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

causes her concern because gives up her search quickly and leans into my side with a breathless huff.

 

“I’m fine; does anyone know what is going on around here?” I ask in general to everyone currently standing around, Chelsea who is still leant against my side now turns and wraps her arms around me giving me a hug. Seeing as I know how delicate her personality is, I return the gesture and hold her tight offering her the comfort that she needs right now.

 

“I’m officer Gadget; this is my partner officer Brick. Mr. Green, the only information we have at this time is that you were almost poisoned with Strychnine, and your manager found this in the trashcan on your bus.” Officer Gadget says showing the note that was taped to my door earlier tonight; it takes the realization of attempted murder to stop me from laughing at inspector Gadget’s name. She’s a largely built brown haired woman with a Canadian accent and a much to perky persona, of course I’d rather have a happy go lucky officer on the force rather than some of the ones that are acting out lately and wrongfully harassing citizens. I often wonder why these officers are abusing their badge privileges lately, do they not realize or remember why they joined the police force? To ‘protect’ and ‘serve’ the community as well as uphold the law to the best of their abilities?

 

 Outside of the terrifying thought of murder these officers are telling me nothing I don’t already know. Either way, I go along with their investigation in hopes that they will take their uselessness elsewhere and do it soon.

 

“Someone was shooting at me tonight over at the parking structure by Bella Dona’s, I got away unscathed obviously but I didn’t get a good look at the men. I just know that they were driving a black SUV, seriously tinted windows, armor plated, and there’s a big bald guy wearing a black suit driving it. He also has a busted head thanks to me.” I inform the officers as I tap the left side of my head to give them an idea of where I clocked the man that attacked me. The female officer, Brick, jots the information down on her note book before looking back at me, her name is also somewhat amusing to me officer Brick and Gadget the useless duo!

 

“Well, we are clearing out of here. Whoever did this didn’t leave much of a trace; Marcus gave us permission to dust for prints. The only thing coming up is the rightful fingerprints of people on your team. At this point I encourage everyone on your team to watch their backs, if it’s not entirely obvious already, someone is trying to kill you.” Officer Brick informs, when she flips her information booklet closed a piece of deep mahogany hair falls out of the front of her hat causing her brown eyes to cross, she smirks deep then nods once to me bidding farewell. I’ve never ever encountered such useless policemen, this woman looks like she couldn’t even be a fast food server, and they have her on an investigation unit? Maybe they are new? Or perhaps they are incredibly tired, it is late at night and both agents appear to have been working for quite a few hours. They have that why am I still awake look in their eyes, a look I know much too well.

 

“Who could be trying to kill you?” Chelsea whimpers from where she stands as we watch the police walk away. I try to move but Chelsea is not letting that happen, she is all but super glued to my chest right now and showing no signs of letting me go anytime soon. “I have no idea.” I sigh wondering who in this world could be trying to end my existence, and why they would want to.

 

 

 

Chapter 1

On the Run chapter 1

"The Unholy terror"

Perspective of Bonnie Parker

 

Pulling to the stop at the end of an overcrowded off ramp I give a hefty sigh of relief, I need this red light right now, and I truly mean that. My hair desperately needs to be pulled back into a pony tail, the long mess of waves has been aggravating me for the last hour that I’ve been driving down the 101 freeway; with the top down on my blood red 1965 Mustang Shelby. A barely street legal vehicle with about ten thousand dollars dumped into the engine alone and another five thousand or so put into interior. This Mustang is my life, literally, and metaphorically.

 After fishing one of many hair ties out of the ash tray, I tie my midnight black hair up into a high pony tail to prevent further irritation to my poor eyes which have taken quite the beating between the harsh wind and my hair whipping at my face. I kind of need my vision to not be compromised while I’m driving, especially since I drive like a maniac!

The drive here to Los Angeles was both exhilarating and relieving, all the way here the gas pedal was four on the floor, top down, and cranking up Barrette Green’s new hit CD called This is me. This single CD has two songs on it that saved me from myself, and brought me back to the good ol’ days when I was happy, free, and wild.

 My step father who I have to say if a very terrible man has been brutally beating me from a young age, and not so long ago I fell into a depressive stupor, I’d given up fighting back even though I knew I could out match the old man any day. Some months back I had fallen so low into a pool of self hating depression I had planned my suicide and my own funeral; I was going to go out peacefully. Which is the one thing I never wanted, what I want is to go out with one huge fiery, glowing, bang! At any rate, on the night of my wood-be death date, I sat in my room with my sapphire blue eyes trained on my ivory skin watching as I lowered the blade to my wrist.

My radio hummed in the background playing commercials, as normal; I believe that on this night my grandfather or someone from beyond the grave was standing there with me trying to stop me from joining them in death. I believe that someone or something changed the dial on my radio to the one station playing Barrette Green’s song; I’d do it again, the entire song talks about fighting for all the right reasons, and telling the cop and judge that he’d do it again. These lyrics hit me hard, hard enough that I put the razor blade away and crawled into bed confident in the fact I was still an outlaw and I would somehow make it out of the hellish void I found myself living in. I would make it out alive, just like John Wayne; I’d escape this the same way all the greats before me had, like Billy the kid would, with street smarts, and a crazy plan that was just nutty enough to work.

After checking into Barrette’s music a little more I found one last song that changed my life entirely, no longer did I stand for my step father beating the day lights out of me. Every time he would start a fist fight I would remind him that women can be more dangerous than a man ever could. The fights happened quite often for a few more months while I pulled myself together.

Knowing my personality was a huge problem I placed my dream for acting into a real life setting and pretended to be a goody two shoed, do no wrong, angel which is what everyone in town looked for. I made myself into an entirely different person that the locals didn’t recognize. Because of this action, I was able to find a job and save up enough money until I bought myself this Mustang. After that I stock piled away four more hefty pay checks.

That’s when I decided that this cowgirl is going home back to Paradise city! And here I am, in Los Angeles. That may sound incredibly strange to some folds, many may think, how can a cowgirl come from LA? You might even think me a rhinestone cowgirl, but you are entirely wrong, why don’t you climb on into my passenger’s seat and ride with me for a while, I’ll prove that a outlaw cowgirl can live in cement city and still go six shooting and two stepping on the weekends.

A smile beams across my expression as people crossing in the crosswalk look at me appreciatively, their attention drawn in by the sound of my radio cranked up full blast. One of my all time favorite bands is currently slamming over the frequency, Guns N Roses ‘Paradise City.’

Ahead of me is a more desolate street that leads far back into the tree’s and directly into the upper class homes of Los Angeles, not Malibu rich, but in some ways we have it better than those snobs do. Looking to the top of the mountain before me you will see one rather tiny appearing house sitting proud and proper facing the valley. That is my home, which is the one true place I know that I can find sanctuary, there are only a handful of houses on that street so we are lucky to have two homes on this particular street, and both homes are glorious beyond words. The two houses are not glorious in a rich brat kind of way, but in a redneck cozy kind of way, yes, everything is fancy but it’s all old, worn, and weathered, well lived in to be exact.

 Finally, I think to myself as the pack of pedestrians find the end of the crosswalk and the light turns green. Instincts that go back to the dawn of cars kicks in, my left foot finds the cars clutch while my right hand finds the shifter, my right foot downs the gas pedal to the floor at the same time I abandon the clutch. A deafening screech of tires startles everyone around me as my car goes from stationary to barreling through the intersection making a bee line straight for home.

Wind whips at my face as twelve hundred horses open up full throttle, and the car’s engine roars louder than thunder. Tree’s start to blur past me at warp speed as I breeze down the road to home, the fallen more orange and crunchy leaves on the ground are spit up from under the rear tires of the Mustang coating every vehicle behind me in leaves and dust.

Police sirens suddenly chirp behind me as I blow through a stop sign that no one stops at, the officer starts to chase after me but gives up quickly knowing he’ll never catch my car. His siren does come back on when I take to the twisted winding roads with a shrill sound of drifting tires. The cop is far too late to even attempt to catch me now my car is much faster than