On the Run, M Zeigler [you can read anyone txt] 📗

“I’m sorry about your father, and I’m honestly sorry he would put his life’s burdens on a child.” Barrette says which only earns him laughter from my side of the car.

 “Jack isn’t dead, he’s just to messed up to be scaling twenty foot chain link fences in the pouring rain to chase after Devon. And regardless of what Jack trained me to do, I would have gone after Devon on my own time. The man is a monster, he kidnaps little girls and sells them to human trafficking rings, and that’s only a small portion of the things he does.” I reply once I’ve controlled my laughter.

“So he’s a loan shark, a human trafficker, what more could he possibly do?” Barrette growls angrily from his seat, I shake my head no. No one really wants to know all of the things this man does for a living, he’s by far one of the worst humans you will ever meet.

 “Trust me cowboy Casanova, you don’t want to know…Come on Moron speed up or slow down!” I reply then find myself shouting at some guy driving one of those crumby hybrid car, this guy is worse than because he won’t speed up enough to let me behind him or slow down so I can get past traffic. Barrette’s grip on the door frame tightens considerably as I speed up and jump over into the left lane passing a beamer and two Mercedes before cutting across all four lanes so I can catch interchange we need.

“Well sorry modern day rebel child; look at it from my perspective I pulled a loan out from Devon when I was eighteen. The money was paid back in full, it was a bit late but it was paid. Then twelve years later, out of thin air, these three thugs turn up out of nowhere and try to poison me with Strychnine! In the last four days alone they have blown up two rental cars and one of my motorcycles! And landing om today I some random crazy biker broad show up out of the blue and beat the stupid out of one of the thugs who was taking shots at me two weeks ago! So excuse me for being less than flirtatious!” Barrette starts to speak loud and defensively at this point; he must not be used to women having such the charming sarcasm that I do.

“Calm your spurs there Barrette, I’m not attacking you here. I’ve just had the most exhausting day ever and it’s not over yet no thanks to you.” I reply as I change lanes and flip the bird to some moron driving on a flat tire in the fast lane going only thirty miles an hour with his left hand turn signal on.

“Why is it the police can’t catch Devon?” Barrette asks giving a slight smirk at my antics with the drivers around here.

“Because, he has money, lots and lots of money, so he does whatever he wants and pays police to stay quiet as well as other people. He gets the money by loaning people money, as well as selling illegal high end guns and cars.” I explain launching onto the freeway from the interchange; Barrette shakes his head in dismay at what I’ve just told him.

“That and there’s the fact that Devon stays on such a down low that the cops can never find him, he’s always fifty steps ahead of the law, just like his father.” I add as I aim for a perfect clearing in the traffic.

Now that Barrette has realized I’m not going to get us killed he slumps down into his seat seeming more relaxed, which is nice to see because he looked to see I’m clocking in at a hundred and ninety miles per hour.

“What gives you the inside edge that the police don’t have?” The singer next to me asks I look over at him with a bitter sarcastic look. “Are you kidding? I’m related to the guy, no one knows family like family that hates each other. Besides that, like my grandfather always said, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, you’ll live a lot longer that way. Outside of all of that I was trained around Devon’s knowledge; everything he knows I know better, anything he can do I can do it better and faster.” Barrette tosses those words around in his for a while allowing a  peaceful and surprisingly comfortable silence between us.

My eyes remain on the road and he watches the world flash by out the passenger’s window. For a brief moment in time I start to feel like my three times great grandmother Bonnie Elizabeth Parker the first, this must have been what it was like for her riding around with Clyde Barrow. There must’ve always been a blissful peacefulness between the two, content in knowing that somehow someway they would both be okay. Bonnie must’ve been content knowing that even though she had given up everything, she was going to get something better than what she had, what a life that must’ve been. Is it wrong that I’m jealous of my grandmother for finding such love even in the darkest of circumstances?

“What’s your story?” Barrette asks suddenly bringing me back to the present instead of day dreaming in the nineteen thirties. “What story?” I ask sounding slightly confused, Barrette scoffs at my remark.

“Everyone has a story, and yours has to be something new, I mean you’re obviously a more southern outlaw type. So what is a woman like you doing in a city like this? And why do you call this concrete haven your home?” Barrette more clearly explains what he is asking me, an amused smirk plays at my lips as we fly down the road.

Part of me feels that he deserves that answer, but a bigger part of me doesn’t want to tell him because of a poorly written fan letter a few years back when I was drunker than a skunk. I don’t want him to have read that letter, put two and two together and then think I’m lying to him because the sober true story is different from the intoxicated confused version. A more sane resolution comes to mind, odds are that out of the millions of fans who write into him he’s not going to have read mine, and even if he did he’s not going to be able to remember me from any other Bonnie.

“What is there to know? I’m twenty years old, my mother took me away from my dad when I was three years old, I didn’t see him for twelve years. My step father moved us to a dilapidated dust bowl of a town filled with nothing but wannabe Christians that hated me because I was different and listened to Rock ‘N’ Roll. My step father spent the next seven years brutally beating me-

“That’s when some cowboy Casanova wrote I’d do it again and Amen to that and brought you back from the brink of suicide at the last possible second. The unholy terror just had one little flaw in her writings, she was still drinking like a sailor when she wrote to me and somehow managed to get that letter straight to my E-mail. The computer had a glitch or you’re good at hacking when you’re drunk, I remember that letter well. It’s the most bizarre thing I ever heard, a living Beverly hillbilly  mixed with a touch of southern outlaw, and a Nikki Sixx prodigy in the making, let’s not forget the stubbornness of a thousand angry mules.” Barrette interrupts and finishes the story I frown deeply at my luck. There are many days when I wonder how much god has forgiven me for my sins.

“After the night I heard Amen to that I hit my knees and prayed for the first time in years, I cried like a baby, and I had never shed a single tear for six years prior to that night. After that letter and a few bar brawls later I came entirely full circle and cleaned up my act. I busted my butt to get out of that small town and away from those evils people. I came back home, I could easily fit in living in Georgia like you do but I couldn’t bear to be away from Los Angeles. To you this place is just a concrete jungle; you see freaks and rude folks bustling about. I see kindred faces, those Mohawk freaks understand what it’s like to be the outcast, and they understand being frowned upon. And well the rich snobs, their just a lot of fun to mess with, especially when their late for a meeting and they find their car tires filled with cement.” I chuckle to mine and my sister Anna’s last escapade during my last summer visit to Jacks house.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand any of what you just said, a southern outlaw shouldn’t be in Los Angeles. But, I can say that your story brought the entire team to tears, we tried to find you and offer help but you left your letter anonymous so we couldn’t locate you. On another plate we all somehow found strength in your words.” Barrette says as I take the last exit that leads in the general direction of the fair grounds.

“Take the private drive.” Barrette says pointing up ahead a few yards where Josh Alden’s tour bus is turning into an almost hidden driveway.  Mr. Alden is another southern rock singer like Barrette; the two are good friends to; so maybe this day will find some salvation. With any luck Alden will be as awesome as Barrette is.

“People always say that. They claim that they find strength in me somehow, I don’t understand how though; I’m like a demon or something. I’m not good news for anyone, which is why I’m very surprised you asked me to help you.” I reply slowing down to the speed limit when I get behind Alden’s tour bus.

“That’s where you and I are a lot alike, you have to learn things for yourself and learn them the hard way. At some point you’ll learn, your heart is in the right place but your mind and your actions are wrong. Normally there is a more peaceful solution to every problem.” Barrette beams back at me using my words from that stupid letter against me.

“Don’t use my own words against me.” I bite back at him as he points out where Alden’s driver is parking. “Pull into the parking spot to the left of Alden.” Barrette orders, as instructed I cruise to a stop to the left of Alden but in the car parking in front the tour bus.

“Goody, were here!” I exclaim sarcastically as I step out of the car and look around. Just as Barrette is stepping out Josh Alden comes walking over with a confused look on his face.

 “Oh, Barrette…Uh, where your bus?” Alden asks as he notices me, upon seeing miss scary bad girl Alden looks back at Barrette. “And who’s your friend?” He adds another question.

“This is Miss Bonnie Elizabeth Parker the second. Those goons I was telling ya’ll about? She knows the inside story and how to catch the guy calling the attacks.” Barrette explains, as he formally introduces me to Alden.

“The second? Does that mean you-

“Are the direct female descendant of Clyde Barrow’s, Bonnie Parker? Yes sir.” I interrupt Alden sounding really rather hateful towards his pesky question. However I do accept his hand shake, I am rude but I’m not that rude. “Wow. Never thought I’d be meeting a legend.” Alden replies, I cock my head to the side at his remark screwing up my expression.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you two? You’re the ones riding around in million dollar tour busses with girls screaming as they run across an open field to get to you.” I say then add in the