Wanted (6 page)

He's not too far off, but I'm not about to tell him that. “I'm wanted for bank robbery in ten states, but other than that, no.”

I think for me and Clyde it was only six.

I clench my fists, willing Bonnie to go away. What the hell have I done?

Jack lets out a quiet laugh. “It's so weird you should say that. When I was having my asthma attack, I pictured myself robbing a store. I had a gun and everything.”

My heart skips a beat. He did
not
just say that. I strain to sound normal. “Really?”

“Yeah. There was another guy with me and we were both wearing suits and ties. I stuck this huge—” he says, stopping mid-sentence. There's a short break in conversation as we pass a young couple out walking their two dogs. “This huge gun in this scrawny guy's face behind the counter and told him to give me all his money. He opened the cash register and—huh, this is odd.” Jack stops talking a second.

“What is?” I ask, not sure I want to know.

He rubs his neck as we turn onto Foster Avenue. Cars of every size and color zoom by, all in a hurry to go somewhere. “It was one of those old-time cash registers. I remember seeing the words ‘no sale' pop up in the window on a little white card. Me and the other guy—I called him Ralph—rammed wads of bills into our coat pockets and ran out. Craziest daydream ever.”

Panic races through my veins, but I fight to stay calm. Ralph is definitely an old-fashioned name, but that doesn't prove anything. “It's probably because you held those slugs in your hand. Whose mind wouldn't wander if they were holding a piece of history, right?”

He eyes me sideways, grinning. “There was one more thing that happened, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

I bite my lip, not sure I want to know. “Okay, I promise.”

He pulls open the handle to the McDonald's. “The guy who was with me called me Clyde. Isn't that weird?” He snickers long and hard, like it's the most hilarious thing he ever said.

I, on the other hand, have no trouble keeping my promise.

I now reside inside the body of a man I do not know in an era that's as queer to me as women's undergarments. I can see out of his eyes just fine, but I can't hear, can't speak, can't move this new body I'm in no how. Hell, can't even wet the weeds if I felt the need. But at least I saw I got a pecker to wet the weeds with, and for that, I'm mighty grateful.

The good Lord granted me the favor of being thrown into the body of a wild buck with fire in his loins. I was always ready and eager to please the ladies, and did a fine job of it too, every chance I could. Before meeting Bonnie, that is. From then on, it was only me and her. But she didn't need no wedding ring from me before letting herself enjoy the finer things in life. In public, she was as polite as a preacher's wife, but in the back seat, or an occasional hotel room after we pulled a bank job, she was ready and willing. I miss that gal something fierce, along with all the earthly pleasures that came with being with her. Best of all, she was as loyal as they come, and that ain't nothing to snort at.

I see the boy's got himself a pretty gal, too—one with a diamond twinkling on the side of her lip. She's got short black hair that all the high-styling girls are sporting these days, beautiful green eyes the color of freshly cut grass, along with breasts the size of September pumpkins—round and firm, but not too big to handle. Makes me dizzy just looking at 'em. Now if she had some smarts to go along with that fine body of hers, she'd make one slick moll.

She don't seem to like the boy much though, if the lack of kissing means anything. Why if I had a girl that sweet by my side, I'd show her such a good time, she couldn't help but cozy up to me. I'd work hard to get Twinkle to laugh and to let her know all the ways she's a shining star, until finally she broke down and begged me to kiss her. I can imagine her soft lips on mine, or me kissing her neck, getting us both all fired up betwixt and between. Feeling guilty, I make myself stop these thoughts. I'm not the kind of gent that gets his willies from smelling all the daisies in the bunch. Just find one and stick with it. Bonnie's always been my gal, tried and true. My chest hurts thinking about her, wishing she was here.

Course, if the Lord didn't see fit to give Bonnie a second chance, it don't seem right that I should have to do without. A man has needs that require fixing the same way a broken door needs a hinge. I definitely hanker for a taste of Twinkle's nectar—soon as I can work all the necessary parts, that is. I got a feeling I ain't gonna have to wait much longer neither, if what happened at the party is any indication. Lucky for me, I'm rarely wrong. While it's true that I once been dead, I ain't never been stupid.

What happened was this—I watched the boy drink some hooch and then set his sights on courting Twinkle, but the poor girl looked about as bored as a lad in school. That is, until all the partygoers started rushing around. They all looked scairt, making me think there was a raid. Flashing lights rushed in through the boy's eyes into mine, and for a few seconds, I thought I was headed for my face-to-face meeting with my Maker. I even heard music. Even though Mama tole me that the angels play the harp all day long in heaven, this music wasn't nothing sweet. It was a loud, awful squallering, like a sow being slaughtered by a blind butcher.

The quality of music ain't what's important though, it's that I heard it at all. Because them was the first sounds I heard since I had my Second Coming. So imagine my surprise when, instead of standing at the pearly gates, I felt a smooth wooden windowsill beneath my fingertips. It was
my
hand,
my
fingers grabbed that window ledge. If this was a raid, I had to get out of there right quick. I wasn't about to spend a second of my new life in the cooler. Me and Bonnie did enough of that in our first ones and there ain't nothing in this world I hate more.

Before I had a chance to help Twinkle climb out, the flashing lights stopped and I was thrust back into the deathly quiet, only able to see out through the boy's eyes. I could kick myself for being asleep at the switch! Then he did the low-down, dirtiest trick in the book—he left his moll behind. Just took off running and left her with the rap.

What kind of good-for-nothing crumb does that?

I don't know how or why I was able to take the boy over in the first place, but I know one thing I'll do different the next time them flashing lights stream in. I'll push all my energy into becoming the boy and jump into his skin with both feet. And then I'm hanging on tight. Because the next time he stumbles, he's going to fall.

And I'll be right there to catch him when he does.

As Jack and I walk toward the counter to order our food, I'm still reeling from his confession that the other bank robber called him Clyde. Jack doesn't seem concerned in the least, ordering a Big Mac Extra Value Meal. With my stomach in knots, I purchase only a small fry and drink to be polite. As we fill our cups at the drink station, I decide to come clean with Jack about his dream, the voices in my head, and the weird power that the slugs hold. I need to gently explain that we might have awakened Bonnie and Clyde's spirits—and then ask for his help brainstorming how we can put them back.

We navigate past group after group of loud teenagers, no empty tables in sight. Jack says, “Looks like everyone has the late night munchies.”

We walk aimlessly past occupied tables, the normally mouthwatering aroma of burgers and fries now only adding to my intestinal discomfort. I finally spot a guy in a brown UPS uniform in the farthest corner, loading his trash onto a tray. “There's one.” I point to the booth, then zigzag between tables and sidestep people's legs in the aisles to get there. As we approach our table, I notice a guy with shoulder-length brown hair wearing a red knit hat in the booth across from us. I wonder why he's wearing a hat in May, but when I see his torn jeans, his Element logo t-shirt, and his skateboard with a grinning skull alongside him, it's clear.

We slide into our seats, setting our trays onto the table. Jack stuffs three fries in his mouth while unwrapping his burger. “I'm starving. Kyle had nothing but potato chips at his party.”

“Typical guy.” I pull out my phone and type, “Clyde Barrow gang member, Ralph” in the search window. I wait for the information to load, folding and pinching my bottom lip. I don't even need to click on the blue links to see what I was looking for, because the mini-descriptions are sufficient.

“Hey, Jack. Take a look at this.” I turn my phone and hold it closer to his face so he can read the headlines.

He takes a huge bite of his burger, filling his cheeks. “What is it?”

“It's about your dream. Clyde Barrow actually had a fellow gang member named Ralph.”

“Oh yeah?” He dabs a stack of fries into his ketchup and bites the ends off. “Aren't you going to eat?”

“In a sec. This is important.” I glance over at the skateboarder to make sure he's not listening. He's holding a paperback, his eyes focused on his novel. I lean forward, pushing my tray to the side. “What I'm trying to say is that I think your dream wasn't a dream at all, but an actual replay of a robbery that Clyde Barrow and Ralph Fults pulled off back in the 1930s.”

Two guys walk past us laughing loudly, temporarily sidetracking Jack's attention. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Cool. What are the chances of that?”

I resist the urge to reach over and shake him. “Don't you get it?” I snap, impatient for him to comprehend the magnitude of my revelation. “Your dream wasn't a coincidence. I think that when we touched the slugs, we”—I lean forward so only he can hear me —“unleashed the spirits of Bonnie and Clyde into our bodies. Your dream proves it.” I watch, waiting for the light to go on.

Jack has his burger halfway to his mouth, when he stops and looks at me. My irritation must show on my face because he says, “Wait. You're serious?”

“Yes, I'm serious.” I take a deep breath. Jack is obviously not the perceptive sort. “And I'm freaking out because other weird stuff has happened ever since I took those slugs from my dad's collection and it has me worried. Really worried.”

“Like what?” He pulls a pickle off his burger and drops it to the side.

“Like lots of things.” I recount the mind movies in which I play the starring role of Bonnie Parker, the southern voice of a woman in my head taunting me, and finally, how an icy pain ran up my arm and settled in my throat when I touched the slugs at the party.

He sips his Coke. “That was the same time I had my asthma attack, right?”

“Right. Except that maybe it wasn't an asthma attack. Maybe…” I glance at Skater, who's still engrossed his book. “Maybe Clyde Barrow inhabited your body right then and was trying to choke you from the inside.”

Jack stares at me, his eyebrows raised high, but I can't tell if his expression is shock, suspicion, or worse, mockery.

“So… what do you think?” I start tugging at my bottom lip again.

He smiles, looking amused. “Exactly how much did you have to drink tonight?”

Frustrated by his refusal to take me seriously, my face heats up. “Just that one beer. Come on, Jack. I'm not joking around!”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Okay, okay. Chill out, will you? First of all, I really did have an asthma attack. I couldn't fake that. But the other stuff you mentioned could be coincidental. I'll admit my bank-robbing dream seemed authentic, but maybe I saw it on TV or something. Same with you and your Bonnie Parker mind movies.”

I pick up a fry and dip it in the ketchup repeatedly, thinking about his conclusion. I want him to be right more than anything, but the queasiness in my stomach tells me otherwise. “I do watch History Channel a lot.”

“You see? So stop looking so sad. Unless you wanted us to be possessed by Bonnie and Clyde?” He grabs a handful of fries.

“No! God, no. You're right. I've seen the Bonnie and Clyde movie a ton of times. I'm sure I'm just imagining things.” I smile. “It's probably all the pressure I'm under lately, that's all.”

“Me too—studying for finals, the golf tournament, work, my parents, you name it.”

I nod, mentally adding “missing my mom” and “court case” to my list, as a screeching girl in a pink hoodie races past us. She's holding a baseball cap high in the air while a boy chases after her, laughing. “Give it back, Melanie!”

Jack watches them as he does one of his bang flips. “Plus, I don't believe in all that paranormal stuff—ghosts and spirits and all that other crap.”

I shrug. “I don't know. So many people believe in it that part of me thinks it has to be true. Take those ghost bus tours, for example. People must believe or they wouldn't pay to go on it.”

“Some people might believe, but that doesn't make it true. Kyle's dad points out places where people actually died, but you have to decide for yourself if you sense ghosts around.” He balls up the wrapper from his burger. “Kyle and I went on it once for fun when we were like in fifth grade. We secretively kept touching some of the tour guests with a pigeon feather we found. One lady got totally spooked thinking the ghost of her dead brother was touching her. Kyle and I laughed our heads off behind her back.”

“Real nice,” I say, smiling. If nothing else, Jack seems to have a good sense of humor.

He goes to dip his fries into the ketchup cup, but knocks over his Coke by accident. “Dang it!” He grabs for it, but not before the lid falls off and Coke starts running across the table in seven directions.