Run (Run Duet #1)

by S. E. Chardou

  “And you would know this how?”

  “I’ve been a dealer for him since I was fifteen. That’s when he told me the big truth about my deceased mother messin’ around with him.” He exhaled and pushed the engine to ninety miles an hour. “I didn’t believe him at first but then as I developed, I started to see my resemblance to him. Ness was a Shaughnessy and I wasn’t. I couldn’t even get my mother to admit the truth. All she told me was that she didn’t want to talk about that time in her life.”

  I didn’t exactly know what to say. It wasn’t like my life was perfect but my mother had always been brutally honest with me. I knew the “family secret” of how when her parents divorced, her father took her because she could pass yet her sister couldn’t so my grandmother kept her and left Boston. She’d settled in Brooklyn, the same place my cousin had grown up as a Muslim when she converted as a young adult.

  I couldn’t claim them until that old bastard of my grandfather passed on but it was good to know I had family. Tyrone had promised me to update about whether everyone died that night we fled. It was funny because that part of my aunt that was denied to her ended up being the names of her children. My cousin, Shannon, had been named after County Shannon in Ireland and Tyrone after County Tyrone. Although she’d converted to Islam, she chose names that celebrated the heritage she’d been denied by my bastard grandfather.

  “Annabelle is performing at the Bluebird Café tonight—did you know that?”

  I glanced over at Shaw and smiled. “Yep. I thought you could use some family to be around. You know country isn’t my favorite genre but your cousin is gifted. She is the perfect blend of Carrie Underwood and Taylor Swift. I could see Annabelle McCarthy being a huge star one of these days.”

  He grabbed my free hand that didn’t hold the joint and squeezed. “Thank you.”

  “For what? Giving a shit?” I laughed before I dragged on the joint. “We’ll never know when we see family again so let’s celebrate with them while we can. All we have to do is avoid the Dixie Mafia and we’ll be good.”

  “Shit, they hate the Russians and Italians more than the Feds. If anything, they could offer us refuge.”

  “True but we can’t trust anyone, not at the moment, Shaw. We have to act like everyone is out to get us.”

  “Jesus, Liv—paranoid enough?”

  I hated how Shaw made me sound like some kind of conspiracy theorist. “Or maybe you just aren’t paranoid enough. We are running from some very dangerous people and don’t think just because you’re Povikov’s son he will give you mercy.” I crossed my arms against my breasts, angry because Povikov would give Shaw mercy—it was my own ass I was worried about.

  “What’s this really all about, babe?” He looked at me longer than I was comfortable with especially since he was driving. “Do you think I would let anything happen to you? I’d take your punishment, even if it meant death. I’ve always looked out for you. My so-called dad isn’t gonna hurt you ever. I’d kill him first and have no problem sleeping at night.”

  I rolled down the window enough to toss the small bit of what was left of the pot out of the car and rolled it back up. I knew he would protect me but I didn’t want any more death.

  I felt bad enough about what I did to those dirty cops but that was a Darwinian situation. It was them or us—I didn’t have a problem pulling the trigger, not after what they had done. But I was no trained killer. Before then, I’d never murdered anyone in my life. Yes, I had gladly taken the fall for what Shaw did to Vladimir but even that was an accident. Shaw hadn’t murdered the guy on purpose; he’d merely thrown him off of me, and an ancient and very priceless antique piece of wood severed his spinal cord, causing instantaneous death.

  However, I couldn’t deny that Shaw wasn’t a murderer. He’d been in prison and knew what it took to survive. He would kill for me and I’d let him do it too. Again, it was Darwinism at work. Our lives were the most important part of this situation. If we didn’t care about them then why the fuck were we running in the first place?

  Shaw and I arrived in Nashville shortly after eight in the evening. Between his speeding and the CB radio we’d picked up to spot highway patrolmen, we’d made good time.

  I wanted nothing but a motel room and some rest but hunger won out in the end. We drove to the Bluebird Café and managed to find a parking spot before we climbed out of the car, stretched and walked inside.

  Live country music was playing and the place was packed but the waitress managed to find us a small table near the back and handed us menus. I was starving but I was also mystified by the vision that was Annabelle McCarthy. Why this young woman of twenty didn’t have a record dead was beyond me. Probably because she didn’t upload her music to YouTube. Every artist nowadays seemed to be discovered on YouTube and places like the Bluebird Café were becoming old fashioned and passé.

  “Don’t you dare run up on me,

  Like it’s gonna be you and me tonight,

  Only thing I got for you is a shotgun and some buck shots, baby.

  I don’t care what you say about us being all right,

  I ain’t crazy when I saw you with peroxide blonde last night.

  “Get the hell out—you better start runnin’

  My daddy taught me how to shoot and I’m gunnin’

  To litter your behind with half of the bullets in this sawed off.

  All I gotta do is pull on the trigger,

  Oh, baby, you’re gonna need more than liquor,

  So go on and leave me in this broken down house . . . on my own.”

  The crowd went crazy as she finished up and she smiled in return. It was the face that could launch a dozen country and pop albums. Annabelle had a gift for song and every time I saw her, she amazed me even more.

  She’d come up to Boston while I was attending BU with nothing but an acoustic guitar and some spare panties on the Greyhound. We were the same size damn near except she was slightly slimmer than me. She wowed my friends and they didn’t even like country music but the dishwater blonde with the purple streaks in her hair had a strong voice and song writing skills that could break a million hearts. It didn’t hurt that her hazel eyes melted the soul of the meanest of them. She had that disposition no one could turn down.

  Annabelle spotted Shaw and I but she couldn’t do more than wink in our direction.

  “I wanna thank Ricky, Kyle and Billy for helping me out up here. I love this crowd and comin’ here to perform. I suppose the only place better would be the Grand Ole Opry but I won’t get ahead of myself just yet,” she said in her deep Louisiana accent.

  “Now, as most of y’all know, I hail from New Orleans. Not the French quarter but deeper in the bayou. My crazy French Creole mama mixed with a foolish, charming Irishman and voila, y’all—out came me. I always say what I play is a mixture of country-soul ‘cause Lord knows I gotta few tales to tell about some people. But my mouth stays shut on who I’m talking about. So, my last song tonight is called ‘Fugitives’ and I don’t even have to give a hint to who this song is about. I think they already know.”

  The crowd went crazy as she began to strum her guitar and leaned in closer to the microphone.

  “We’re fugitives,

  we just ain’t runnin’ from the law

  we’re fugitives,

  we stumble, fall and crawl

  Life’s a bitch,

  She’s mean and she’s keen

  But that’s what we chose

  Back in New Orleans

  “Can’t take the back roads, honey

  Ain’t lookin’ to do twenty to life,

  Gotta face it full on,

  Like Thelma and Louise with their strife

  I want you all to myself

  But you gotta ‘em lined up

  So what’s the decision, honey?

  You gonna pick me or keep runnin’?

  Said are you gonna keep on runnin’?

  “I’m a fugitive,

  Been dodgin’ you all my life />
  Through with this,

  Need to admit that you got me hog-tied

  I’ve always been yours to keep

  Even if the Lord may weep

  I’d follow you down to hell

  Damn it if I don’t break the devil’s spell!”

  The crowd was on their feet now and several couples were dancin’ to her mix of bluegrass, country and soul. Annabelle had it like that, even at the Bluebird Café.

  “We can’t take the back roads, honey

  I’m lookin’ to do twenty to life,

  Ready to face it full on, baby,

  Like Thelma and Louise with their strife

  I want you all to myself

  And I’ll knock them all outta line,

  So what’s the decision, honey?

  I won’t let you keep runnin’

  ‘Cause it’s me, or baby, you’re doin’ time!”

  The crowd all clapped, cheered and hollered as Annabelle finished. She bowed and smiled broadly.

  “Thank you to the patrons of the Bluebird Café for puttin’ up with me and I’ll see y’all next Friday.”

  She gathered up her guitar, set it in its case as general country music began to fill the air from the speakers. As she wished her temporary band mates goodbye, a tall good looking blond guy approached her and handed her his card. Her face turned ten shades of crimson before the smile on her face grew wider and she followed the guy to the bar.

  “I wonder who the big shot is?” Shaw turned toward me after we ordered burgers and fries along with rum and Cokes on the side.

  “Well, he’s definitely a big shot. That suit he’s in cost at least ten grand.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t graduate BU with just my good looks, Shaw; unfortunately, I had to earn my degree by working very fucking hard. I know that suit is expensive because the pharmaceutical rep from Switzerland wore it only his was midnight gray. It’s Armani, it’s expensive, and so are those shoes and that haircut. He’s not shinin’ your cousin on. That, right there, is a genuine rep from a music company with an unlimited budget.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I read Forbes, Fortune and the Wall Street Journal. They didn’t send a rep—the president of Introspect Records himself came down to see your cousin sing. Someone with deep pockets saw her and liked her. No other way someone like Dominic Stenfeldt would know she exists.”

  The waitress dropped off our drinks and I immediately demolished half my rum and Coke.

  “Wait a minute . . . I was reading an article about Ella Jade.”

  “I didn’t even think you knew who she was with all the rock and hip-hop you listen to,” I teased before I sipped on my drink again.

  “She’s on tour with that prick—what’s his name?—Brian Kinder. They recently came through here and she mentioned she and Brian got to go to the famous Bluebird Café and a singer named Annabelle McCarthy blew her away.” Shaw took out his straw and downed the whole rum and Coke in one go. “Shit, I shoulda ordered a beer on the side.

  “Great, at least I know who’s driving us to the motel ‘cause it certainly won’t be you.”

  “Give me a break, Liv.” He cleared his throat before he glanced at me with those gorgeous crystal blue eyes. “We gonna talk about the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room named ‘Fugitives?’”

  I rolled my eyes and sipped from my drink again. “What for? You’ve always known how I’ve felt about you, Shaw. You have a Madonna slash whore complex and nothin’ is gonna change that. Hell, most guys do even if they don’t wanna admit it.”

  He leaned closer to me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “There are women you fuck, and women you marry. You sowed your wild oats all over Boston but you always knew I was there . . . in the wings, waiting for you to settle down. It’s no surprise. I’m just shocked I never fucked anyone in college. Not that there weren’t appealing guys but they weren’t you.”

  Shaw glanced at me as if he was truly surprised. “That’s because there are women out there that just . . . well, they wanted more than what I was willing to give. I never fucked one girl by leading her on ‘cause that would be wrong. Not my fault they wanted my dick so much they knew nothin’ could come out of it.”

  “I’m not blamin’ you, baby. It’s just that women are whores and sluts for sleeping around but men are studs—”

  “You can say that because you truly haven’t had pussy that was worn out beyond its expiration point. Sorry, babe, you girls have kegel muscles to keep you tight and some women don’t know how to use them. A cock doesn’t change. It’s either adequate or it’s not. I’m not a small guy by any means but when I am fucking a woman and can barely feel her walls contract around me, it’s an issue. There’s a reason why stereotypes exist.”

  I displayed a small smile. “I hope you won’t be talking about that around your cousin because here she comes with a huge smile on her face.”

  “Fuck no,” Shaw said. “We’ll stow the sex shit for later on. And be glad you’re a virgin—you have no idea how many men can’t fuck to save their lives. It’s an art form, you know. To make a woman come with your cock and your fingers . . . it can be fucking poetry.”

  “Nice to know.” I displayed a big smile as Annabelle strode over. “You two came! I didn’t think you’d ever get to see me perform! And tonight is special because I’m leaving for L.A. with Mr. Stenfeldt. That’s the gentleman over there. Joe is gonna be pissed but this is my career we’re talking about. I gotta take what’s being offered to me.”

  “Don’t ever let a man get in the way of your ambition,” I replied as I grabbed her hand. “Dominic is the real deal and he isn’t just blowing smoke up your crack. He can make you a huge star.”

  Annabelle smiled beguilingly as if she wasn’t sure I was telling the truth or not. “Well, neither of you have changed a lick! What brings you to Nashville? You gonna stay awhile or are you just passing through?”

  “I need another drink,” Shaw remarked as he stood and walked directly to the bar.

  Her smile dropped as soon as he left the table. “Listen, I may not know nothing about the criminal underworld—”

  “What are you talking about, Anna? Joe is in the Dixie Mafia. They’re all the same—they just go by different names. And speakin’ of Joe, what are you gonna do with him? He can’t follow you to L.A.” I sipped my drink and thought about I’d need a couple of shots of Jack Daniels with a Coke the next time. Screw this rum and Coke shit.

  “Well, I do know what went down in Boston. Who doesn’t when it made national news? You’re lucky they think you two were part of the incident—”

  “What?” I pushed my drink aside and crossed my arms against my breasts. “I spoke to my cousin before we drove here. We stopped in New York. My mother and your aunt made it out alive. They’re in critical condition but they aren’t dead. Not that’s gonna be any consolation when they find out Ness didn’t make it.”

  “Yeah, they did,” Annabelle whispered. “They crawled out on their hands and knees and two of Carter’s guys got them to the hospital. The moment they left, Povikov’s men came around and torched the place. Burnt it clean to the ground. It’s like they didn’t want there to be any evidence and the cops can’t even identify the body by dental records.”

  “How can that be possibly? And how the hell do you know about Povikov?”

  “Joe. He sells pot to him every now and then when he’s running low—Povikov, not the Dixie Mafia. They grow that shit clear through the mountains in greenhouses. The temps here are perfect for it and it’s been a cash crop—kept Tennessee from becoming a wasteland after so many mines shut down.”

  Annabelle looked around before her hazel eyes settled on me. “They used acid or lye—something to speed up the decomposition of all the bodies, then they used paint thinner and gasoline to start the fire. Whoever they were, they knew they had the time to do it. Cops and the firemen didn’
t respond until around fifteen minutes after they left despite numerous calls from neighbors. You tell me who has that kind of power?”

  My heart thundered in my chest over what Annabelle had just told me. What good would it do for them to have people thinking we were dead? Easy, they were sending a message. In Povikov’s eyes, Shaw and I were as good as dead as soon as he caught up with us.

  “Where y’all headin’? To Mexico?”

  “I don’t think it’s wise for you to know our itinerary,” I replied as Shaw sat down with four shots of JD and two Cokes.

  I drowned my first shot like it was water and sipped the rest of my rum and Coke afterwards.

  “Belle,” Shaw began, “you’re a good girl. You’ve always been my belle, my little cousin I would shoot a man in the dick if he ever hurt one hair on your head. You don’t need to know where Liv and I are going but you need to get the hell outta here. Sever your ties with Joe—”

  “Carrick, you can’t ask me to do that!” she exclaimed as her face turned an unflattering shade of crimson. “I love him—”

  “Love someone else. I already spoke with that Dominic fella and he’s getting on his private jet in about an hour. I’ve already told ‘em you’re going with him. What Liv and I have done . . . the trouble we’re in . . . they’ll hurt everyone around us just to get to us. They know about you. You’re only safe in L.A. I’ve told Dominic enough but he has agreed to bodyguards and the works. But only if you leave that piece of shit Joe behind. Hell, he’ll lead ‘em right to you. Is that what you want?”

  Annabelle shook her head as tears fell from her eyes. “It’s just we were high school sweethearts and—”

  “Some things are better left when high school ends, Belle. Cut your ties and get your narrow ass on that plane with Dominic tonight. You got that?”

  “But—”

  “I ain’t askin’, Belle, I’m tellin’. If anything happens to you on account of what Liv and I got ourselves in, how am I supposed to forgive myself?” Shaw grabbed his cousins hands and held them closely. “You got a gift, cousin. One that needs to be shared with the world. You choose a life with Joe, he’ll have you barefoot, pregnant and resentful as hell you didn’t pursue your dream. Men like him don’t want a woman doin’ better than them. Trust me, I know the type.”