Running Scared

by Linda Ladd

  “Hi there, little punkin,” she whispered, checking his Luvs. “You know it's mama, don't you, squirt?"

  Joey squirmed around, his knees drawing up as he puckered up and let out a unhappy wail. She removed his soiled diaper and realized he wasn't tolerating the whole milk.

  “Now, now, sweetie, don't cry,” she said soothingly, but became alarmed when he started to yell as if his tummy hurt. If Dmitri's men heard him, they'd check it out; she knew they would. That's how Dmitri had found her in the root cellar. She couldn't get him to calm down, even when she lifted him against her shoulder, crooning softly and patting his back.

  Kate jumped when Booker suddenly banged on the door, his voice urgent. “Keep him quiet! They're outside getting ready to leave!"

  Kate rocked the baby against her, trying to keep the frantic quiver out of her voice, but Joey'd have none of her comforting. She searched desperately for the pacifier in the grocery sack and put it in his mouth. He wouldn't take it at first, tossing his head from side to side and screaming louder, but he finally took hold of it, and she whispered baby talk and settled him in the crook of her arm. He sucked on it eagerly but still whimpered as if in pain. Relieved he'd grown quiet, she waited tensely, glad Booker was outside her door with a gun.

  “Okay, they're gone. Come on out."

  Cautiously Kate opened the door. Booker was at the window and seemed edgy over the close call but apparently suffered no ill effects from the nightmare gruesome enough to cause him to yell and fight imaginary enemies. Without a word, he stared at her, critically examining her appearance.

  “Well, do I meet muster? I must look different because when Joey saw me he screamed bloody murder.” She attempted a thin smile at her joke, but instantly regretted her unfortunate choice of words. Bloody murder could very well be in the cards for all of them. In any case, Booker wasn't amused. He'd been nothing but somber since he'd crashed free of his nightmare. He'd been sitting up awake ever since, guarding someone he barely knew, and Kate suddenly realized that falling asleep might be the last thing Booker wanted to do.

  “Put on the cap and glasses I got you and get ready to go. Jumbo's sending his friend down here as soon as he sees the Russians pull out of the parking lot."

  Kate was glad to oblige, desiring nothing more than to get as far away from southern Missouri as she could. She stuffed her new possessions in the white plastic bag. Joey was relatively content at the moment, his stomachache better, or maybe it was only gas pangs. Within ten minutes a vehicle pulled up outside. Booker cased out the windows, then stood waiting at the door as she picked up Joey and joined him. He kept his voice low.

  “The guy we're riding with's name is Miller. He's Jumbo's friend, not mine, and I sure don't know him well enough to trust him. So I'm gonna go by the name Smith, and you're gonna be my wife, Betty Lou. Got it?"

  “Betty Lou? Where'd you come up with that?"

  He scowled at the way she was smiling, in no mood this morning for screwing around, not that he ever was. But she felt better now that they'd actually made it through the night with Dmitri on their doorstep. She was mighty pleased she was going to go on breathing for awhile. But Booker was right. They weren't out of danger yet, and she was willing to let Booker take charge for awhile. Get her out of here and give her some time to get her shattered nervous system under control. Then she'd be all right. Then she could figure out a way to keep Joey with her; that was the important thing, the only thing she cared about.

  “Mornin',” Booker said as they stepped outside into the bright sunshine where their ride was waiting for them in a brand-new brown Ford pickup with one doozy of a Harley Davidson strapped in the bed. Miller turned out to be a big biker with lots of tattoos and wild, wiry black hair that stuck out from under a black felt Stetson with a silver-studded band. He wore a black sleeveless T-shirt with a glow-in-the-dark silver webbed spider on the front, black jeans and hand-tooled black cowboy boots. He stretched out a hand with a tattoo of a hairy, rearing black tarantula on its back.

  “Name's Smith.” Booker accepted the handshake, then presented Kate without much ado. “This here's my old lady, Betty Lou."

  “Ma'am.” Miller actually doffed his hat like a real southern gentleman. She kept wondering how he was going to get all that hair under the motorcycle helmet dangling from his forefinger, a black one with lots more homemade silver spiders and skulls painted on it.

  Nodding and smiling, agreeable as pie, Kate decided the less she said, the better, and the less likely she'd say something wrong.

  Miller gave her and Joey a long, interested look, then returned his attention to Booker. “I been thinkin', Smith, and the truth is, I'd sure like to put a few miles on my bike ‘fore I take it on up to Kansas City. You know, burn out the kinks and get ‘er broken in some.” He paused, and Booker merely waited for him to go on. “How ‘bout this? How ‘bout you and your old lady take my truck and let me follow you on the Harley ‘til we get up to the weddin’ reception at the tavern? How ‘bout it? What you say?"

  “Sure. Ain't got no problem with that. You doin’ me a favor, Miller, least I can do back to you."

  Kate turned and looked at Booker with not a little surprise, thinking he'd metamorphosed again, this time into a good ole boy biker. He had taken on the mannerisms and speech patterns of their new buddy, Miller, as if he were a chameleon, or a member in good standing with the Hell's Angels Motorcycle Club.

  Again, Kate conjectured about his past. What else had he done in his life except try to kill a superior officer? Which was bad enough, mind you, but still, he seemed awfully well versed in donning disguises and handling guns and evading killers. Who the devil was John Booker anyway? She was dying to know more about him yet scared to ask, but that didn't stop the questions from whirling around inside her head. Who had he been before he decided to hide in a cave? Why was a good-looking man like this living alone in the woods disguised as Rasputin for so long? Or had he been alone? It occurred to her that he could've had a woman out there in his cave with him, maybe even a wife. Like most men, he probably had a significant woman somewhere in his past.

  “Yeah, man, and there's somethin’ else, too.” Miller looked around as if afraid of being overheard. Booker glanced around in turn, probably searching for Russians sneaking up on them. The mere idea sent a cold chill up Kate's spine. “Jumbo says they got a roadblock up the road. Jumbo's cop friend told him he was gonna work it today when he was in the café last night to fill up on coffee. Mind if we kinda avoid it, y'know? I gotta stash in the truck I ain't wantin’ nobody to find. Jumbo told me ‘bout this loggin’ road that goes up through the woods that'd take us round it. Jumbo told you ‘bout the warrant out on me? They'll bust me good if they search the truck."

  “Sure. Just lead the way. We'll follow."

  Kate didn't think Booker looked exactly thrilled to be transporting drugs for a wanted felon, but he didn't have much choice. At least Miller had as good a reason as they did to avoid the roadblocks. While the two men unloaded the motorcycle from the bed, she went ahead and climbed inside the cab with Joey. The front seat was wide, covered with red velour, and it smelled heavily of beer and marijuana. There was a sticker on the rear window with yet another black skull and crossbones. The words around it said suckin’ gas and haulin’ ass. She put her bag on the seat and pressed down the door lock. She was anxious to get out on the road, get going, get out of the state if it came to that. Maybe she should just flee the country, start a new life with Joey somewhere far away where nobody could ever find them.

  Booker got in beside her and pulled the door shut. He turned the ignition and the truck purred. Miller took good care of his engine. “I don't trust this guy. He stinks of marijuana and he seemed a little too interested in you and the baby. Get down out of sight until we get on the road. I have a bad feeling about this, but we don't have much choice because it's too dangerous to stay here."

  Kate was not glad to hear his misgivings. She hunkered down on the floor with her
back against the door where she couldn't be seen. She watched Booker drive the truck down the narrow road through the pines, marveling at how different he looked. His profile was classically cut with strong, even features, and she could see how his chest muscles molded the green polo shirt. She could not believe he was the filthy, frightening man in camouflage she'd seen that first day in the woods. He seemed very tense today, on edge in a way he hadn't shown before. But why wouldn't he be; they were outside now, in plain daylight, vulnerable to their enemies. She was nervous and wanted to talk, ask him questions about where they were going, but she wasn't about to distract him, not until he'd gotten them all to safety.

  About five minutes later they were on the highway, Miller riding their tailpipe on his gigantic Harley. It wasn't long before the biker lost patience with Booker's adherence to the speed limit and shot past them with a roar and gleam of polished chrome.

  “You can get up now, if you want."

  Kate obeyed and sat close against the passenger door. The scenery flew past outside the window, and she kept looking behind them, expecting to see a black Cadillac or blue Jeep Grand Cherokee coming up fast on their tail, men hanging out the windows with machine guns like in Godfather movies. But this wasn't the movies; it was real and there was no guaranteed happy ending. She swallowed hard and took Joey out of the plastic seat. She put him down on top of her knees and found his diaper dry, so she let him lie there on his back. He sucked rhythmically on the clown pacifier and stared at her, a tiny frown marring his brow as if he still didn't feel good. She thought about his chortling laugh the day of the timber rattler and wished he'd do it again. She guessed he didn't have much to laugh about either.

  They rode in silence, and the traffic was light. Each time a vehicle came abreast of them in the passing lane, she turned her head and stared at the passing forest tracts. Booker had left his rifle behind but he had a loaded pistol now, and he kept it in reach, on the seat between them. She had no doubt he'd use it, if he had to. She was relieved when Miller turned off onto a gravel road to circumvent the roadblock.

  “Do you mind if I turn on the radio? Maybe we'll hear something."

  Booker shook his head.

  Kate switched it on. Miller had it set on a Country and Western station that was playing an old Johnny Cash tune about a ring of fire. She began to roll the tuner, encountering lots of static as she tried to locate KWOC in Poplar Bluff. When she finally found it they were in a commercial about First Midwest Bank, then cut to the local Kmart store where they were having some kind of spring-fling sale. When they finally got around to the news, she listened eagerly.

  "More news on the Kate Reed investigation. According to FBI sources, Kate Reed of Van Buren is purportedly still on the loose. Alleged now to have killed her husband, she is being tracked in the Ozark Riverways north of Van Buren but has yet to be apprehended, despite a three-county manhunt and roadblocks on highways leading out of the area. The authorities are still warning people not to approach her. She is armed and dangerous. More news later but now back to Bill Steiger at the front of Kmart...."

  Kate stared at Booker. “Good God, now they think I killed Michael."

  “Yeah, and you'll get the blame for anybody else they knock off along the way."

  “Do you think they'll kill Matty Jones when they don't need him anymore?"

  “He sure better watch his back. He shouldn't've joined forces with those guys. They're way out of his league."

  Kate bit her lip and stared out the window, fighting a new emotional upheaval, not sure why except that things kept getting worse and worse. She ground her teeth together so she wouldn't go to pieces. She wanted to wake up, wake up like Booker had and find out that none of this was happening to them.

  “You okay?” Booker glanced over at her, then put his eyes back on the road.

  Kate nodded, forcibly shutting off her feelings. Booker didn't try to comfort her, didn't say anything else for a long time. Kate hummed a lullaby and rocked Joey to sleep, more to soothe herself than him, wondering how much more of this she could take without cracking up.

  After an hour's ride, Booker followed Miller into a rustic log tavern called the Do-Duck-Inn. Kate estimated that perhaps fifty ornate, oversized motorcycles, some with sidecars, were propped together at one side of the parking lot like a herd of bison corralled on a concrete prairie. Like Miller's, all the bikes had black skull-and-crossbones pennants emblazoned with a fighting red tarantula. They fluttered gaily on the aerials, making this look like the grand opening of a car dealership.

  Miller had climbed off his hog and was directing them to pull his pickup alongside the other bikes. As Booker did so, Kate said, “Do you think it's safe to go in? There's a bunch of Hell's Angels here."

  Booker braked and shoved the gearshift into park. “If Miller vouches for us, nobody'll mess with us."

  “You're sure?” Kate had enough troubles to deal with without antagonizing a motorcycle gang, fifty strong.

  “Yeah, I need to use the phone.” He turned to look at her. “We'll be safer inside than out here in plain view of the highway."

  “Okay, if you say so.” But she intended to keep a close eye on Joey. She hoped none of them had heard about her on the KWOC news bulletins. Maybe they'd all be on good behavior today; after all, it was a wedding reception. She eyed the long, log building with its multitude of Schlitz and Coors signs and pitied the poor bride.

  “End of the line, pal,” Miller was now saying to Booker. He took off his helmet and his bristly hair sprang up like an unruly Brillo pad.

  “No problem,” Booker said. “Thanks for the lift. I owe you one."

  Miller looked at Kate for a moment. “Where you headed now?"

  “West, I guess, not sure where we'll land yet."

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Miller suddenly exclaimed as if he'd just had an epiphany. “Why don't you guys mosey in wit’ me and down one wit’ Panther and Sugar? I got enough pot for all of us, bought it this mornin’ at Jumbo's place. The Do-Duck'll be runnin’ over with booze, and all the beer you can drink, if I know Panther. Maybe we can find you a ride west, if you hang around till the fun's over."

  With extreme reluctance Kate followed the two men to the front door, glad Booker had stuck the .45 in the back of his waistband under his loose shirt. She wished she had one, too. In her hand. Cocked. She had a feeling there were probably a hundred weapons inside the Do-Duck-Inn. None registered with the police.

  Inside they discovered what was best described as a drunken orgy going on. Well, maybe that was overstating it, but it was safe to say Kate had never seen so many empty beer bottles in her life. Miller was greeted like the long-lost spider he was with lots of grizzly-bear hugs that would have crushed a lesser man. While he was slapping high fives with somebody named Killer Boy, who unfortunately bore a striking resemblance to Saddam Hussein, mustache, dead black eyes and all, Kate glanced around and kept very close to Booker's back. Even among the burly wedding guests, Booker stood taller and bigger than most of the other men.

  The interior was dusky, most of the light filtering down from a few high windows and three dozen neon signs touting various beers and cigarette brands. Square tables with black Formica tops were positioned around the perimeter, with a couple of deserted booths along the back wall. A long table set up in front of the mirrored bar to accommodate the actual wedding party was littered with enough brown beer bottles to outfit a recycling center. The jukebox was ablaze with a rainbow neon, and Wild Thing blared over the yelling and laughing. Kate readily admitted to herself that she was terrified. Booker acted as if he felt more than comfortable with the drunken outlaws in black leather and gold jewelry.

  Miller was keeping a close eye on them, and he motioned them across the floor to the head table, guzzling a Coors Light with one hand and walloping friends up the back of the head with the open palm of the other. Kate was pleased when Booker put his arm protectively around her waist like any good husband leading his wife into the den of
an inebriated motorcycle gang. Joey was looking around as if he was in the middle of a riot but he wasn't crying. Kate hoped the pall of cigar smoke didn't choke him.

  “Hey, Panther, congrats, man, didn't know you had it in ya!"

  Panther was another bristly specimen, tall, husky, scary. Was that a prerequisite of membership? Surprisingly, he had crew-cut blond hair but his huge, bushy muttonchops made up for it, along with the mat of blond hair peeking out of his unzipped black leather vest. He was missing a tooth in front when he beamed at his old bud from Tennessee, and Kate stifled the urge to search the floor for his missing canine. There was already one fight going on in the corner by the bathrooms, but no one seemed to be paying much attention to it. She heard a bottle break and watched one of the antagonists go over backward like a felled oak. The other guy crowed victory and dropped the broken beer bottle on the floor. Kate averted her eyes. Don't make eye contact with anyone, she told herself firmly.

  “Sugar, doll, you look as fine as Heather Locklear in that weddin’ getup,” Miller enthused to the blushing bride, who wore a short, white leather miniskirt and matching bra. The picture of a panther was tattooed above her right breast, and white lace stockings covered her legs down to her black combat boots. She had hair bleached out snow white with rather noticeable red roots, but she was happy and laughing, and about as drunk as any woman Kate had ever seen. So was the proud bridegroom.

  “This here's Smith and his wife. Betty Lou's'r name. Bummed a ride off'a me so I brought'm on in fer some fun. Didn't think you'd mind any if they shared yer big day."

  “Hell no. Any sonofabitch's a friend of your'n, is a friend of ours!” bellowed Panther, a very loud, loquacious sort. He shook Booker's hand, pumping it while slapping him repeatedly on the back. Kate quailed in her tennis shoes, afraid he might want to grab her and kiss her.