Wanted by Kym Brunner Page B

is so queer in this new world. Lots of things have changed—some of them not in my favor. I tap the steering wheel, pondering my next move, when a plump buttercup walks up to a tall metal box that’s fifteen feet from the door. I’m curious what that contraption is, so I watch. She shoves a card in a slot, pushes some buttons, and right before my eyes, dough comes spitting out of the machine! While I’m still staring, wondering if I’m seeing things, another stoolie comes up and does the same thing!
    Hell, I don’t need a gun to pull this job off. I grab hold of the tire iron and pull up so there’s only five feet between my car and the cash-making machine. All I gotta do is wait for the next halfwit to come by and stick his card in the slot, and I’ll have me an easy stack of greenbacks. To pass the time, I whistle Bonnie’s favorite tune, “We’re in the Money.” I only get through the song once when a slim dame wearing close to nothing sallies up and puts her card in.
    I linger inside my car until the money is shooting out the machine before I make my move. I dash out, leaving the car door open, and cozy up right behind her. I push the tire iron into her back. “Don’t scream or I’ll kill you. Give me all your money.” She starts to turn around when I tighten the grip on her arm. “Don’t look at me. Just hand me the loot. NOW!”
    â€œHere!” She holds the cash over her shoulder. “Take it!”
    I stuff the wad into my back pocket and push the tire iron in her back as a reminder. “Now keep quiet until I get to my car or I’ll shoot.”
    I dash off, thinking this job was easier than falling off a log.
    I barely take three steps when she screams, “Help! Help me someone!”
    â€œShut up!” I snarl, gritting my teeth, running at her.
    She’s frantic, pointing, backing away. “Heeeelp! Thieeeef!”
    â€œI said close your head!” I hoist the tire iron and wallop her on the side of her skull with one swift blow. Not hard enough to kill her—but enough to make the trollop shut her trap. She crumples to the ground in an instant. I run like a jackrabbit and hop in the car, hightailing it out of that gas station before anyone can figure out who or what she was snapping a cap about. I drive away with a handful of loot and no cop on my tail. Just like old times.
    Turns out there are some things even a person with a sixth-grade education never forgets.
    I drive a few blocks and turn down onto a side road to count my cash and reckon what to do next. I pull in front of a house under a shady tree and put the car into park. Next door, a man pushes a lawn mower around his yard, the putt-putt sound of the motor the same like when I was a kid. I count my money. “Yes, sir. Eighty bucks! That lady was loaded.”
    I lean my head back, thinking about where to go next. If Bonnie was here, we’d drive about fifty miles and then go out for a nice meal. We’d scoot from town to town, living in fancy hotels for weeks on this bounty. The smell of freshly cut grass reaches my nose and I take a deep whiff, longing for the country. I sorely wish my moll were here to celebrate with me.
    Flashing lights go off inside my head, like the kind I remember from Prohibition raids.
    Before I know what’s happening,
Whoosh!
I’m back inside Jack’s head. Alone. In the dark, soundless. If I had that tire iron in my hand right now, I’d hit myself over the head with it for letting my guard down. Must not be the smell of cologne that lets Jack get back in after all.
    I can’t believe my Second Coming is done as quickly as it arrived.

CHAPTER 11
Saturday, May 21st // 12:33 P.M.
Monroe
    After my shower, I dress in one of my favorite outfits, hoping to lift my spirits—a red floral vintage-style halter top with wide lapels, coupled with black, high-waisted shorts with two rows of buttons down the