We're the Millers

We Gotta Get Out'a This Place

Bonnie paced. She looked at the phone sitting on the table, two bare bulbs attached to the exposed ceiling offered plenty of illumination. She felt her Bonnie Parker mask sitting on top of her head.

"Ring, fucker, c'mon. Ring."

Despite her mix of anger and pleading, the phone remained resolutely silent.

She fought down the urge to pick it up again. Of course it hadn't died. She'd called the recorded time and temperature number when she'd arrived. It worked. Too warm for February, but who would care. Then she'd dialed the number that was supposed to be this phone. She'd gotten the busy tone.

Like she should've.

It wasn't the phone.

She stopped at the ladder and traced it up to the hatch in the ceiling.

Plan B.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.

"We really gonna do this job, this... I mean," Bonnie said as she reached across the table and took Jake's hands.

They were at Denny's on North Temple. Two a.m. Anyone in the place didn't want to know anyone else there. It was perfect.

"We've been talking 'bout gettin' outta town" Jake's tone was unhappy acceptance, "this... our chance."

"We could just leave. West. East. Who the fuck... Los Angeles. Chicago."

"We got, uh, well, couple hundred bucks to our names. Not sure how fat that'll get us."

"Hit the mall, I'll lift a bunch's wallets. Get us a bunch of cards."

"Then... just need to avoid Gail and Tommy."

"They're gonna get us killed," Bonnie muttered.

Jake laughed. But it was a morose laugh. "Or kill us..."

She exhaled slowly. Nodded her head and looked at the crumbs and parsley sprigs on the plate she'd pushed aside.

"Fucking Jed," she said in a low and rough voice, "stroke. Goddamn stroke beatin' up a little college slut."

"Still makes no sense. He's not even thirty, six feet plus of muscle and gristle... I'd never even seen him sneeze. And he strokes out punching out a girl barely over five feet?"

"Yeah, well, us and Tommy and Gail chased every gang 'round town. Wasn't anyone jumped him. I've always hated Gail, but seeing her slice open that dude's gut... oh fuck."

"For nothing. Now we've lost most'a Jed's contacts," Jake said, "no one trusts us anymore, and Tommy and Gail are just... outta control. Way too much rough stuff."

Bonnie let out a morose laugh then leaned and sucked soda through a straw. She looked at Jake.

"Okay, so let's burn the rest of our bridges in this city. State. Hell, this side of the Mississippi."

"This deal is supposedly twenty pounds of uncut coke. Twenty pounds of Colombia's finest export in powder form. In, out, we're on the road by midnight, not like any of us have any reason to ever come back to."

"And, what, those two gonna split the money or the coke with us?"

Jake bit his lower lip and stared across the dining room through the large windows. A few cars drove each direction on North Temple.

"I think they will, Tommy isn't a total shit. But even he can barely control Gail. But I think he'll give it."

"Well, if he doesn't and Gail murders me...," Bonnie muttered, "then I won't have to worry about it."

Jake squeezed Bonnie's hands. "Look. We'll be dealing with lame ass amateurs. These idiots have been cutting the Mongrels out and remember back our fist night?"

"Yeah," Bonnie grinned, "don't do a deal without paying the Mongrel's tax."

"Yup, so they won't be able to go the police, 'waah, they stole my cocaine!' And they can't go to the Mongrels. And we'll be five hundred miles away by dawn."

Bonnie glared at the phone.

"Ring, motherfucker. Ring."

The coke was supposed to be across the hall, in some new restaurant on the top floor of the Gatewest Center. She thought back to meeting her Wolfman. Jake. Some party full of college dumbasses, until Jake showed up and promised to get her the best nose candy she'd ever had.

They'd ended up at an abandoned church that used to be here, the lair where the Mongrel biker gang held sway, their Halloween party with every gangbanger and druggie in town dancing and drinking and snorting and fucking. Where this shiny steel and concrete mall had been built over the ashes of that old church after it'd exploded and burned down, Bonnie and Jake barely escaping and lots of others not so lucky.

To "revitalize the west side of town," the politicians said about this mall.

Well, it was nice. Bonnie had lifted more than a few wallets, walking through the crowds of normies and churchies as they stared at the same kinds of shops as she worked at in Streetcar Square.

She glared at the phone again. It stayed silent.

The Broiler. That was the place. It was across the hall and at the far end. If she opened the door out of this workroom and into the main store space and walked to the glass front, she could probably see it. But she didn't. She'd sneaked up the emergency stairs that led to passages at the backs of various shops. This one wasn't yet finished, it connected directly to the maintenance hall and thus the stairs. So no one in the mall would've seen her.

"Ring, fucker. Ring."

The phone continued to ignore her.

Jake and Tommy and Gail would use the maintenance passages on the other side of the building to sneak into the kitchen. Supposedly one of the cooks had the coke, he'd meet... someone... at midnight. They'd timed their approach to be in and out before that deadline. They didn't know all the parties and Bonnie didn't give the least fuck. Beyond not wanting to meet them.

She wanted the goddamn phone to ring. That'd mean that they had the drugs and had slipped out the same way they'd gone in. Through the back way. Quietly. The phone would ring and she'd sneak down three flights on the hidden stairs like she'd come up. Meet 'em out the back and on I-80 headed east before that midnight deadline.

She looked at the phone.

Then she looked up at the trap door again.

Plan B.

That'd mean that the shit had hit the fan. The back way was out.

But Tommy wasn't all anger and stupidity like Gail. He wasn't Jed, but if he sat down and THOUGHT, he could. They'd use the restaurant's hatch onto the roof, cross over, she'd open this one. Since the maintenance passages weren't connected on each side of the building, the cops wouldn't likely block BOTH of them.

Well, it was a plan.

She glared at the phone.

And then. What? She looked up. Blinked. Three knocks. Shit.

She shook her head and scrambled up the ladder. At the top she set her feet and reached.

"Oops," she said softly. She slid the mask to cover her face. She pulled the special key from her pocket.

Gail. Gail had... she'd forced Bonnie to give the shithead security guard a blowjob to get these keys. Jake had been... pissed. They'd both been. Bonnie was a thief, she was proud of her skills, picking locks and lifting wallets and clothes. But... she wasn't a whore.

But Gail... goddamn ugly nasty bitch with a cunt full of teeth. But she'd done it, she'd blown the guy. Her fingers brushed the handle of the knife on her belt. They all had one. Bonnie didn't know much about it, beyond the pointy end goes in Gail's gut. Then pull it sideways. Later. She'd find a time.

She used the key and popped the hatch. Pushed her head through. Smiled.

"About fucking time," Bonnie said as she locked eyes with Jake, his glittered through the eye holes in his Wolfman mask. He let out a soft huff and a quick nod before he shifted to the side.

Bonnie looked. Fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck. Gail. It was too dark to see the bitch's eyes through the Cleopatra mask, but Bonnie knew she glared at the women. Gail had Tommy's gun. GAIL. A gun. Shit. She pointed it at...

Two women. Holy shit. A tall brunette with awesome tits. Beautiful, shit, Bonnie thought, shit Hostages. Then the redhead. More tits. Dark skin. She was... well, whatever. Both of them in dresses that hadn't come from any shop she'd worked at. Same with their shoes. Heels. Stockings. These were top flight clothes, not the garish shit the dumb sluts at the parties they sold drugs to. No, these women were, well. Classy. Then Bonnie chided herself, bitches. Bitches with money.

"Hand your boxes down, ladies," Tommy spoke and she turned to look at him, "then climb down, don't worry about Bonnie checking out your twats, she knows what you have. Cleo will follow. Then I'll send Florence Nightingale down, then me. You all know the drill by now."

Fuck. Tommy held some chick, she was short, had hardly any tits, was... oh, hell, she's the same size as me! Cute, dark hair. Seemed more angry than scared. She was covered with blood, all over her shirt and jeans. But she didn't seem injured. What the hell? Tommy's left arm was around her chest, his right held the knife, not at her throat but easily moved there.

Then Bonnie looked again at the women. Each had a box they held in front of the tummies. Their ridiculous tits above those boxes. Who were these bitches? Bonnie shook her head. She let out a hard snort and reached up and the redhead handed the box to her.

It was heavy. What... oh hell. It had to be the coke. The box said Vernon's Custom Beef. She adjusted the weight and backed down the stairs. Once down she turned and carried the box quickly to set it on the table next to the asshole telephone. She hurried up the ladder a second time and the brunette handed her the second box.

This bitch was familiar. Where had Bonnie seen her? A customer? No. But... somewhere. She scrambled to the floor and set the second box alongside the first one.

Twenty... pounds... of... uncut... coke. Shit.

Bonnie hurried back and climbed halfway up the ladder. She reached up and with a soft touch on the redhead's leg guided it to the ladder, a soft huff in thanks, had a good look at the chick's shapely ass, covered with panty hose. She backed down and the bitch followed her. Bonnie backed off and when the woman looked at her she glared and touched the knife handle. The woman smiled, shook her head and shuffled to the side of the ladder.

Bonnie looked up and her Wolfman held the brunette bitch's hand as she found the ladder with her cray heels and quickly climbed down. Bonnie pulled her knife and waved it and the two women glanced at each, shrugged and stepped away from the ladder.

Gail scrambled onto the ladder.

"Careful, Gail," the redhead said in a smooth, syrupy tone as she and the brunette watched her, "don't fall now. Got a big evening ahead of you."

"Fuck you, dyke whore," Gail growled as she scrambled down.

"Try me, you can afford me with this score," the redhead said.

Bonnie cut off her laugh and it came out as a sharp snort. Gail gave her a sharp glance but hit the floor and waved the gun at the hostages and they shuffled further away from the ladder.

More scrambling and the blood-covered chick was on the ladder. Gail stood at an angle where she could watch the other two hostages and this one.

"Over there," Gail directed the newest hostage to the opposite side of the ladder, "and stand still or I'll blow your girlfriend's red head right off. I'd enjoy that."

Bonnie bit her lower lip behind her mask. What had happened? Gail's hand shook, she was as angry as Bonnie had ever seen her, but the redhead seemed to be... daring her. My god, that bitch had to be even crazier than Gail. She... had to have some sense what Gail was. The tall brunette just stood quietly and took in the scene, almost like she was recording it.

They should be scared. Scared to fuck, shouldn't they?

Bonnie watched as Tommy, in his Richard Nixon mask, climbed down and quickly grabbed the bloody chick again. The redhead's face... Gail had called her a dyke whore, these two were, somehow, definitely connected. Lezzies or something. But the redhead's eyes, like the brunette's. Calculating. Something.

Bonnie was a criminal. And even worse, she worked retail. She survived in both by reading people. This big-tilted redheaded bitch was going to do... Bonnie didn't know WHAT. But it hit her. There was no way that everyone here was going to walk out of this room, if she had any choice in the matter.

Who wouldn't be, THAT was the question.

Tommy dragged his hostage to one side of the ladder. Gail gestured at Bonnie and then at the brunette and mimed holding a knife. Bonnie nodded and Gail took up a position behind the redhead, gun shaky but at that range no way she'd miss. Bonnie shuffled to stand just behind the brunette.

"Anything, Wolfie?"

Bonnie looked up. All she could see was Jake's feet, they shifted as she guessed he scanned the roof. Then they stopped.

"Looks good, comin...," he said, "oh, OW, AAAAHHH."

Jake yelped and he plummeted head-first through the opening. He grabbed at the ladder but only succeeded in his head dropping with a perfect fit between two rungs on the ladder.

The crack of his snapped neck was like a gunshot.

The first frame Bonnie's chin had jerked up. At a sound. Then...

"JAKE," she jumped, tried to move toward the falling body. Toward the ladder. She collided with something moving the other way. She swung her arm. The knife. She heard... something. Like a stick breaking. A woman's scream, somewhere. She fought to free herself from the tangle. A body. She swung the knife, heard another woman's scream, soft, as something resisted the knife. Had to get to Jake...

Black. Nothing.

"MOTHERFUCKING REDHEADED CUNT! I'M GONNA—-."

"I'm sorry Gail, but you can't afford me now."

Where was she? Bonnie knew she was on the floor. A concrete floor. Face down.

"OOOWWW," it was Gail's voice. What the hell?

"Wow, what happened to your arm?" It was a man's voice. Bonnie didn't recognize it.

"BITCH! CUNT!"

"Gail," Tommy's voice, raspy, pained, "shut up goddammit."

"Yes, Gail," a syrupy voice, someone not familiar, but... familiar, "you really should."

Bonnie felt more bodies around her, more voices.

"Weapons secured," it was a man's voice, deep, gruff. Another stranger? Lots of feet shuffled and stepped.

"Hey," a man's face on the floor next to Bonnie, "you okay, your name's Bonnie, right?"

She opened her eyes. Saw a uniform. His face was next to hers. Fireman. Like... that.

"She fell down, hit her head," that same syrupy voice that'd been chiding Gail, oh, yeah, the big-tilted redheaded bitch, "after she knifed Jayne."

Knifed? What? Then she blinked at the man. The... oh, yeah, EMT.

But there was something else. She suddenly jerked up and turned. Saw him.

His body.

"JAKE!"

He was on the floor next to the fallen ladder. His head was... his neck. He...

"JAKE!"

"Oh, hey, be careful," the EMT tried to stop her as she fought to stand up.

Jake! Jake was DEAD!

Gail screamed again. Bonnie looked. Three EMTs and a pig held her. The ugly bitch's arm was... holy shit. The elbow was, not there, bending all different ways. She fought them and she and the redhead glared at each other. The redhead had blood all over her pretty dress, but, like the little chick, from where?

"GAIL!" Tommy again. Bonnie looked. Blood. His leg, arm. More EMTs around him. "Shut the fuck up."

"Yes, Gail," the redhead, "you really should shut up. Listen to your boyfriend, I just about sliced his hand and leg off."

Tommy let out a laugh that morphed to moan, EMTs worked at him in multiple places. Blood all over him. The redhead continued speaking. "If you don't, maybe I'll break your neck as well instead of just your arm like I already did."

"Just wait, dyke whore, one of these nights," Gail growled, before she screamed in pain as the EMTs tried to splint her horribly broken arm.

What? Huh? Bonnie's vision spun, her brain ran left, right, back, forward. forgot about them.

"JAKE!"

Suddenly a female pig was in her face. Her mask was gone.

"Bonnie, look at me. I'm Officer Holmes. Janice Holmes. Are you Bonnie Baxter?"

Bonnie looked at the face, hard, hair in tight braids wrapped in a bun under the pig hat. Then tried to look around her at Jake, but the bitch moved. Blocked her. Then she grabbed Bonnie's upper arms and she and the EMT forced her to stand.

"C'mon, Bonnie. I'm sorry, Jake's dead. We've got Tommy and Gail. The hostages are all safe."

Bonnie looked around. Saw the thin little hostage standing near the redhead. Both covered in blood. A sudden, clear thought. Other people's blood. How? Bonnie's hands were sticky. She looked at them.

Red. Blood. How...

"C'mon, Bonnie," the pig, "let's check you out."

Bonnie craned her neck. No one, not a one of the fucking EMTs, was helping Jake. Fuck them. Fuck them all.

The pig bitch and the EMT hustled her through a doorway and into a room with smashed windows. Glass crunched as they walked her into the hallway. The lady pig handed her off to another lady pig.

Then she saw the brunette. The one with the tits. A broad bandage across her midsection, reddish stain showing through... oh, knifed. She had a microphone and there was a camera. SHIT! Bonnie remembered.

She was a TV reporter, they'd seen her on the news.

Bonnie's mind cleared again. This TV bitch... and the little slut hostage covered with blood. She'd seen them... both. On the TV. The little slut was the one Jed had... oh fuck. When he'd stroked out. That was HER! He'd beaten the fuck outta that little slut. And this reporter bitch had reported on it all... and Jed was a brainless husk in a bed in that same shithole hospital where Briggy had almost killed his nurse before they'd shot him dead. And these bitches were HERE.

"HOW the FUCK?" The pig and EMT with her both jumped at her shout, tightened their grips as they forced her along the mall's broad hallway.

Then. One last thought before her brain gave up. Jake. Jake wouldn't be walking out.

Bonnie had known. She'd fucking known. She wished the redhead had broken Gail's neck. She'd walk out. Jake wouldn't. Bonnie howled.

*****

I hope you've enjoyed this tale. More adventures for the crew here are in my Geek Pride series, "You Promised Me Geeks," part one and part two.

The stories of Bonnie's and Jake's meeting and more are in A Tale of Two Parties and Chasing Robes and Shadows.

For those and all of my stories, click on my author's PennameWombat's stories at the top or bottom of this or any page if you'd like to explore the stories around some of the folks mentioned here.

Thanks again for reading and I hope this is worth a perfect - but honest - rating.