“Yeah.”
“Ain’t dat a hOOt? You’n me, we bote killers!”
“I don’t know what to do about his car.”
“Can’t pull no trailer wid it.”
“I know.”
“Leab it.”
“It’s got my fingerprints on it.”
“Better wipe ‘em opp.”
“Yeah. Okay. Wait here.”
Sandy left the engine running. When she opened the door, the overhead light came on. She looked over at Lib.
They looked at each other.
Lib had cleaned most of the blood off her face. She held a wadded, red bandana against her nose and mouth. A large, golden ring dangled from one of her ears. The lobe of her other ear was torn . and bloody. She might be about thirty years old, but it was hard to tell because of her battered face. She was larger than Sandy, had broad shoulders, and looked strong. Her shaved head made her seem tough, even though her face was torn and puffy.
Lib took the rag away from her mouth and asked, “Where’s yer shirt?”
“Where’s your hair?”
“Haw!”
“I’ll be right back.”
Sandy climbed out of the car and shut its door. She hurried up the roadside to the MG, dropped into its driver’s seat, and pulled out the ignition key.
She stuffed the key ring into a front pocket of. her shorts. Then she leaned sideways and opened the glove compartment.
It held a small revolver.
Sandy pursed her lips, quickly pulled out the handgun and stuffed it into her pocket.
Then she reached into the glove compartment again. This time, she found a few maps and a small stack of paper napkins—Slade must’ve saved the napkins from visits to fast food joints.
Sandy took them out and snapped the compartment shut. There seemed to be six or eight napkins. She used them to wipe the front of the glove compartment, the dashboard, the gear shift knob and the steering wheel. She opened the driver’s door, then wiped the inside handle.
The road was still dark and empty.
She climbed out, shut the door, and rubbed the outside handle. And the area around the handle. Then she made a quick swipe along the top of the door.
Shoving the napkins into a pocket, she hurried back to Lib’s car.
“Whose car is this?” she asked Lib.
Lib sniffed loudly, then said, “Mine.”
“Are you the real owner?”
“Sure.”
“The registered owner?”
“Y’kiddin’ me?”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Puck no.”
“It’s stolen?”
“Y’betcha.
“Great.
Sandy pulled onto the road, turned left, and headed for her trailer.
“How hot is it?” she asked, and put the headlight on.
“We’b had it a mont.”
“A month?”
“Stole it in Mexico. It’s good ‘n sape.”
“What are you, some kind of big time criminal?”
Lib let out a laugh, then snorted. “Dat’s a good one. Bill ‘n me, big time. Bonnie ‘n Clyde. Dat’s us. Know what? Bill was nuttin’ but a chicken-shit bully wit da brain ob a worm.”
“Was he your husband?”
“Haw!”
“Guess not.”
“Wortless puck.”
Sandy slowed down as she approached her turn-off. The road ahead looked empty. In the rearview, she saw only darkness and bits of moonlight. She swung onto the dirt tracks and powered her way up the hillside. Bushes squeaked against the sides of the car, scraped against its undercarriage.
“Ya lib up here?”
“Yeah. Me and my kid.”
“How old’s yer kid?”
“Six months.”
“A baby.”
“Yeah.”
“Boy ‘r girl?”
“Aw. Dat’s nice, real nice. But ya don’ gotta man?”
“Just him.”
“Bastard knock ya up ‘n run off?”
“Knocked me up and got killed.”
“Aw.”
“Yeah.”
“Did ya lub him?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Lipe’s a bitch, den ya die.”
“That’s what they say. Sort of.”
Lib laughed. Then she reached over and patted Sandy’s leg.
“Yer a good kid, Charly.”
“Thanks.”
As she drove over the crest of the slope, the car’s single headlight swept down from high in the trees and stretched across the clearing to her trailer.
“That’s home,” Sandy said. “Should we hitch it up to your car and get out of here?”
“We can try. Ya know how?”
“Sure. My friend Agnes and I pulled it up here with her pickup truck. I helped her do the whole thing.”
“Done it myselp a pew times,” Lib said. “Use to hab me a peller wid a boat. Course now, there’s dipprent kinds a hitches.”
“I hope these’ll match,” Sandy said. “If they don’t, I guess we’ll . have to try Agnes.” She turned the car around, then backed it slowly toward the front of the trailer. “After it’s hooked up, we can go inside and get cleaned up and stuff before we take off.”
“Good deal.”
Sandy climbed out, leaving the engine running and the lights on. Lib met her behind the car.
“They look like they’ll go together, don’t they?”
“Reckon,” Lib said. “Hey, ya got any beer? My mout’s all busted up dis way. I could sure use me a cold beer. I tink it’d peel mighty good.”
“I don’t have beer, but I’ve got a bottle of bourbon.”
“Dat’d do. Me, I’ll get started hookin’ up dis shit. You go ‘n pine us dat bottle.”
“Okay, sure.”
Sandy hurried around to the side of her trailer, rushed up the wobbly stairs and opened the door. She stepped inside.
She glanced around. Everything looked fine. The bottle of bourbon still stood open on the counter of the kitchen area. She grabbed it, started toward the door, then changed her mind and went on to Eric’s room.
She rolled the bedroom door open a few inches.
Standing motionless, she heard the slow, steady hiss of his breathing. A tightness inside her seemed to loosen and a coldness seemed to grow warm.
He’s all right. He’s fine. Fast asleep.
She quietry rolled the door shut, then crept away.
Outside, she found Lib bending over the trailer hitch.
“Can I give you a hand with that?” she asked.
“Already got it. Just hang on hap a minute, an’ we’ll be all set. Ya got da booze?”
“I’ve got it.”
“Dare!” Lib stood up straight. Rubbing her hands on the front of her jeans, she came over to Sandy. She took the bottle, raised it to her lips, and filled her mouth with the bourbon. When her cheeks were bulging, she lowered the bottle. Sandy heard air hissing in and out her nostrils. Then came sloshing sounds. Lib’s cheeks sank in, ballooned, fluttered. She seemed to be working the bourbon around her teeth and gums as if it were mouthwash. After a while, she stopped swishing and started to swallow. Finally, she opened her mouth and sighed.
“Ohhhh, Charly, dat’s a mighty pine drink. Takes da pain right outa my teet.”
“You got some knocked out, I guess.”
“Bill’s old head come bustin’ right in. I reckon it took out a whole passel of teet, top ‘n bottom—eight or ten ob ‘em. An’ I got all dese bleedin’ holes in my puckfn’ gums. But de booze sorta numbs ’em por me. Damn good stuff.”
She filled her mouth again until her cheeks were bloated, shut her eyes and sighed through·her nose, then sloshed the bourbon all around for a while before swallowing.
“Yer a mighty pine girl, Charly.”
“Well, I’m glad the booze helps.”
“I’m gonna hap to buy me some new teet.”
“Yeah. There’s a lot of stuff we’ll need to do after we get out of ere. Are we all hitched up, now?”