by John Gilmore
“Bud says there’s one other guy who’s gone around the other side of the building. ‘No way to get in the back,’ Buck says. Clyde says, ‘Where’s Dub? He gone upstairs?’
“Buck says, ‘He’s shot’n’ sittin’ on the stairs.’ Clyde says, ‘Get the girls down here and get ’em in the car. We’re gonna run.’ Buck said, ‘I hear one of ’em—she’s on the stairs.’”
W.D. says, “I got up a few more of the stairs and Sis is comin’ down. She says, ‘Where you hit?’ I said it felt like my stomach. Sis pulled my shirt out and said, ‘You’re hit in the side. Grab hold of me.’ I did and three of us went downstairs. ‘I can’t stop bleedin’,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to fuckin’ die bleedin’ to death.’ Sis said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.’
“Blanche had been grabbin’ what she could and looked scared and frantic, sayin’, ‘Come on, let’s go, they’re here!’ That dog’s runnin’ in front of her and almost trips us while Sis is helpin’ me to the car.
“Clyde tells Sis, ‘Get in the car!’ and tells Blanche to help him get the law’s car out of the way so we can get past it. Blanche sees the dead cop and his blood and hunks of him on the driveway and she almost faints. Clyde’s hollerin’ at her and strugglin’ inside the law’s car to free the emergency brake that’s jammed. He’s kickin’ at it, then jumps out. Him and Blanche are pushin’ at it but it won’t budge. ‘Where’s Snowball?’ she’s cryin’ and Bud says it ran past and down the street. Blanche is walkin’ casually like in a trance, callin’ for the dog.
“There wasn’t more shootin’ but Bud said the guy around back had for sure called for backup. Buck was draggin’ the guy out of the way so he wouldn’t be run over and Clyde hollered, ‘Let’s go!’ Buck ran to the car, got in, and Clyde drove forward, rammin’ against the front of the law’s car. He gassed it and pushed their car out of the driveway, down into the street where it rolled backwards and crashed against a tree. Clyde sped ahead, gettin’ us the hell away from that apartment buildin’.
“Halfway down the block, we spotted Blanche. Clyde hit the brakes and Buck jumped out, got her around the waist and brought her inside the car. Then we sped off fast, Blanche sayin’ she couldn’t find the dog. Sis whispered, ‘Good,’ then said to Bud, ‘You’re bleedin’ down the front of your shirt, daddy. You’ve been hit and you didn’t say it. How bad is it?’ Clyde said, ‘Stings. One of those last shots. I felt it hit me. It’s a ricochet. Makes me feel like I’m blackin’ out.’ ‘We need to stop,’ Sis said, sort of frantic. ‘Buck can drive.’ But Clyde said, ‘Not till we’re over the goddamn Oklahoma border and then some, then check all this soon as we get the hell out of Missouri.’”
Twenty-Three
“The motor’s overheatin’,” Bonnie said. “I smell it steamin’. It’s gonna be blowin’ out the water.”
“We ain’t steamin’ yet,” Clyde said. “I’m headin’ off anyway.”
“We out of Missouri?” Buck asked from the backseat.
“Plain out of it,” Clyde said, slowing down. He gradually pulled off the highway, onto a dirt road, and drove until he couldn’t see the traffic on it.
“We’re in the damned woods again,” Blanche said. “We’ll be eaten alive by bugs.” Buck told her to shut up.
W.D. said, “I don’t know if I’m livin’ long enough for the bugs.”
“Boy,” Clyde said, grimacing in pain, “I’ll get you in a minute. Right now I wanna get this slug out of me.” He unbuttoned his shirt and Bonnie stared at the wound. “I can feel it right there,” Clyde said. “Can you get it with your fingers? Just pull the son of a bitch out.”
She dug with her fingernails at the edge of the wound to feel the metal. “I can’t get it like this,” she said. “Seems like it’s pointin’ up.” She asked Blanche, “You got your nail file?”
“I don’t have my purse,” Blanche said. “It’s all gone, honey. Nail file, purse, everything we owned—everything we bought.”
“I got this little weenie blade,” Buck said, patting his pockets. “It’s a souvenir—got it the first year we got married....”
“You haven’t got it anymore,” Blanche said. “That was in my purse, with our wedding certificate and your pardon paper.”
“And you haven’t got any of that?” Bonnie asked.
“I didn’t see them carryin’ anythin’ when y’all were in the car,” Clyde said. “Everything we had’s back there in that place.”
“Was—” Blanche said. “Was back there in the apartment. I’m sure by now the law’s throwin’ a party.”
“More like they’re throwin’ a wake,” Clyde said.
“I got this little scout knife, sis,” W.D. said, and handed it to Bonnie. She lit a match and fired the little blade, then dug again at Clyde’s chest.
“I’m at the butt of the slug, daddy,” Bonnie said. “Damn funny goin’ in like this and stoppin’ when it hits a bone. Could’ve killed you, daddy.”
“It’s not that deep,” he said. “Had to be a ricochet.”
“Sure hard to get at,” Bonnie said. “I don’t want to push it any further. I’m right at the butt of it.” Then she said, “Oops! Here it is! Look! Popped out like a bottle cap. You’re bleedin’ again.”
“I’ll keep the shirt wadded against it,” he said. “We’ll get some supplies down the way—soon as it’s dark.”
As Bonnie handed the tiny, bloody penknife back to Buck, she said, “What about your camera, Blanche? All our pictures we took?”
“I didn’t get any of that,” Blanche said. “I thought maybe you did.”
“Holy shit!” Buck said. “You mean they got our fuckin’ pictures?”
“All the pictures we took?” W.D. asked. “With our guns and all that?”
“You got it, boy,” Clyde said. “Ain’t our guns anymore. Now you gotta get your face operated on like Johnny Dillinger’s.”
Disgrunted, wincing in pain, W.D. said, “Well, Jesus Christ! The laws got pictures of us—they’ll find out who we are?”
“They already know who we are,” Bonnie said. “Couldn’t make ’em happier. You’ll be seein’ us all tomorrow mornin’ on the front pages.”
“Maybe the midnight edition,” Clyde said.
“Now they don’t have to figure nothin’ out,” Blanche said. “They just gotta come find us, and then shoot us.”
“Don’t say that!” W.D. said. “I’m already shot. So’s Bud. He’s shot, too.”
“Nobody’s shootin’ us,” Clyde said, opening his car door. “Boy, get your shirt off and get outta the car. We gotta get a twig or a green branch about a foot long.”
“I’ll get it,” Bonnie said, opening the car door. She got out as Clyde climbed from the driver’s side, telling W.D. to sit on the running board. Bonnie grabbed up a short branch and handed it to Clyde, who said, “Tear me off a piece of that slip you’re wearin’.”
“I don’t want to tear it,” she said. “I’ll take it off.” She went behind the car, removed her dress, and then the slip.
W.D. asked Clyde, “What’re you gonna do with a stick and her slip?”
“I’m gonna see if you got a bullet in your hide like I had, or a hunk of lead that’s busted off from the rest.”
Bonnie handed her slip to Clyde. He carefully wrapped a part of it around the stick, then in a quick move, almost a sleight of hand, he pushed the stick into the bullet hole in W.D.’s side. “Oh, shit!” W.D. yelled. “That’s killin’ me!”
“It’s not killin’ you,” Clyde said.
“What’re you doin’!” W.D. cried.
“See here,” Clyde said. “I’ve done pushed this branch straight through the hole in you, and it’s now come out the back side. You see it? Turn your damn head and look at it. Ain’t even bleedin’ like it was.” W.D. yelled again as Clyde pulled the stick out of the hole. “You got no lead in you, boy, and it’s just about stopped bleedin’. We’ll get medicine soon down the road.”
“I gotta drink some w
ater,” W.D. said.
“We don’t have any water,” Bonnie said.
Blanche said, “We got nothin’ but trouble.”
Ignoring her, Clyde said, “We just sit a spell here and then we’ll be on the road. I don’t wanna be on that highway in daylight with a bunch of us piled in here.”
“This hole’s painin’ me bad,” W.D. said.
“Just keep that shirt bunched on it until we get to a grocery store or somethin’ on the roadside soon as it’s dark. Gotta get us another car.”
“Sun’s goin’ down,” Bonnie said, then to Clyde, “How’re you feelin’, daddy? Is it hurtin’ like the devil?”
“Kinda sick,” he said. “I should’ve pulled it out the minute it hit, but there wasn’t time.”
“We’re all sick,” Buck said. “Tomorrow’s newspaper’s gonna make us a lot sicker. Probably gonna print my fuckin’ pardon.”
“And our marriage certificate,” Blanche said.
“You, kid,” Buck said to W.D., “they’ll get together and vote you the youngest walkin’ dead man.”
“Y’all relax,” Clyde said. He started the car, drove ahead a half mile, then came to a stop. “You drive for a spell,” he told Bonnie. “I gotta stop this bleedin’ down the front of me. It’s fuckin’ ticklin’ me.”
Buck said, “Where’re we headin’, Bud? Where you thinkin’ we’ll pick up another car?”
“Straight south,” Clyde said. “You got any money, brother?”
“Maybe some. What’ve you got?”
“Not a lot.”
Blanche said, “I had forty-seven dollars in my purse—”
“—that’s enough moanin’,” Buck said. “We’ve got nothin’ so let’s forget it.” He shook his head. “What the fuck. We got two shotguns here, and the fuckin’ laws’ve got everythin’ else we had. Even my car—a goddamn Marmon!”
“Includin’ my camera,” Blanche said sadly. “They’ll be sayin’ I’m a criminal. And I’ve lost my dog—I’ve lost Snowball.” She started to cry.
Bonnie was looking at her through the mirror.
Twenty-Four
It was hot and wet and near noon that April day in Louisiana as Bonnie was reading the newspaper from ten days earlier, the front page naming the cops who were killed in Joplin. She said, “They’re quotin’ that Persell fella about what they’re callin’ his ‘kidnapping.’” She looked over at Clyde as he handled the car over the dirt road, dust blowing in through the open window. “He told them who we are, and they’re callin’ all of us killers.”
Clyde said, “It’s like I told Persell, it’s kill or get killed. Probably shoulda shot his ass, too. Throw that paper away, honey. You had your chicken sandwich wrapped in that newspaper last night.” She folded it up. “You’ve looked at the same paper since last week,” he said. “Doesn’t do anyone any good you keep readin’ it ’cause we gotta keep movin’.”
“I know,” she said. “I just think about how my momma feels.”
“She knows the truth,” he said. “It was us who was raided. You got that map on the floor?” She bent forward—almost fell against the dash. “You alright?” he asked.
“Dizzy,” she said, bringing the map from between her feet. She looked at the map. “We’re goin’ to Bellevue and then east to Ruston. This bank’s damn far from Joplin.”
“You thinkin’ about Joplin a lot, aren’t you?” he said.
She stared ahead at the road. “I had a good time there, daddy. We could’ve lived in that place for a long time. It was private and quiet. Don’t you think it was?”
“What I’m thinkin’ is we gotta get rid of this car,” he said. “Been too long ridin’ it. Wake them up. It’s like we’re haulin’ three stiffs. We got work to do.”
Bonnie turned, reached over the seat and pushed Buck’s knee. He didn’t wake up. She patted Blanche’s leg. “Blanche? Open your eyes!” She pushed her again. “Clyde says y’all wake up.”
“What?” Blanche cried, eyes frantic. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothin’s the matter,” Clyde told her. “Get those boys woke up.”
Blanche pushed at W.D., slumped against the left side of the car. “Wake up!” she shouted. W.D. straightened up, then leaned forward to Clyde. “What’re we doin’, Bud? We there yet?”
“I’m comin’ around back of Ruston,” Clyde said. “We gotta dump this car and get another one before goin’ to work.”
“Okay,” W.D. said. “I’m ready. What time is it?”
“It’s after noon,” Bonnie said. “You got a date?”
“Sit back,” Clyde told him. “Stop breathin’ on me.”
Buck was awake. He said, “Soon as we call this one in, brother, and get outta here, we’ll grab us some grub—decent grub, ’cause my stomach’s shrinkin’.”
“Gotta get rid of this car,” Clyde said.
As they drove through the neighborhood, Blanche said, “All these old houses look pretty big. Must be nice havin’ all the money and a house to live in.”
“Right over there,” Clyde said to W.D. “That black Chevy across the street? Go get that one.”
Clyde stopped the Ford, and W.D. climbed out. He trotted across the street to the Chevrolet, parked in front of a boardinghouse. After sticking his head in the window, he opened the door and got in, then signaled to Clyde who gave a signal, his finger moving in a circle which meant “See you around the block.” Clyde then drove on in the opposite direction. W.D. drove away from the boardinghouse, but Bonnie said, “Someone’s runnin’ after him!”
A young man had charged out of the boardinghouse as W.D. was heading to the corner. Hearing the young man hollering, W.D. gassed the Chevy into a fast turn and sped away. Clyde made a quick turn off the street, just as Bonnie caught sight of a young woman running after the Chevrolet.
Maneuvering swiftly through the neighborhood streets, Clyde spent several minutes in search of W.D. “Where the hell’d he go?” he said angrily. “Should’ve come around this way, headin’ where we are.”
Minutes later, Clyde turned east on another road, then south toward the highway into the middle of Ruston. “He’s nowhere!” Buck said. “Goddamn kid’s taken off. There’s some folks parked up ahead. You think they seen that Chevy?”
“I see ’em,” Clyde said. Driving slowly, he angled off the road towards the rear of the parked car. He stopped, got out and approached the driver’s window. “Say, fella,” he said, “you seen a black Chevrolet go?”
The driver stared at Clyde, surprised. “I sure as hell haven’t, but that’s what I’m lookin’ for! That’s my car and they just stole it—”
Clyde jerked open the car door, grabbed the shocked young man and pulled him out of the car. “I’ve got a gun so just do as I tell you.” The young woman in the passenger’s seat started to scream, but Buck was at her door, pulling it open and grabbing the girl. He said to Clyde, “Let’s kill ’em both!”
Clyde pushed the dazed driver onto the backseat of the car as Buck said, “Whatta we do with this dame?”
“Put her in here,” Bonnie said, climbing out. “Put her between me’n’ Clyde.”
The young woman was ushered onto the front seat, Bonnie following her in and pulling the door shut. Her companion sat stiffly squeezed between Blanche and Buck, who had his gun in hand but was fishing with his other hand past the guns on the floor until he found the pint of rye. All jerked back and forth and against one another as Clyde drove swiftly, wheels jouncing in potholes, narrow back roads, turning sharp and heading in a wide circle of the area, Bonnie’s newspaper pages rattling apart in the wind or blowing around the sandwich wrappers and dust. Both captives sat in silent fear as the car zigzagged over back roads, swaying as if to capsize, then racing ahead.
Gradually he slowed down, his anger at the blunders subsiding as Bonnie cheerfully chatted with their latest kidnap victims. His name was Dillard and his “sweetheart,” as he called her, was Sophia. “What you’ve done,” Bonnie said, “is give
us a mess of trouble, ’cause we’re just chasin’ around instead of doin’ what he came to do.”
“Like I said,” Buck mumbled, “tie these two up, blow their brains out and stick ’em in the swamp.”
“That’s not what we came to do,” Bonnie said.
“We’re not gonna blow any brains out,” Clyde said, “or stick ’em in a swamp. We’ve lost the boy and we’re gettin’ our asses outta here.”
The air was thick, hot, and wet. Sophia asked, “What about us? What’re you gonna do with us?” Bonnie shrugged and gave a smile. Sophia asked, “Who are you? What did you come here for?”
Nonchalantly, Bonnie said, “To rob a bank. These gentlemen are bank robbers.” Sophia began to wring her hands. She had a home demonstration business, she said, a mother and father to worry about, and lots of people depending upon her.
“We got a lot of people worryin’ about us, too,” Bonnie said.
Dillard cleared his throat, and said to Bonnie, “I heard you call the driver ‘Clyde’....”
“That’s right,” Bonnie said. “His name’s Clyde.”
“And your name?” Dillard asked.
“My name’s Bonnie,” she said. Dillard stared at her. “What do you do?” she asked. “You also got people dependin’ on you, too? Worryin’ about you?”
“They don’t do much worryin’,” he said. “I work in a funeral parlor.”
Bonnie laughed. “A funeral parlor? What do you do in a funeral parlor?”
“I’m a state-licensed undertaker,” he said.
Blanche said, “This isn’t funny! It’s a bad omen!”
Dillard said to Bonnie, “Your friend could be right.”
Bonnie looked around at Dillard and said, “When we’re all taken care of and tucked away, will you come and make us look pretty?”
The young man said, “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
Still in Louisiana, Clyde drove off the road and stopped. He told the couple, “I’m gonna stop for gas at the station I see up the road, and I’m gonna put you on the floor and cover you so nobody sees you when we’re gettin’ gas. If you do any yellin’ or shoutin’ there’ll be some trouble you won’t like.”