ of…” I let my wide eyes say the rest. I hold my breath, not sure what Clyde’s planning. Either he’s going to stop at the school yard or go flying past it, taking the kids with us. The little girl is snug beside me, and I have a moment of weakness, liking how she fits between me and Clyde.
Clyde stops the car beyond the school yard. The highway’s not far off, maybe a few hundred more feet. And I know it’s the right thing to do. The girl mentioned her daddy, someone who’d miss this darling child deeply—or at least I would if I were him. I know I miss my lost child, and he or she was barely mine. That ain’t right, to tear their family apart, after we’ve torn so many families apart, to make myself feel whole. Or, in Clyde’s mind, to use these children to keep the law from shooting at us.
“Sweetie,” I say to the girl. “Why don’t you hold on to this jacket for me? But if anyone asks you, you found it. It ain’t from a lady and her sweetheart who gave you a ride. Do you understand?”
The girl’s eyes flick to Clyde, back to me. She nods.
I reach ’cross her and push open the car door. Before the girl can get out, I touch her arm, holding her still. “And sweetie, I got one more thing I want to ask of you. As long as you live, you won’t ever—neither of you—get in another car with someone you don’t know. You promise me that.” She does, in a mouse-sized voice. I kiss her cheek and say, “Now run along. You’ve got school.”
* * *
It’s another punch to the gut to leave those children behind. I remind myself, it’s the right thing to do. The non-selfish thing to do. And after all we’ve put Jones through, it’s a sin for even entertaining the idea of taking ’em with us.
As we drive, leaving Louisiana behind, I glance in the sideview mirror, catching Raymond’s reflection. I’ve grown tired of that face, ’specially after his round of show-and-tell, and I imagine that big mole on his forehead to be a bull’s-eye.
That bull’s-eye only grows larger when he opens his mouth, saying, “Let’s swing by Dallas.”
Whatever for? I want to ask. That’s only the most dangerous place for us to go.
Clyde stares in the rearview mirror, expressionless, ’til Raymond explains, “I want to pick up Mary.”
Clyde’s eyebrows rise.
My breath hitches. “The four of us, riding together?”
Raymond says, “You two ran with another couple before. I don’t see what the big deal is now.”
I hold the air in my lungs, but I’m just ’bout out. And, Lord, my brain needs air to process all this.
Mary’s name hasn’t crossed my mind since the first bank job in April of ’32, all of two years ago. I haven’t laid eyes on her in even longer. And now Raymond wants to bring her on the run with us? Not only that, but he thinks the two of ’em could be like Buck and Blanche? Can replace Buck and Blanche?
Clyde’s fingers tighten, unwind, tighten on the steering wheel. The speedometer ticks to the right. A backcountry bend looms ahead, and I say, “Clyde, honey, slow down,” while knowing if anyone could make this turn at this speed, it’s him. His gaze flicks down, to my leg, and he eases off the gas.
I light a cigarette, take a drag, then pass it to Clyde. I see it working as his features relax, as his jawline softens. We make the turn, nearly a ninety-degree angle.
“I don’t want to hear you bring up my brother again,” Clyde says coldly.
“All right, man, all right. I’m sorry. But I think Mary can do us good. She’s smart. Savvy. A schemer, I dare say. Just a couple jobs more”—he motions between the two of ’em—“then we’ll be on our way. And, come on, man, I haven’t seen her since before I was locked up. A man’s got needs. I know you know that.”
What this fella doesn’t know is when to shut his trap. Clyde’s annoyance flares and he flicks the tip of his cigarette, a spark flying back toward Raymond, who’s wise not to complain.
But I say, “Have you know, I ain’t here for Clyde’s virile needs.” Our needing each other goes both ways, and is more significant than some body to hold.
Raymond’s quick to apologize.
As he should; last I heard, Mary’s held plenty of bodies to make a buck. I don’t know what Raymond wants with a prostitute.
Clyde exhales. “Another set of eyes ain’t the worst thing in the world. Bonnie, got a hankering to see Mary again?”
Do I? I shrug. We ended on well enough terms when Doc’s closed its doors, but like I said, that was years ago. Years can change people. It’s changed me.
The next day, Mary’s waiting under the awning of a tattoo parlor on the outskirts of Dallas. Raymond stumbles out of the car, having shot himself with some morphine on the way there, and twirls her ’round.
It’d be sweet, if mixed emotions weren’t hitting me from all sides.
Raymond opens the rear door, announcing, “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Mary crawls in, a face so caked with makeup it’d take the strength of ten men to scrub it off. Her hair’s shorter than I remember, and it looks as if she had a finger curl—too many days ago.
The first time I saw Mary I remember thinking she had It. Sex appeal. The way she moved was suggestive. Her clothing was the nines. Not a stand of hair was out of place.
Granted, at the moment, she’s crawling ’cross the backseat, her knee catching on her black fur coat, but I can’t help thinking, She’s lost the It.
That doesn’t stop her from sitting down with an oomph and adjusting her long coat. Raymond reaches into the car, handing her a fur hat, and she fashions it just so, tilted to one side.
Side by Side Page 25
