“Just one more stop,” she insisted, and looked at him as if she were sure he was going to refuse her. He sighed.
“There’s a Quik Clips right there.” She pointed toward a strip mall across from the Walmart. “I need to fix this hair. I can’t wear a beanie forever.”
It was nine o’clock in the morning. They had driven another two hours before they’d burned three hours on food and shopping, and Clyde had driven all night. He was growing irritable, and really wanted to get a few more miles down the road before he found a cheap hotel and crashed for a solid eight. But a quick nap would sure take the edge off.
“Fine. You take care of the hair. I’ll sleep for an hour while you do.”
Clyde pulled in front of the Quik Clips and turned off the engine. The parking lot was empty. Good. Then she wouldn’t be long.
“You won’t drive away while I’m inside, will you?” Bonnie asked, her hand on the door handle.
“I won’t leave.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.”
Bonnie worried her lip with her teeth, her eyes boring into his, trying to determine whether she could take him at his word.
“Can I have the keys?” Her voice was so soft Clyde wasn’t sure he had heard her right.
He almost laughed. The girl was no pushover. He pulled the keys from the ignition and laid them in her palm. “Here. Now go. I’ll be here when you’re done. You paid for this tank of gas, so you paid for your ride. I won’t leave.”
She flashed him a grateful smile, dropped the keys into her purse, and was out of the Blazer without another word. Clyde lowered his seat all the way back, folded his arms across his chest, and was asleep almost immediately.
Clyde was awakened an hour later by the excited voices of a small group of women who had gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Quik Clips.
“Brittany said she was here!”
“Why would someone like her be getting her hair cut here, of all places?”
“I don’t know, but Brittany is sure it’s her!”
Four or five females were pressed up against the windows, trying to get a clearer view of what they obviously couldn’t see through the large doors of the establishment. Then a white van with Channel Four emblazoned across the side and a satellite attached to the roof pulled into a parking spot beside his Blazer.
“Holy shit,” Clyde breathed, as the realization hit. This was all about her. Bonnie Rae. She had drawn a crowd. At ten o’clock in the morning, barely an hour since she’d set foot inside the little salon, she’d drawn a crowd and the gig was up.
Clyde opened his door and, slouching down, stretched his long arm under the Blazer, feeling for the key box he kept for emergencies. He found it immediately and had the Blazer started and was backing away from the cheap hair joint without anyone in the growing crowd giving him a second glance. For a moment he thought about driving away. He didn’t want any part of that mess. But Bonnie’s bags were in the back seat, and she’d paid for the gas. And he’d told her he wouldn’t leave her.
Clyde pounded on his steering wheel, frustrated by his damn conscience. So what? She could replace the Walmart clothing easily enough. It wasn’t like she needed him. Not really. She was trouble. And Finn Clyde had had enough trouble in the last seven years to last him a lifetime. But he’d said he wouldn’t leave.
Clyde cursed again, but he swung around to the back of the strip mall, parking at the entrance to the alley that ran behind the line of businesses. There were no crowds or cameras back here yet, but there would be. People weren’t stupid, and if he drove down the alley, he might get boxed in by a television van or two. Plus, by parking his Blazer there, nobody else could drive down the alley either. He jumped out of the Chevy and started running, counting doors as he went, making an easy calculation as to which door was the back entrance for the hair joint. The door was locked, but he pounded on it, calling her name.
“Bonnie!”
The door swung open almost immediately, as if someone had been waiting for him to knock. A heavy-set girl with hair like a skunk and a phone stuck to her ear eyed him warily and then stuck her head out around the door to view the alley beyond him.
“Are you from Channel Five?” she asked with a doubtful raise of her painted on eyebrows. “Where’s your camera? They told me they would interview me on television!”
Clyde pushed past her and ran into the establishment, kicking a mop bucket out of the way as he burst through another door into a room lined with sinks and low, backless chairs on one side, and mirrored hair stations on the other. Bonnie sat at one of the stations, facing the mirror, apparently the only patron in the place. Her head boasted a new, shiny cap of dark hair, and her eyes widened as she caught his reflection in the mirror. A girl wielding a blow dryer was chattering above the din, making Clyde wonder if either of them were even aware of the crowd outside the salon. From where they stood, the front windows weren’t visible.
“Clyde?” Bonnie’s mouth moved around his name as he strode forward, yanking the black apron from around her neck and pulling her from the chair.
“I think someone called a few friends and told them a certain singer was getting a haircut,” he clipped, by way of explanation.
Without a word, Bonnie snagged her purse, pulled out some bills, and tossed them toward the wide-eyed, stuttering, stylist who still held the bellowing blow dryer in her right hand.
“It wasn’t me,” the girl squeaked, trying to gather the bills as they fluttered to the ground, but blowing them in all directions instead.