Wanted (10 page)

I spy a green bottle with a fancy wooden knob at the top. Looks like a bottle of men's toilet water. I smile, remembering Bonnie's first job with me. How she sidetracked the owner in the back of the store while I robbed the cash register up front. I was so cocksure that I even slapped on some fancy cologne from Paris, France, before I took off. After we got away, we had us a good laugh over it. Bonnie cozied up next to me and said I looked and smelled as handsome as a movie star. Started to kiss me right while I was driving. I'm no fool. I pulled down a dirt path about ten miles out, and me and Bonnie had fun right there in the back seat.

Looking down at my manhood, I smile. Looks like all of Jack's equipment belongs to me now. I'm getting a rise just thinking about being with a woman. Poor bastard is probably looking through my eyes right now wondering what the hell happened to him.

I smile at the mirror, knowing Jack Daniel can see me. “Too bad, pally. I'm here to stay. You might be stubborn, but I'm stronger and smarter than you, you little sissy.”

I unscrew the wooden knob of the cologne and look up at the ceiling. “Bonnie, honey? This here's for you, girl.” I take off the lid and give the bottle a whiff to see if I fancy it. The second that piney smell hits my nose, a tiny light flashes through the corner of my vision. Damn it to hell! I slam the lid on and stumble backward a few steps, landing on the bed. I pick up the side of the quilt and blow my nose real hard, case any of that toilet water got into my nostrils.

As I rub the gunk off my fingers onto his bedcovering, I realize that the flashing lights was the boy trying to come back and reclaim his body. Shiest! I gotta be more careful.

I stare into the mirror, so's Jack can see me, maybe read my lips. “Do you want your body back, boy? Well, too bad! I ain't never wearing cologne again, so you can stay right where you're at.” I stick my thumb on the end of my nose and waggle my fingers, getting a good belly laugh over it.

I picture myself getting cozy with Twinkle, knowing Jack will be watching from inside my head. That oughta really rile him up. He can't do nothing about it, neither. The funny thing is, she won't even know the difference. What am I saying? Of course she'll know—cuz I'll show her how a real man romances a woman—putting her needs first above all else. I'll woo her with flowers, tell her how pretty she looks, and then we'll talk about everything under the sun until she begs me to kiss her. Yeah, that'll be real nice. I reckon Jack will garner a few pointers from watching me in action, too.

Even though the communicating device gives me the heebie-jeebies, I grab it off the floor and shove it in my pocket. Don't know what my future holds, but I have to be ready for anything. I take three steps toward the door and stop. I walk back to the bed, then over to the dresser two times. I can't believe it! I ain't got no limp no more! Ever since I axed off two of my toes to get early release from Eastham Prison, I've had to hobble round like an old man. I chuckle and strut down the hall looking at my feet, happy as a preacher on Sunday. Guess what happened in the past don't matter none now, do it? I got all my toes back. Thank you, Jack Daniel.

When I wander into the kitchen, I see a guy about my age with curly blond hair sitting at the table reading the paper. His clothes are smooth and fresh, like this chump is loaded. I consider hightailing it out of there, but I'm too late. Curly looks at me. “What were you yelling about in your room?”

I need to play it cool until I find out who he is and what he wants. This guy could be a lawman for all I know. “Nothing, just mutterin' to myself.” I lean on the counter, casual-like, sizing him up. “But I got to get my hands on some cash. Can you spare a sawbuck?”

“Why you talking so weird? What the hell's a sawbuck?” the twit asks, frowning.

If'n I want to fit in, looks like I got to “tone down the Texan” like Daddy used to say. I try to remember how to make myself sound a high brow Yankee. “Just being funny is all. About the money, if ten is too much, I'll take a fin, uh, five dollars. Whatever you got.”

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” the pip asks as he pulls out his wallet.

“You like it, eh?” I slick it back with my hands.

“Like it? You look like a dork.” He hands me a ten-spot, no questions asked. My kind of fella. “Pay me back when you get your next paycheck, loser.”

I size him up, tempted to make him give me all his cash after calling me a loser. But since I ain't got my bearings just yet, I settle for the ten. Not sure how much things cost nowadays, but this ought to be enough to buy me a gun. “I'll give you that and double,” I tell him, knowing I ain't never gonna see him ever again. “You know where I can get me a car?”

Curly slides his wallet back into his pocket and laughs. “Your keys are right behind you on the table, dumbass.”

“What did you call me?” I ball up my fists, ready to pound on his face.

He yawns, waving a hand at me. “Chill out. What's wrong with you? Are you high or something?”

Taking a deep breath, I decide to let the curse slide for now. If I knew for sure that I'd see this bum again, I'd let him know that no one calls me names and gets away with it. He's lucky I didn't ram his teeth down his throat. I turn around and snatch up the keys, but they don't look like none I ever seen. I can't help smiling when I see Ford on the key fob. Hope like heck that it's an 8-cylinder. “Thanks, kid.”

He looks confused. “Who are you calling ‘kid'? And why are you still talking with that accent? You in a play at school or something?”

“Yeah, I'm James Cagney.” I open the door, wanting to get out quick.

“Don't be gone long,” Curly yells. “Dad said he's bringing a pizza home.”

Looks like Curly is my new brother. He ain't nothing like Buck though. Buck was smart and a true gentleman in every way, while Curly is just surly. Ha! Ain't that a hoot. Surly Curly.

“Yup,” I tell him. “Shouldn't take but half-hour to get my business done.”

As I head out the door, I remember the first time I heard about pizza, from my wop friend, Gino. Said it had tomato sauce and cheese on a crispy bakery crust and was all the rage in New York. Now, while getting dinner in my empty belly sounds mighty tempting, I got me a job to do. I need cash so I can drive to West Dallas, my hometown in Texas. I want to see if one of my relatives still owns our filling station, maybe a niece or nephew. I need a place to hole up while I track down who set me up and got me kilt. Because if by some miracle he's alive, he ain't gonna be for long.

When I step outside, saliva near falls out my mouth. There are big, fancy houses all in a row and cars in every color under the sun. Everyone has green grass and flowers are blooming everywhere, which means people around here have money to blow. Things have really changed since I been gone—changed for the better. I stroll over to the shiny blue car in the carport out front and run my hand along its side. I whistle in admiration. This is one gorgeous vehicle. By the sight of all the money all these folks got, the Ain't-So-Great Depression is long gone.

My hand is jiggly from excitement as I yank open the door and hop inside. Sweet Jesus! Looks like Jack Daniel is rolling in dough! Leather seats, gadgets and gears, fancy radio with lots of buttons. I feel the smooth leather on my palms and my heart starts racing. I can't wait to see how much power this beauty has. Even my pecker is excited about driving this sweet ride. I spent the last two years of my life in cars so I love and respect Mr. Ford's invention. Because of that, they love and respect me right back. After I search high and low for the ignition, I finally find it on the steering column. I slip the key into the slot and the engine roars into life.

“I'm going to have me some fun tonight!” I don't know how to work all these levers, but I'm sure I can figure it out. I peer over and under, studying the different parts and how they work, amazed at all the jazzy gizmos they got now. When I see there's no clutch, I realize—it don't need one! This car shifts by itself! And different speeds on the windscreen wipers? Talk about swanky. I take a deep breath and set the gear to “D” for “Drive.”

Slick as rain, I maneuver this baby onto the street like I've been doing it my whole life. I drive slow at first, testing things out. It's like a dream how easy it is to steer this thing. I cruise down the road, awed that there ain't no wheel or carriage ruts to slow me down. As I get the hang of it, I press the accelerator and let this automobile zoom into high speed. “Yee-ha!” I shout, loud as I can. Even though the power of this auto ain't nothing like the 12-cylinder Packards, it's still mighty fine.

A cad pushing a baby buggy shakes his fist at me from the sidewalk, but I don't pay him no mind. He's prolly jealous of my driving skills, like everyone else. Ain't nothing new. I turn onto a big street choked with cars and people and trucks. I nearly ram the vehicle in front of me when it comes to a stop right in the middle of the road. I notice all the other cars stop too and traffic goes the other way. I'm confused, 'til I remember those new stop-and-go lights that started popping up in all the big towns right before I got smoked. Soon as I think about how I got tricked, I feel my face getting hot. When I find out which son of a bitch set me up, someone in his family will die as horrible a death as their kin bestowed on me.

First things first. I need cash and I need it now. I drive up the road a mile or two looking for a store with lots of loot and nary a customer. I finally spy a filling station, which ought to be just perfect for my needs. I pull in and park right in front of the door so I can make a fast getaway. I turn around and check the back seat for Jack Daniel's weapons, but don't see a Tommy gun or a Browning Automatic Rifle in sight. What a total jelly bean, a good for nothing do-gooder.

For a second, I get an inkling that maybe I should start over and try my hand at making a clean living. I can turn around and go back to Curly and his family. Hook up with that dame, Twinkle. Could be kinda nice not to have to be on the lam all the time. No one here in this town knows me for nothing. As far as they know, Clyde Champion Barrow is long gone. Sure would be nice not to have to worry about going to the Big House again. I rub my chin, thinking it over, wishing Bonnie was here. She'd jabber with me about this. Was always good for that.

I sit up straighter and look around. What am I thinking? How can I go back and live with a family I don't know? And make a decent wage doing what exactly? Farming's too much work and I'm too set in my ways to learn a new skill. Damned if I want to work for no boss, neither. I ain't gone farther in school than the sixth grade, so what else am I good at besides robbing?

Nothing, that's what.

That's when I glimpse a tire iron laying on the floor in the back. I know straightaway that this is a sign from God that I'm doing the right thing. I'll head inside to case the joint first and then come back outside for my convincer. The tire iron's no gun, but it sure oughta convince whoever's behind the counter to give me all his money.

A bell jingles over the door when I walk in, just like our place back home in Texas. As much as it pains me to not mind my manners, I don't say “Howdy” to the dollface coming out. But she don't even notice—walking past like I'm made of air. Her ignorance suits me fine. One less citizen to identify me later on. I keep my head down and walk clear through to the back end of the store. I want to have a gander around the joint before I rob it. I pretend to shop, but all the while, I'm checking the layout of the place. I take in the back door exit and then count eight customers that could get in my way. I'll have to make sure the palookas leave before I do anything else. If more than five of 'em jump me, I could be in for a spot of bad luck.

I'm amazed that they got a whole aisle filled with nothing but pretzels and potato chips. Hundreds of kinds and flavors, some I ain't never even heard of before. I finally grab a bag of pretzels with a fancy blue wrapper and make my way to the front counter. When I get close to the register, I see a small movie screen up on the wall. It's like the kind you see at a theater, 'cepting it's a lot smaller. I watch for a moment, fascinated that you can see a movie picture for free, but I don't recognize any of the actors. James Cagney's not even in it, and he's in just about everything. Of course, now that I ponder that idea, he's got to be dead, too.

I rub my hand across my hair to slick it back, when the man in the movie does the same. I try a few more actions—waving, grabbing a white box off the shelf, bobbing my head back and forth. Sure enough, I'm the leading man. I toss the pretzels on the newspaper rack and dart out of there fast. No way to weasel out of that robbery, not with solid proof staring me in the face. There's got to be other stores to rob around these parts—ones without fancy movie cameras.

I get in my car and start the engine, mad that everything is so queer in this new world. Lots of things have changed—some of them not in my favor. I tap the steering wheel, pondering my next move, when a plump buttercup walks up to a tall metal box that's fifteen feet from the door. I'm curious what that contraption is, so I watch. She shoves a card in a slot, pushes some buttons, and right before my eyes, dough comes spitting out of the machine! While I'm still staring, wondering if I'm seeing things, another stoolie comes up and does the same thing!

Hell, I don't need a gun to pull this job off. I grab hold of the tire iron and pull up so there's only five feet between my car and the cash-making machine. All I gotta do is wait for the next halfwit to come by and stick his card in the slot, and I'll have me an easy stack of greenbacks. To pass the time, I whistle Bonnie's favorite tune, “We're in the Money.” I only get through the song once when a slim dame wearing close to nothing sallies up and puts her card in.