“Need something else, sugar?” The cigarette had burned down in the last few minutes, the ember almost to the woman’s lips.
Gwen jerked a thumb back in Annie’s direction. “My girlfriend’s having a bad day. Think you could make something special to cheer her up? Something sweet—like you.”
“Aren’t you a flirt, now?” the woman said, giggling. She started picking up various bottles of alcohol and poured them all together. Gwen turned around to watch the men play pool, surprised to see that several other patrons had come in while she was distracted. She glanced at her watch. Almost eight. The night crowd was starting to arrive. She and Annie would want to leave sooner rather than later. More eyes meant more people that might have seen Annie’s photo. She turned back as the bartender finished her liquid masterpiece and set it on the bar. Gwen could smell vermouth and something fruity.
“Anything else for you, hon? Another beer?”
“Whiskey, if you have it. Double. Neat.”
She paid for the overpriced drinks, once again tipping wildly, and brought them back to the booth. Annie was fiddling with a book of matches, lighting them one at a time before dropping the spent sticks into the ashtray. She took the glass of whiskey before Gwen had a chance to stop her and threw it back in one gulp.
Seeing Gwen’s face, she said, “Oh. I’m sorry. Was that red one for me?”
“It’s okay,” Gwen said, sitting down. She took a small sip of the cocktail, gagged, and pushed it away. “Tastes like cough syrup.”
Annie grabbed the glass, drained it, and then smiled. “Tastes fine to me. Anything’s good after three years.”
“No toilet gin in the joint?”
Annie laughed. “Not that I saw. I was trying to be good—maybe get early release.”
Gwen liked seeing her laugh. She liked the way the alcohol had brought a little color back to her face. This was, she thought, the first time she’d seen Annie almost relaxed, normal.
She wrenched her gaze away from her face, watching the growing crowd of men fill up the area around the bar. Most of them were very young. Some, she suspected, had gotten in based on the loose carding policy at the door. She’d benefitted from something similar when she was their age, making her first forays into places just like this. She felt Annie’s eyes on her and looked back to find her staring, a smile lifting one side of her mouth.
“What?”
Annie shrugged. “You looked, I don’t know, wistful, for a minute.”
She took Annie’s hand in hers again, not realizing she was doing it until she had. “I was remembering something.”
Annie nodded, and her eyes grew wary again. “What are we going to do, Gwen? We can’t sit in here all night.”
“I don’t think it’s safe to go back to the hotel, either.” She paused. “Don’t you know anyone in town, someone you could call? What about that woman from earlier? What did she suggest? I mean, besides killing me.”
Annie ignored the last part. “She suggested I contact an old friend of mine. A trucker. She thought maybe he could smuggle me out in his rig.”
“What’s stopping you? Afraid he won’t help?”
“No—that’s the problem. I know he will, but I don’t want to get him in trouble. Tom and I go way back. Childhood friends. Anyway, I don’t know if I should call him. I’m worried they might have tapped his phone. He was on my list of known associates.”
“They couldn’t tap his phone, could they? Is that even legal?”
“It was tapped before. They used it in court.”
“Jesus. Still, I think those rights expire or something. They wouldn’t have tapped it this whole time.”
Annie shrugged. “Maybe. Still, I can’t be sure either way. At the very least, they’re probably watching his place.”
“Could you meet him somewhere else? Like, does he go to a bar somewhere, or something? Somewhere you could run into him?”
Annie’s face lit up. “What time is it?”
“Eight fifteen.”
“And it’s Tuesday, right?”
“Yep. Still Tuesday.” The longest Tuesday in existence, she thought.
“Tom works the night shift. He’ll get to work around ten. We might be able to catch him before he heads inside.”
“What if he’s out? I mean, like out driving somewhere.”
Annie shook her head. “He won’t be. He works Tuesdays through Saturdays, back and forth from different cities up through Wyoming.”
“What if his schedule’s changed? When’s the last time you spoke?”
“Two weeks ago. He visits me at least once a month.”
“It’s worth a try.”
“I hate to think of him getting into trouble, but if we can get out of town, he won’t be in danger for more than an hour, tops.”
“Let’s go,” Gwen said, sliding out. At the last second, she remembered to grab her leather bag, her heart tripping for a moment in relief. Leaving it would have caused a major problem.
“How are we going to get there? He parks his truck way across town,” Annie said, standing up next to her. She slid her hands through her hair, those pale, loose curls catching on her fingers. Gwen had to look away, that pinched, tight feeling rising in her stomach again.
“What did you say?”
“I said how are we going to get there? Stealing a car would be…risky, wouldn’t it? With all those police nearby?”
Gwen didn’t respond, leading her by the hand through the now-crowded bar. Annie kept her head down, but no one really watched them too closely, everyone wrapped up in showing off, having a good time. The only person who seemed to focus on them briefly was the only other woman in here besides the bartender. She was an older butch, and she grinned at Gwen and lifted her chin in Annie’s direction, as if praising her choice. Gwen grinned back at her and kept going, winding through the people that towered above them.
It was a relief to be outside again. The night had already taken some of the edge off the heat. That was the nice thing about dry climates—the sun went down, and it actually cooled off in the summer.
“So?” Annie asked. “How are we going to get there?”
Gwen was about to respond when she heard her answer coming from the street. She led Annie out of the alley, spotted a bus stop, and walked over to it. The bus was still a block away.
“But we don’t know where it goes,” Annie said, peering at it like she was.
“Away from here. That’s good enough for me. We can take it a mile or two, get out, and grab a cab.”
They were still holding hands by the time the bus finally stopped for them, and Gwen reluctantly let go in order to pay. If Annie had minded the handholding, she hadn’t let on, and as they sat down together, Gwen wondered what that meant.
Chapter Seven
“Oh, crap,” Annie said. “I meant to pay. I keep forgetting I have money again.”
“I doubt the bus driver could have broken a hundred. Also, keep it down about having money.”
“What? Why?” Annie said, glancing behind them. “Oh.”
A group of young men sat some ten seats back. Each took up an entire double seat, legs wide and shoulders slouching in a kind of aggressive casualness. The one closest to them had been staring at them since they climbed in. A couple of blocks passed, and Gwen thought they might be able to get through this ride without being bothered, but then she heard it: kissing sounds.
“Hey, ladies!” one of them called. “Why don’t you come back here and sit with us?”
“Yeah,” another said. “I got an empty lap.”
Gwen felt Annie tense next to her and gripped her hand. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered.
“Hey, blondie!” one of them shouted, a little louder now. “What are you doing with that weird-looking bitch?”
“You’d have more fun with us!” another called.
“Maybe we should get off here,” Annie said as the bus slowed down to let someone on.
Gwen shook her head.
“No. Not far enough. If we ignore them, we should be okay. The bus driver will stop them from doing anything.”
“He will?”
Gwen nodded, not really believing this. The driver might caution them, but he wouldn’t be able to do much unless or until they tried something—neither was a good scenario. She changed the subject.
“Can you tell where the bus is going?”
Annie squinted out the window and nodded. “Yes. If we stay on this road, we’re heading north.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Tom’s job is this way, so we’re going the right way—the right direction, anyway. The truck depot is somewhere on the north end of town, at any rate. I’ll have to find the actual address somehow.”
Almost as if saying it had jinxed them, at the next intersection, the bus made a right turn. Annie was peering outside to get her bearings, and she sagged a moment later. “Damn it. We’re going the wrong way—east, I think. We need to go west and north.”
Gwen pulled the little cord above the windows, and the bus started to slow. In the reflection in the glass, she saw the young men stand up with them but didn’t turn around. She maneuvered herself between Annie and them and followed her to the exit door. Annie seemed oblivious to the drama taking place behind her. She got out of the bus and stared up and down the street, not paying attention.
Gwen, however, planted herself on the bottom step and stared up at the man in front of the others. He met her eyes, and she heard him mutter an ethnic slur about her under his breath. His smug grin disappeared when she pulled the gun out of her pocket a little. He backed up so fast he bumped into the guy behind him, and she left the bus right when they started swearing and swinging at each other. They would probably be kicked off a block or two down, so she and Annie needed to get off the street as soon as possible.
Annie was still peering around, then shook her head at Gwen. “I have no idea where we are. I didn’t see the street sign when we turned, and I don’t think I ever went down this way.”
Spotting a little diner across the street, Gwen pointed. “Let’s go in there and call a cab. Maybe they have a phone book we can use.”
This time of the evening, after the dinner rush but before the post-bar crawl, the diner was almost empty. Someone in the back called for them to choose their own seats, and Gwen led Annie to a little two-person booth farthest from the windows, making her sit with her back to the street. The table hadn’t been cleaned since the last patrons, a cigarette butt still smoldering in the ashtray and a couple of used coffee mugs sitting in wet, brown rings. Gwen pushed both to the edge of the table, disgusted.
“God, I’m starving,” Annie said.
“Me, too. Do you think we have enough time to eat?”
“Tom’s job shouldn’t be more than ten or fifteen minutes from here. What time is it now?”
“Almost nine.”
“Something quick, then.”
The waiter—a pallid, scrawny, college-aged kid—appeared, his uniform and hair depressingly greasy. Still, Gwen knew she needed some food, hygiene be damned.
“Egg sandwich with cheese,” she told him. “And coffee, please.”
“The same, but with fries and a Coke. And a side of ranch, please,” Annie said.
“Is there a phone here?” Gwen asked him.
The kid pointed with his pencil to a little hallway nearby.
“I’ll go get the address and call a cab,” Annie said, standing up. She hesitated. “Can I borrow thirty-five cents? I still don’t have any change.”
Gwen dug around in her pocket and fished one out.
“Thanks.”
Gwen watched the street, waiting for the dickheads on the bus to appear, but they didn’t show up outside or across the street. She relaxed a little, starting to feel more than a little foolish. It had been stupid to flash her gun at them like that—too memorable, too obvious. If they saw her picture on the news, they’d remember her. Like leaving the fingerprints in the car, she’d been careless, impulsive. She needed to stop being stupid, or they’d be caught—it was that simple. Part of her anger-management therapy had focused on her impulsive behavior. She was slipping.
She turned around and watched Annie flipping through the phone book. Annie opened her purse and took out a little notebook and pen, writing something down. Then she flipped around some more and picked up the phone. Despite her proximity, the ambient noise of the diner was loud enough to drown out her conversation, and Gwen felt uneasy. Annie could be calling anyone, talking to anyone, and she wouldn’t know.
“Stop it,” she said aloud, making herself turn back toward the street. She didn’t have any reason to distrust Annie now, not after their near escape. They’d been through a lot together in the last few hours, and she felt like they’d turned a corner. And yet…Gwen couldn’t stop thinking about that woman on the phone in the motel—the one that told Annie to kill her. If Annie was mixed up with people like that, who was to say she wouldn’t turn on her when it suited her?
What did Gwen know about her, anyway? She was smart and pretty, yes, and her accent was sexy as hell—Gwen would never deny her attraction to her. She was halfway convinced that Annie was attracted to her, too. That lovey-dovey charade back at the bar had been a little too easy, a little too normal for her. And, of course, she’d taken her to a gay bar, for God’s sake, so the likelihood was pretty high she was gay or bi, too. Still, Gwen didn’t want to let any of those possibilities blind her to reality. This woman was a convicted felon and friends with killers. Annie hadn’t denied her involvement in the crime, which, while nonviolent, apparently involved violent people.
Annie sat down, and her eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“Sorry—little jumpy.”
“S’okay. I think I found the address. I was there one time, so I should recognize it. So many of those trucking companies have similar names, but they’re all next to each other. We should be able to find the right one, even if I got the name wrong. The cab will be here in half an hour. That should give us enough time to eat and get over there before Tom shows up for his shift.”
“Good idea.”
The food was delivered, and Gwen dove into her sandwich at once, the yolk dripping out and running down her fingers. She was done before it felt like she’d even started. She watched Annie sock away her much-larger meal, amused, once again, by how quickly and messily she ate. The waiter reappeared as Annie stuffed in the last fry.
“Anything else?” he asked, his tone as washed out as his uniform.
“Slice of cherry pie, if you have it. And the check.”
He slouched away, head down, shoulders dropped, to put in the order.
“You really like your fries and pie,” Gwen said.
“And ranch dressing,” Annie said, grinning. “I could go swimming in the stuff. We didn’t get it on the inside, not once. Not even with the sad pieces of lettuce they called salad.” Her face sobered, her eyes distant. “Funny, the things you miss when you can’t have them. Even bad pie is better than no pie. My sister—” Her mouth almost snapped closed.
“What about your sister?”
She focused on Gwen, her eyes welling with tears, and shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t want to talk about her.”
So, Gwen thought, the distrust was on both sides. Still, she didn’t really blame her. She wouldn’t have trusted herself, either, if they’d met under any circumstances, let alone like this. She didn’t look like a trustworthy person, dressed like this or any other way. Hell, maybe she wasn’t. Attraction or not, she’d betray Annie the moment she had to, so she couldn’t expect anything different.
Annie ate the pie in three bites, but it took a manager to break the hundred-dollar bill she insisted on using to pay. Gwen was aware once again that they were being too noticeable, too recognizable and memorable to blend in. She would have to convince Annie to stop using her money or get it exchanged somehow. Otherwise, they’d leave a trail behind them even the laziest policeman cou
ld follow.
They stood outside in the now-chilly evening air, waiting for the cab. Annie’s arms were crossed over her chest as she shivered, and Gwen was tempted to offer her jacket. Gallant as the gesture might be, that would put her at a disadvantage. She had nowhere else to store her gun, nowhere handy, anyway. She could put it back in her bag, but she wouldn’t be able to get to it quickly if Annie should decide to pull one on her.
“Christ, it’s cold,” Annie said.
“Shouldn’t be long, now.”
“I hope so. I don’t know what we’ll do if we miss Tom before he goes in.”
“So this Tom…” Gwen said, unable to stop herself. “Is he an old boyfriend?”
Annie laughed. “Tom? No. He’s not. Just an old friend.”
Some doubt must have shown on Gwen’s face, as Annie smiled and touched her arm. “Really—we’re friends. He’s the one I went to that bar with. Before, I mean. I went with him for support.”
Gwen met her eyes. “Yours or his?”
Despite the dim light leaking out from the diner, Annie’s face colored, and she looked away, not responding.
You idiot, Gwen thought. Nice and subtle. She was about to apologize, but the cab appeared, pulling into the empty parking space in front of them. They got inside, Annie gave the driver the address, and they sat in what felt to Gwen like an awkward silence for the entire trip.
Maybe this was better. The camaraderie they’d built since leaving the motel could only be temporary. They had planned, after all, to get the money, skip town, and part ways. The first part of this scheme was moot, but once they finally made it past the police barricades, they’d probably never see each other again. In the meantime, they had no reason to be friendly—it complicated things.
Already, Gwen was going to have to figure out how to clean up this mess. By now, the police had her fingerprints, and if they managed to track their movements for the last couple of hours, they’d know she was with Annie and certainly not a hostage anymore. There was probably video surveillance of them at this point, from the bus, if nowhere else. It would take a lot of work to undo today’s fuckup, if that was even possible.
On the Run Page 7
