by Amy Harmon
She led them to an alcove that had a lousy view of the stage and the dance floor, which was probably why it was still unoccupied at after one in the morning. The waitress plopped two slim menus on the table and promised she’d be back. She wasn’t very friendly or chatty, which was fine with Finn.
There wasn’t a large selection, but he and Bonnie had been eating pretty simply since they left Boston—the last meal where they had actually sat at a table was the spaghetti in Shayna’s little kitchen in Ohio.
It didn’t take them long to decide, and the waitress came back with their water and took their orders. Finn wanted a beer in the worst way, but he didn’t want to be carded, so he and Bonnie both abstained. As they ate, Bonnie kept looking toward the stage and the little sliver of dance floor that she could see better than he could.
Her nose was wrinkled, and she had a perplexed look on her face.
“Maybe it’s because I’m a hillbilly, but I hate this music. It’s like being in a maze, or in one of those little hamster wheels, where you just keep spinning and spinning, and you never get anywhere.” She had to shout at him in order for him to hear her, and he ended up moving to sit by her side instead of across from her, so that they could speak into each other’s ears.
Finn wouldn’t have minded it so much had he not been listening to Bonnie sing for the last week. Bonnie’s songs were anything but a hamster wheel. She told stories and revealed secrets, and made him believe she sang just for him. He had a feeling that’s how everyone felt when they listened to her songs. That’s why she was Bonnie Rae Shelby.
He told her this, his mouth pressed to her ear, and she smiled up at him when he finished and then leaned toward him to respond.
“But Finn—I was singing to you. I just hadn’t found you yet. Don’t you see? From now on, every song will be yours.”
Her words were too sweet. Corny even. But she said them with such conviction, her hand against his opposite cheek, holding his face as she spoke into his ear, that he was moved by her words anyway. In spite of himself. He’d heard her yell into the wind, telling him she loved him too, but he’d been too upset with her to let himself believe anything she’d said in the heat of the moment. He didn’t know if Bonnie really loved him. He knew she liked him. He knew she was infatuated with him. He knew she was sad and lonely and lost. And because she was all those things, she needed him. For now.
He kissed her forehead and finished his meal in silence, feeling her eyes linger on his face, knowing he was confusing her, but not knowing how to explain himself without prompting more professions of love and devotion that he wouldn’t be able to believe. When the band took a ten-minute break, Finn eased himself from their booth to search out the men’s room and a chance to clear his head. Bonnie said she didn’t need to go, and that she would wait for him there.
He should have known he couldn’t leave her alone. Not even for five minutes. When he returned to their booth, she wasn’t there. He spun around, his eyes searching through the poorly lit space, wondering if she’d changed her mind about the bathroom, when he saw her.
She was on the stage. She stood beneath the lights on the little platform that had been vacated by the jumping trio and their drummer, so totally opposite of Bonnie Rae in every way, only a few minutes before. All four of them were sitting at a table nearby, clearly cool with her entertaining their audience while they took a breather. One even raised his glass, as if to say, “Have at it.”
“Shit! Bonnie Rae!” he hissed, trying not to draw attention to himself as he eased toward the stage, anxious and furious and stunned that she would pull such a stunt. She had slung the fat one’s electric guitar over her slim shoulders and was fingering the strings like she was as comfortable on the stage as she had been in his Blazer, her feet on the dash, her eyes on his face. She plugged it back into the amp nearby and leaned forward.
“Hey.” Her mouth kissed the mic as she breathed her greeting, and the crowd instantly quieted. Vocal magic. He’d witnessed it before.
“Y’all don’t care if I sing you a little somethin’, do ya?”
Her arms were slim and golden, toned and taut, her cap of dark hair sleek and shining under the flickering strobe that obscured her features and shadowed her face in half-light. He didn’t think anyone would realize they were about to be serenaded by an international superstar. Nobody would guess how many miles she’d come, or that she hadn’t prepared to sing or be seen. But she was up there doing both, just for the pleasure of doing her thing. Her snug jeans, cow-girl boots, and tight blank tank looked very natural on stage, and Finn fought the urge to swing her into his arms and run into the night, keeping her safe, keeping her hidden, keeping her close.
“It’s just somethin’ I’ve been thinking about,” she said, as if she were talking to her best friend. The electric guitar was a little at odds with her down home style, but she kept it simple as she began to play, her fingers plucking effortlessly at unfamiliar strings, picking out a tune Finn instantly recognized as the one she’d been humming last night. The one he’d asked her to sing. Seems she was granting his request. And then her eyes found his.
I cannot describe
Or explain the speed of light
Or what makes thunder roll across the sky
And I could never theorize about the universe’s size
Or explain why some men live and some men die
Her voice filled the space so effortlessly that Finn felt a shot of fear, certain she’d be rushed by fans who recognized her signature sound, that she’d be swept off the stage in a deluge of frenetic humanity. But everyone was listening, a few couples dancing, and Bonnie Rae kept singing, pondering out loud the things she didn’t know.
I can’t even guess
I would never profess
To know why you are here with me
And I cannot comprehend
How numbers have no end,
The things you understand, I can’t conceive
Infinity + One
Is still infinity.
And no matter how I try
I’m bound by gravity.
But the things I thought I knew
Changed the minute I met you.
It seems I’m weightless
and I’m endless after all.
Finn felt heat and heartache rise in his throat as Bonnie threw back her head, singing a song that could only be for him. And the audience moaned with her as she climbed an entirely different kind of bridge.
Weightless and endless.
Timeless and restless.
So light that I’ll never fall.
Weightless and endless.
Hopelessly breathless.
I guess I knew nothing at all.
Infinity + One
Is still infinity.
And no matter how I try
I’m bound by gravity.
But the things I thought I knew
Changed the minute I met you.
It seems I’m weightless
and I’m endless after all.
She hadn’t panted and strutted, she hadn’t moved her body in sultry ways. She hadn’t serenaded the crowd with suggestive lyrics, but she’d bared her soul and Finn’s soul too, and he didn’t think he would have felt more naked or exposed if he’d participated in a strip-tease.
I’m weightless and I’m endless after all. That was it. He felt weightless. Her eyes were on his as she stepped back from the mic and shrugged the strap back over her head. The bouncing band seemed momentarily stunned as she set down the borrowed guitar, fully aware that their audience had completely abandoned them for a slip of a girl with a pixie hair-cut and red cowboy boots. The crowd took a collective breath and released it in shouts and applause and stomping.
Finn had been moving toward her as she sang, walking toward her because he couldn’t walk away, and now he closed the gap, side-stepping dancers and drinking observers and swept her up bodily as she moved to step off the stage. She gasped a little as her feet left the grou
nd, but then his mouth found hers, hot with need, but laced with anger at her foolishness. It was the second time he’d kissed her in frustration. But regardless of the reason, it didn’t take Bonnie long to catch up, and she kissed him back, unaffected by the crush of people around them.
And then Finn heard the whispers. He heard the name Bonnie Rae Shelby ricochet around the room in hissed wonder, as if people guessed but weren’t sure. She didn’t look the same. But her voice was distinctive, and once you saw through someone’s disguise, it was completely useless. The moment question became belief, there would be a stampede. He pulled his lips from hers and barreled toward the back entrance he’d noticed upon arriving. Bonnie had taken her purse to the stage with her, and it now hung across her body. But their coats were back at their table, and they hadn’t paid for their meal. Shit! He set Bonnie down and pushed her toward the side entrance, across from the bar.
“Stand by the exit. Don’t go out! Wait for me! I’m going to grab our coats and leave some money on the table.” He strode toward the alcove that housed the booth where they’d tried to hide before Bonnie gave in to the lure of the microphone. Digging out his wallet, he tossed more than enough money to cover their dinner among the plates and napkins that had yet to be cleared. He grabbed their coats and was heading back toward the exit, pushing around people that were still watching, still wondering, although the band had begun to sing again, desperately trying to recapture their audience after Bonnie’s performance. The pounding drums were sufficient distraction for most of the patrons, and Finn had never been more grateful for obnoxiously loud music in his life. His eyes were on Bonnie, on the ten steps it would take to reach her and exit the building, when the lights flickered, the sound system lost power, and the band was upstaged once more.
Cops flooded into the room from every entrance, SWAT team style, all in black, shields and weapons raised, DEA written across every chest. Finn lunged for Bonnie and narrowly missed the advancing stream of police shouting for everyone to get down. He obeyed immediately, pulling Bonnie with him, but he didn’t stay put. He crawled toward the bar just to his right, finding himself nose to nose with the wide-eyed bartender, the college kid who he suspected had a cocaine habit and a side business that paid for it.
“Is there a way out that nobody knows about? A window, a cellar, the roof, anything?” he shouted into the bartender’s face, the din around them making it impossible to do anything but yell.
“They’re DEA! I’m in so much shit, man!” Jagger started to babble.
“So let’s get out of here!” Finn coaxed, willing the bartender to pull a disappearing act out of his hat for all of them. Jagger nodded, gulping, and eased himself deeper behind the bar and Finn followed him on his hands and knees, pushing Bonnie in front of him, his hand on her rear end, urging her along. The bartender opened what appeared to be a large cabinet built into the wall behind the bar, about three feet by two feet, and Finn worried for a second that the wiry bartender was going to crawl inside and pull the doors closed behind him, a hiding spot for one.
“It’s the recycling—there’s a delivery dock on the other side of this wall and a dumpster where we keep the empty glass bottles until they are picked up. This shoot feeds the dumpster. Careful. There’s lots of broken glass.”
Jagger shimmied into the opening, feet first, and disappeared almost immediately. Bonnie didn’t need prodding and copied his exit. The opening was a little narrow for someone Finn’s size, but he turned his shoulders, squeezing himself through, and dropped into a half-full bin of glass bottles, most of them still in one piece. The dumpster was shoved into the right angle between the back wall and the wall with the recycling shoot. There was only one way to go, and the young bartender was already loping down the narrow loading dock toward the sliding metal door.
Finn called out to him, warning him. He knew what would be on the other side of the door. The police weren’t stupid. They would have the exit covered, and if he went out, they would come in. Jagger halted and ran back as Finn swung out of the dumpster behind Bonnie and looked around for another way out that wouldn’t be as obvious and destined for failure.
A door opened across from them, and an old man with a janitor’s uniform and a haggard face stepped out onto the blacktop, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket, the pocket with a laminated employee badge with a picture, an employee number, and a barcode clipped to it for all to verify. Apparently Verani’s wasn’t the only business that used the loading dock. The janitor patted his pocket for a light and Bonnie ran toward him, Finn and the bartender on her heels, digging in her purse as she did.
She held a hundred dollar bill out to the man as she approached him.
“We need to get out of here. Can you take us through there?” She nodded toward the door he’d just exited.
The man looked at her as if he didn’t understand English and lit his cigarette, puffing as he ignored the money in her outstretched hand and stared at her face sullenly. Bonnie looked at Finn and shrugged helplessly.
Finn took it from her and held it in front of the eyes of the man who didn’t seem inclined to help, or even acknowledge them. The movement drew the man’s attention from Bonnie’s face to Finn’s hand. The man’s eyes clung to the five dots on Finn’s skin between his thumb and his pointer finger.
“You do time?” he grunted, and his eyes swung up to meet Finn’s.
“Yeah. You?” Finn said, not batting an eye.
“Yeah.” Another grunt in the affirmative. “Long time ago.”
“Verani’s is crawling with cops,” Finn said. “And I don’t especially want to serve any more.”
The man stubbed out his cigarette on the concrete wall and nodded once.
“You two runnin’ ‘cause you’re guilty?” he asked, looking from Bonnie to Finn.
“No. We’re running because we’re not. What’s going down in there has nothing to do with us.”
He nodded again, like that made sense to him.
“I’ll let you two go through. Not him.” He used a jut of his chin to indicate the jittery bartender.
“Wh–what?” The bartender bounced nervously.
“You’re dealin’. I’ve seen you out here. Selling snort. To kids. You go out that way. Take your chances.” He used his chin once again to point toward the entrance to the loading dock. “I’m not helpin’ you.”
The bartender looked to Finn for support, but Finn shook his head, not giving it.
Jagger shrieked out a string of obscenities as he realized he was on his own. “I’m telling everyone I saw her! I’m telling! I’ll tell them Bonnie Rae Shelby came here tonight looking for a hit,” he said, pointing at Bonnie, threatening to tattle like he was nine years old and had been snubbed on the playground.
Finn turned on him with a curse and a well-placed swing to his wagging jaw, and the bartender crumpled into a heap. Out cold. For the second time in five minutes, Finn’s time in prison had come in handy.
“If he does, you can bet I’ll be telling what I know too,” the janitor said, swiping his employee badge in the card reader by the heavy door, disengaging the locks. He held the door wide for Bonnie and Finn, and seemed almost pleased as he tossed a final look at the unconscious dealer laying on the concrete.
“Karma’s a bitch, but I sure like her tonight,” was all he said, and the door swung shut behind them.
It was an office building, cubicles and phone systems packed into the large room that the janitor led them through. When they reached the lobby, he disengaged the alarm, dug in his breast pocket, and handed the bill back to Bonnie, insisting that he didn’t like bribes any better than he liked drug dealers. But he acquiesced and took it back when she signed it with a black sharpie she dug from her purse, telling him it was a gift.
Bonnie gave the old ex-con a big smile as she dropped the pen back into her purse, and he took a step back, momentarily dazzled, lifting his hand in farewell as she slipped out the entrance into the dark street beyond. Finn knew
how he felt, and he trailed after the girl who had brought him nothing but a pain in his ass and fire in his heart since the moment he’d met her.
They walked quickly but approached the parking lot warily, trying to remain in the shadows, not knowing what they would find. What they found was chaos. Chaos could be good because it provided cover, but from what he could tell, nobody was being allowed to leave. Something major was going down, and Finn doubted the bust was about Jagger. This was big time—big drugs, big players. Verani’s was a hot spot for more than the music, late hours, and food, apparently, just like the Escalade driver had hinted. It wouldn’t be re-opening anytime soon, and Bonnie and Finn wouldn’t be getting to Bear’s car anytime soon either.
“What time is it?” Finn asked Bonnie. He couldn’t see the face of his watch, and she was the only one with a phone. His throwaway model was in the Charger, and the phone he’d started the trip with was in the Blazer—the first ride they’d had to abandon. He cursed.
“Three. It’s three o’clock in the morning,” she answered. “We’re going to have to leave the car, aren’t we?” As usual, she was taking it in stride.
Finn looked at her soberly.
“That convenience store, the one where we got gas?” he said. Bonnie nodded. “It was a Greyhound stop. I saw the logo in the window. How do you feel about taking the bus?”
IT IS NOW believed that Bonnie Rae Shelby and ex-convict, Infinity James Clyde, are driving the black, 2012, Dodge Charger that belongs to Malcolm “Bear” Johnson, Miss Shelby’s long-time bodyguard, and victim of a convenience store shooting yesterday. Mr. Johnson has been upgraded from critical to serious condition, though police say he is still not able to communicate or answer questions at this time.
