“Go,” she said.
Waves of panic spread from the place on my leg where the pistol touched, and my muscles locked up. And all I could think was, I knew it. What I supposedly knew, though, I couldn’t have said. I stared at Petty, outraged.
“I didn’t want to have to do this,” she said through gritted teeth. “Go now, before Mr. Dooley sees me, or I’ll shoot you. Believe me. I’ll do it.”
I believed her. With more calm than I felt, I smoothly backed out of the space then put the truck in gear and drove the twenty--five--mile--an--hour speed limit toward the cemetery.
Spots pulsed at the edges of my vision. The center of my universe was that quarter--inch round spot on my hip. When I thought I could trust my voice, I said, “I’m going to drive you out to Highway 16 and I’m going to let you out. I won’t tell anyone anything. I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but I’d rather not get involved.”
This had to be some kind of weird militia shit, some mission she was carrying out on behalf of her insane dead father.
In my rearview mirror I saw Dooley standing on the sidewalk, talking into his phone and gesturing. I refocused through the windshield on a red Dodge Ram driving toward us. It looked like Randy King’s. Beside me, Petty folded in half, her face to the seat.
“What the hell, Petty?”
“Keep going,” she said.
I trained my eyes on the road, grinding my teeth.
“Is that red pickup gone?” she asked.
My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “Yes.”
Petty sat up. “Drive me to Salina.”
“You want to rephrase that as a question?”
It was clear from her expression she had no idea what I was talking about.
“How about a please, at least?”
Still, she said nothing.
“Fuck you,” I said. “I’m not doing shit for you after you . . .”
I’d never, in my twenty--two years, ever said “fuck you” to a girl. Not even in jest. My hands shook with rage and fear, my face was hot and my eyes watery.
“I didn’t want it to be you,” Petty said. “When I called the grocery I didn’t know it would be you.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
“If you’ll take me to Salina, I’ll give you every cent I have. I’ve got twenty--six dollars. I need to pawn some things and then get on a bus out of town.”
“What?” I wiped at my eyes, but I didn’t care that I looked like I was crying. “Everybody was right. You and your old man are fucking bat--shit insane. I mean, here it is, in living color. Holy shit. I can’t believe this.”
“Please, Dekker. I am begging you.”
“Women and drama. They go together like—-like—-I’m doing just like I said. I’m dumping you off at 16 and good fucking riddance to you, you psycho.”
She withdrew the gun from my leg and pointed it at my head.
“Drive me to Nick’s Pawnshop in Salina. I’ll sell my stuff, I’ll pay you for your time and gas, and then you can go. Do it, or I will shoot you. I’m fucking bat--shit insane, and I will shoot you.”
I hated the ragged, desperate sound of my own breathing, but I hated her more. It felt like the flesh of my face had been drained of blood, tight against my cheekbones. If I hadn’t been clutching the steering wheel so tight, my hands would have been shaking hard enough to knock me to the ground. I should drive her straight to the cop shop over in Niobe, but she’d know where I was going, and I believed she wouldn’t hesitate to blow my head off. I cursed myself for trying to help her in the bank yesterday, helpless in the presence of a pretty girl. So I kept driving, unable to do anything else.
My phone buzzed, startling me, making me jump, and I was afraid the movement would make Petty’s gun go off. I started to reach for it, but Petty said, “Don’t answer that.”
“It’s my boss,” I said.
She pushed the barrel into my temple again. “Don’t.”
“Okay. Shit.”
After a bit, Petty’s gun was no longer aimed at my head, but it was close enough to take care of business if necessary. I drove five minutes longer as waves of nausea rolled through me. When I couldn’t hold it any longer, I pulled to the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” Petty said, raising the gun again.
“Permission to vomit, please,” I said, then threw open the door and threw up.
Chapter 12
“LET'S GO,” PETTY said.
“Hurff,” I said. The wind blew and the occasional car or semi rushing by intensified it.
“Come on,” Petty said, nudging me in the back with her gun.
I was in no position to have a conversation at this point. I held up a hand as I spat and rubbed my mouth with my sleeve. I closed the door, staring out the windshield.
“I think you should get out of my truck,” I said.
“You’d better—-”
“You’re not going to shoot me,” I said. I hoped saying it would make it true. “Get out of my truck. I don’t care where you go, but you’re not going there in my truck.”