On the Run by M Zeigler (short story to read TXT) 📖

car speeds towards the bald fumbling blob that is Andrew!  Barrette looks between my car and his attacker not really sure which one is more of a threat, in a brief spark of intelligence Andrew notices Barrette’s panicked expression watching me and looks my direction. When Andrew sees my livid blue eyes trained on his form he starts to turn back for his car. He’s far too late to make an escape at this point I think to myself as I hit the brakes and yank the steering wheel to the right. A deafening screech emits from the tires as the back end of my car swings around only to slide perfectly between the back of the tour bus and Andrew’s vehicle.

No fear or hesitation lies within my mind as I leap from the car going straight for Andrew who pulls out his gun. Barrette’s eyes go wide with terror when he sees the gun is aimed at me, that expression turns to shock when I don’t back down from Andrew. In fact I do the exact opposite, in a movement faster than light I whip my biker boot clad foot around, round house kicking the gun from Andrew’s hands, the gun fires off a single shot into the air before clattering to the ground. Andrew leaps back looking shocked, in that moment he lets his guard down I swing my fist out slamming it into his nose breaking it. He already has stitches in the side of his head so I figure someone else must have gotten the better of him at some point in this last week or so.

“You little Wench!” Andrew shouts as he lunges at me, his movements are dangerous, aggressive, almost like a very angry black bear. I take a few steps back luring Andrew well away from Barrette who is standing there with mouth agape watching me take on his attacker. I love that look on a guys face when I reverse sexist assigned roles.

 “Hey Andrew, remember me?” I say cynically as the henchman accepts my challenging stance. “Bonnie freaking, Parker!  I remember you, though you were cuter and less pesky the last time I seen you. Blonde hair, blue eyes, couldn’t catch a tan like the other kids could, you were very creepy.” Andrew replies, when his words end he takes a swing at me but I slam my fist into his already broken nose.

I give an adorably cute smile when he falls to the ground with a pained shout, once he has brought his hands to his face I make my next move slamming my elbow into Andrews’s rib cage with my full eight behind me. I feel two of his ribs break and dislocate under the impact, Andrew shouts out louder than before, he recovers quickly only to swing his massive hand at my throat. He shoves me back towards the pavement so that he is on top of me; all in same instance Barrette makes a move to step in as Andrew brings his fist down towards my face. At the last minute I roll my head to the side dodging the attack, Andrew’s knuckle slam the pavement, with the effort he put into that punch he ends up breaking his knuckles on the ground. His pain gives me the ten seconds I need to thrust my hips up in order to knock the man off balance, he falls off to the side but rolls to his feet the same time I do.

“Barrette!” I hear someone shriek as I square up again waiting for Andrew to make the next move, as predicted Andrew takes another swing but I duck down placing my left hand on the ground, my right arm moves straight out to the right for balance as I swing my right foot up kicking Andrew in the jaw. He ends up biting his tongue; to my dismay he doesn’t bite his tongue off. I only know his tongue is just badly damaged because he spits blood out onto the ground then looks at me.

 “Get away from her!” Barrette finally shouts as the rest of his crew makes it to our side of the street; I think the woman who was screaming for him broke through his shocked mind. Andrew see’s the country singer heading his direction as well as the rest of his crew. I wait for the longest time to see if Andrew will run or continue this fight, realizing he’s well out numbered Andrew decides it’s safer to just hit the road running. And he does, he darts straight back to his still running vehicle climbs in and places the car into drive. As quickly as he got here, he leaves, leaving a trail of dust behind him, on the way out he makes an illegal left turn in front of a newer truck that nearly hits him.

“That’s Bonnie, Elizabeth, Parker to you.” I hiss after Andrew like a very angry cat; once I’m back on my feet and dusting off my grandfather’s black leather jacket I hear someone talking to me.

 “Are you okay Miss?” I hear one of Barrette’s crew members ask me worriedly. Looking back I see that the one who spoke is a woman, she’s tiny, scrawny, useless looking with her blonde hair and baby doll face currently contorted into a worried pout.

“I’m awesome.” I huff irritably at her dumb question; I fix my jacket collar all the while locking eyes with Barrette Green, slight curiosity and wonder fill my mind. So this is the man who wrote the words that were key to saving my life? Well, I can’t say I’m unimpressed; in fact just the opposite, Barrette is even more impressive looking in person. Six foot one, and a solid wall of tattooed muscle, and all he’s wearing today is a pair of loose fitting ripped blue jeans, and a pair of western boots clinging to his feet, no shirt, no chains hanging by his pocket, I’m even shocked to see that he at least has his always present baseball hat on.

I can’t condemn him for not wearing much today, this afternoon is more heated than I really care to admit. I’ve never seen this area get so incredibly hot during summer, we usually hit about a hundred degrees, but this year it’s been close to a hundred and five!

After getting a good look at Barrette Green I turn for my mustang, I have every intention of going to my grandfather’s grave but the southern rock singer has other ideas. In two easy steps he covers the distance between where he was standing and where I am now standing at my car door.

‘Miss. Parker, wait.” Barrette says in his thick southern voice with his massive ring clad hand on my shoulder. “What?” I demand from him as I shrug his hand off of me so I can whirl around to face him.

 “Thank you for…whatever that was. Do you know who that guy is, or who he’s working for?” Barrette asks wearily, he takes a step back when he sees the glare in my eyes. He’s the type of man who knows what danger looks like, so he can tell I’m not the kind of person that you want to cross.

“Andrew Hannover, he works for Devon Morgan. Why do you care?” My angered voice comes back to him further showing my distaste for him holding me up any longer than I already have been.

“Devon Morgan is trying to collect back a debt I already paid off to him. He sent that Andrew guy and two other men after me two weeks ago.” Barrette says, his tone leaves an underlying plea for me to stay and tell him more of what I know. Little does he understand I’m not just going to stay only to give him details. He’s asked me to stay and I’m going to stay for a long while and return the favor of life, he saved me so the least I can do is repay that debt.

“We shouldn’t be in the open, is there someplace safe you can park that thing?” I ask Barrette whilst looking around for more of Devon’s hit men who could be hiding anywhere waiting to strike again.

“Yes, we’re heading to the fairground tonight for the concert tomorrow.” Barrette replies, I look to the tour bus then over to the freeway, then off in the direction my grandfather’s grave is. The entirely calm overheated day changes for a just a brief moment when a heavy gust of wind blows in from the direction that my grandfather and most of my family is buried in. That wind brings with it the scent of tobacco and bourbon, the smell that used to cling heavily to the jacket I’m wearing. My grandfather is here beside me telling me not to worry that he is here with me and not underneath that granite stone on the hill.

“I’ll follow you to the fair grounds.” I announce to everyone standing around waiting for me to answer Barrette’s question.

“I’ll ride with you if you don’t mind; we can talk on the way.” Barrette suggests, still not wanting to push my buttons to much more than he already has.

 The senior amongst the group that speaks objection to Barrette’s plan after giving me a once over look taking in my attire and considering Motley Crue blasting from my car speakers.

“Barrette, the poor girl probably doesn’t even know who you are.” The old timer suggests as he beckons to my car then to my attire.

“Actually I do know who he is, you’re Barrette Green. I listen to his music; classic rock and southern rock walk the same line.” I say to the old timer, he nods that he heard me then shrugs. “It’s your call guys.” He retires to letting us make the final decision; I look at my car then to Barrette before commenting further.

 “If you think you have the nerve to ride in that car with me driving then feel free to climb in.” I reply as I skip over my car door landing perfectly in the driver’s seat, Barrette wastes no time walking around to the passenger’s side to climb in. He does duck down when I flip the switch to close the rag top on the car; I’m only doing it for his safety, if people start recognizing him on the freeway it could turn into mayhem for both of us.

Barrette doesn’t speak a word until I’m on the freeway and have the music turned off; I figure we might as well get some details cleared up on the way out there.

“How do you know Devon?” Barrette asks, his deep southern drawl sends shivers up my spine instantly but I force that naughty feeling back as I figure a way to answer that question. I might as well answer him honestly, there is no sense lying when he’ll find out the whole truth at some point anyways.

“Devon is my fifth cousin on my father’s side of the family, my grandfather made it a point to hunt Devin senior in their younger days. My grandfather never caught Devin; who didn’t stop his tirade until he had a heart attack at sixty two and drown in his kitchen sink. Devon junior was my father’s enemy; he chased that man all over hell and creation trying to stop him. The chase ended the night my dad was driving home in the pouring rain and a drunk driver ran him off the road. When I was old enough my father began developing my skills for four years, teaching me everything I would need so that I could carry on in his fight to stop Devon. We gave up on ever catching Devon because he fell off the radar. That is until I seen Andrew heading towards you, I figured Devon had a hit out on you.” I explain to Barrette who remains silent watching me weave in and out of traffic with more grace than