On the Run - M Zeigler (philippa perry book .txt) 📗

On the run chapter 11

The last guy

Bonnie’s perspective

Warmth, that’s all that I feel surrounding me right now, that and comfort, the last thing I remember during the late night hours of the night was falling asleep in the passenger’s seat of the Camero. Barrette was driving happier than an armed homicidal sociopath in a field of hateful people. He had mentioned as I was drifting off that he loves the Camero way more than my mustang, simply because the engine is more powerful. Last night I was cold because the car windows were down, and the air conditioner was still going. But now I’m comfortably warm, with the sound of Barrette’s heart beat under my left ear his right arm draped over my waist adding to the much appreciated heat I was craving so late last night.

Wait, I’m asleep where! My eyes shoot open instantly all at the same time I’m sitting up out of bed, Barrette jumps at my abrupt movement. He looks as if he’s been awake for a while but hasn’t moved because I was still sleeping. “You okay Bon?” He asks as I look down to ensure I’m still wearing the clothes I had on last night, or at least any pair of clothes that are not his or my night clothes. When I’m satisfied that I’m in the sweats I changed into a gas station I calm down considerably.

“No, I am not okay. Rule one, your side of the bed, my side of the bed. You stay there, I stay over here, that or you can sleep on the couch.” I growl at him pointing between the two sides of the bed then over the wannabe couch which honestly looks more like a really wide living chair than it does a couch. Barrette cracks a taunting smile at me and starts laughing. “News flash darlin, I put you on your side of the bed while I was researching Mark Hallway, when I laid down you moved over to me.” Barrette replies heavily emphasizing the word me as if it proves some unwanted point he’s trying to make.

“Uh-huh, sure, and you know what? I am Alice in wonderland.” I reply cynically while trying to hide my embarrassment knowing that Barrette isn’t a liar, this situation is no acceptation. To give myself room to breathe and calm down from being that close to Barrette I move from the bed find my duffel bag and walk straight into the bathroom. Looking around I see that Barrette must’ve paid for a cheap rent by the hour motel so that we could get a decent shower in someplace other than an unkempt dingy bathroom at an abandoned hotel. I’m grateful for his because my hair really needs to be washed and I’d like to make myself look even more gorgeous for our last and final mission.

I have a feeling this one might be the most difficult case yet that is going to require more than a few accents being thrown around. I’m certain that Devon will be there waiting to stop me, I find it very strange that he hasn’t tried to stop us already. I mean if I were in his shoes I wouldn’t be simply following the two people trying to imprison me, I’d be desperately trying to stop the bandits anyway I could.

By the time my thoughts have ended my hair and body is clean of the accumulated dirt and blood that really makes me look like the killer that I am. So I step out dry off and unzip my duffel grabbing the very next article of clothing in the bag which just so happens to be an outfit that I thought I lost a long time ago. I multiples of these woman’s black combat cargo pants that are almost as tight as skinny jeans, they are just loose fitting enough that if you round house kick someone they won’t split. They were perfect for me because I didn’t have to carry the number one women’s item that I hate, a purse, I could put my cigarette and lighter in one pocket, my phone in another, there was a hidden inner pocket for the knife that Michael stabbed me with, another hidden pocket for my throwing knives. It even has double duty belt loops and slip strap so that I could have both my revolvers fastened to my side. Under the black pants is one of many black tank tops that I used to own and a one of those really durable sports bra’s; ya know like flat chested kick boxers wear for show, except I’m far from flat chested. Under the shirt is my grandfather’s leather jacket and my old pair of leather combat boots that I cut into and sewed a pocket into that perfectly holds a tiny triangular shank.

There’s a note taped to the toe of my shoe that is slightly crinkled after my bag being thrown around the way it has been. The note is signed from my dad and my sisters.

You’ve come full circle,

Welcome back

Dad, A,T, & F

After setting the letter down I start to shrug on my undergarments then the cargo pants, I take note that they are brand new and fit me as perfectly as all the other’s did. Once chunky heeled combat boots are laced tight to my feet I shrug into my jacket zip up my bag and step out into the sleeping area of the hotel room. Barrette looks at me appreciatively, he seems like he’s already packed up and ready to go.

“Aren’t you going to shower?” I ask him as I reach into my tiny make up bag to find my hair tie. “I already did.” He responds as I take my collapsible mini brush and bull my hair up high into a pony tail, the same way I did back in Georgia when meeting Barrette’s family. The last finishing touch is the black bow with the spikes on it, once my hair is up I look at Barrette. “Start loading the car, you know this only takes me like two minutes.” I say trying not to sound to sharp or bossy with my words, then nodding to the car keys that are sitting on the small corner table in the room. He shrugs and gets up to go do as asked knowing he has no room to argue because when I say two minutes I mean two minutes. There is none of that Give me five minutes and I come down stairs two hours later having a fit because I messed up.

Today, instead of just minimal eye line I apply my original signature eye liner to my eye lid, it’s a cross between the normal cat eye look and the Egyptian look, just bolder lines, that an I put eye liner on above the lower eye lashes. The finishing touch is to put on my mascara and the dangerous crimson lip stick that really finished the Femme Fatal look everyone commented on back at Michael’s home town. Just as I’m zipping my makeup bag Barrette is walking back in for the last of our items, the many items we robbed from the Mayors on our crime spree.

When I turn to face Barrette the case he is carrying falls from his hands, his jaw goes slack and he swallows hard. “We should get going, we slept in late today and I really don’t want this to take any longer than it has.” I say in a voice that I haven’t heard in far too many years, it’s that naturally deep seductive voice that certain women have that most men get turned on by instantly. Except my tone is natural, it just went away because I was angry, I hated everyone and everything, I always had an attitude and a threatening growl to my voice.

“Okay, what’s the skinny on Mark Hallway?” I ask Barrette as I strap up the five point harness in the car, I’m going to guess that we are well within the Louisiana border because the scenery surrounding us is nothing but watery swamp land. We are literally at a very secluded rent by the hour Motel in the middle of nowhere, but on a good note the freeway is right there so we can get moving a lot faster.

“While you were pleasantly sleeping I was up until two AM reading up on Mark Hallway, he has his town convinced that he’s an easy going small town boy with a kind heart. All of Louisiana really believes he’s superhero of the year.  Which is good news for us because every year on the anniversary of his small town he jumps up on his locally made float and waves to the town’s fine citizens?” Barrette says bitter sarcastically.

“Let me guess, the town has a full scale police department? And the parade is today?” I reply to Barrette who gives me an approving look. “Of course. When does the parade start?” I ask Barrette who looks down at the clock radio. “In four hours, we’ll be there in three unless we hit traffic. I was thinking that instead of attacking before the parade we attack afterwards when Mark is home. But we should at least be around to guard the Mayor just in case Devon tries to get there first.” Barrette responds as he glides around a particularly slow car going about eighty five miles an hour.

“I like your idea better, I have a feeling Devon is going to try something when we least expect him to.” I confirm Barrette’s hinted fear that Devon is up to no good, more so than he has been. “Don’t you find it strange that we haven’t seen him one time since Alabama?” Barrette verbalizes the same thought I had earlier on today in the shower.

“It is strange; I mean he tried to kill you with Strychnine. Maybe he gave up chasing us in the car and he’s waiting for us to stay still. Obviously he is following us, he was less than a half hour behind us, back in Mississippi.” I give my observations; Barrette grimaces again then lightly shakes his head confusedly.

“Something’s not right here, with the information we have, it’s enough to put Devon away dont you think?” Barrette theorizes with the idea of throwing a wrench in Devon’s game and not going to Mark Hallway’s location.

“It is enough to put him away. But realize that Devon has hurt many people, destroyed families who are still hurting because no justice was paid unto my cousin. I want to get everything we have so that at least most of the families he destroyed will know that justice has been served. That and I’m almost thinking that Mark Hallway has the circuit list of all Devon’s henchmen and affiliates so we might get other sick minded folks off the streets with this raid.” I explain to Barrette who shows understanding that we have to get this last file at any and all costs.

Silence rolls into the car for another hour, the only noise we hear is the very loud roar of the Camero’s engine and the low humming of the radio playing my father’s Metallica CD. Finally though, Barrette breaks the silence.

“When this is done