Authors: John Locke
REAM’S IS A neighborhood park, less than a mile from Cameron’s house. Bobby tells Willow to park behind the worker’s shed, next to the black Mercedes. The one that looks exactly like Chris Fowler’s, except for the rental tags.
“Is Cameron okay?”
“Don’t worry about Stringbean,” Bobby says. “She’s coming to. And when she does you better tell her to keep her mouth shut.”
Looking at him in the mirror, this Bobby seems more reasonable than the one who tried to smash her window. But the crazed look in his eyes concerns her.
“Why’d you hit Cameron?”
“Cut the engine and hand me the keys.”
She does.
“What now?”
“We’re changing rides.”
“The Mercedes?”
“Yeah, that’s right. We’re moving up in the world, baby!”
Do they even
rent
Mercedes sedans? They must, she decides, since this one’s clearly a rental. But Bobby didn’t rent it. He has no credit. He said he borrowed it from a guy. If true, why would he stash it here and walk to Cameron’s house?
He wouldn’t. Unless it was stolen.
“What’s going on here, Bobby?”
“We’re about to have an adventure. Soon as Cameron’s up for it.”
It takes five minutes for Cameron to get lucid, and when she is she’s mad as a wounded wolverine. She and Bobby get into a slapping and yelling match that ends when he punches her forehead and knocks her semi-conscious.
He cocks his fist to hit her again, but Willow purposely interrupts his train of thought by asking, “Who’s car is that?”
“Huh? What?”
“Who’s Mercedes is that?”
“I told you. I borrowed it from a friend.”
“What friend?”
“Guy I met at Shady’s last night.”
“What is he, a drug dealer?”
A strange look comes over Bobby’s face, like he just remembered he’s the one supposed to be angry here. Angry and in charge.
He says, “Get your ass out of the car, Willow.” He looks at Cameron. “You too, Stringbean.”
Willow looks at Cameron. She’s trying to mouth something. Trying to get Willow to read her lips. She’s…
Gun.
She’s mouthing the word “gun.”
Willow has Bobby’s gun in her purse.
She shakes her head.
Like she’s supposed to what, pull a gun on crazy Bobby? He’ll rip it out of her hands and pistol-whip them both.
“Now!” Bobby says.
Willow opens the door, gets out, then leans back in.
“What about my car? I can’t leave it here.”
“We’ll get it later.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. We’re having a sleepover.”
The girls share a quick look of panic.
“I’ve got some things in the trunk,” Willow says.
“What sort of things?”
“Bedding.”
“
What
?”
“I’ve got some bedding in the trunk.”
“You mean like sheets and shit?”
“Yeah. And a blanket. And pillow cases.”
“So?”
“I need them.”
“What’re you,
nuts
?”
“I’m not leaving without them.”
“
What
?”
“Or my vacuum cleaner,” Cameron says.
“Your
what
?”
“That’s right,” Willow says. “I’ve got bedding, Cameron has a vacuum cleaner. In the trunk. We need them.”
Bobby’s practically delirious from the speedball. He knows his brain’s all over the place. Nevertheless, he’s positive he’s not dreaming.
“We don’t have room for bedding and a vacuum cleaner. You’ll have to leave them here.”
“No!” Willow says.
“Don’t you
tell
me no!” Bobby yells, and launches a fist toward Willow’s face. She easily avoids it, backs out of the car and dashes around the front.
Bobby grabs his door handle intending to jump out and chase her, then realizes Willow’s rounded the car. She’s heading for the front passenger door, reaching for the handle.
She wants to open the door?
To get what, her purse?
His drug-addled brain is reacting slowly, but not so slowly he can’t figure out why she wants her purse. It’s the reason he fired up his motorcycle to go looking for her this morning after waking up and finding her gone.
After realizing his gun was missing.
Willow gets the door open just as Bobby lunges forward.
The purse is on the edge of the passenger seat, just right of the console. They grab it at the same time, but Willow’s got the angle and the leverage, and easily rips it from Bobby’s grasp. Unfortunately, the purse is open, and as she pulls it free, Bobby’s gun falls out. He grabs it and points it at Willow’s face. She backs away, slowly.
Bobby turns the gun on Cameron and says, “Say goodbye to Stringbean!”
“
Stop
!” Willow yells.
“I’ll stop if you open Stringbean’s door.”
Willow could probably get away, but she can’t leave Cameron with Bobby. He’s capable of anything when on drugs. Not to mention she can’t abandon her car while the items are still in her trunk. They’re evidence of the murder.
Willow opens Cameron’s door.
“Okay, Stringbean,” Bobby says. “Get out.”
Cameron climbs out, gives Willow a look of disappointment.
Bobby follows her, but when he tries to stand his knees are so shaky he has to put his left hand on the car to steady himself. His head’s swimming, urging him to lie down, close his eyes, drift. It would be so easy to lose control of the situation.
He focuses on the women.
“Get in the Mercedes,” he says. “Both of you.”
“Not without my bedding,” Willow says.
“And my vacuum cleaner,” Cameron adds.
“
This
again?” Bobby says.
“Kill us now, or give us our stuff,” Willow says in a voice so strong and steady she seems to mean it.
“You’re willing to die for a fucking vacuum cleaner?”
“And bedding. So either pull the trigger, Badass, or let me have my stuff.”
Bobby knows the drugs are working on his mind. Even so, Willow
never
speaks to him this way.
“Am I
missing
something?” he says.
“We want our stuff,” Willow says. “We’ll go with you, but we want our stuff.”
“We want our stuff,” Cameron says.
“We want our fucking
stuff
!” Willow shouts.
“Jesus
Christ
!” he shouts. “Shut the fuck up!”
“We want our
stuff
!” Willow shouts. “Give us our
stuff
!”
“You’re
insane
!” he yells.
It suddenly dawns on Bobby he’s standing in a park in broad daylight holding a gun on one woman, while another is shouting at him. And yet both are willing to go with him quietly if he’ll let them bring their stupid things.
“Fine,” he says. “Get your shit. Put it in the other trunk.”
To Willow he says, “While she’s doing that, get in the Mercedes. You’re driving.”
Bobby pops Willow’s trunk open, then watches Willow get in the Mercedes. When she closes the door he turns his attention to Cameron, who’s carrying the bedding toward the back of the Mercedes.
He scrunches his face in thought. Something about the back of the Mercedes.
But what?
Cameron opens the trunk and screams like she’s uncovered a dead body.
Oh yeah
, Bobby remembers.
That
!
BOBBY RUNS TO the back of the car, grabs the bedding from Cameron’s arms, and throws it in the trunk. He slams it shut, then grabs the very shaken Cameron by the wrist, and throws her in the front passenger seat.
“What’s wrong?” Willow asks. But Cameron’s too shaky to respond.
Bobby points at the papers in Willow’s hand. “What’s that?”
Willow says, “The rental car agreement.”
“You opened the glove box?”
“I wanted to see whose car we’re stealing.”
“And now you know. How does that make you feel?”
“I have no opinion on it either way.”
Bobby laughs. “I guess we’ll know a helluva lot more when the party starts.”
He circles the car, gets in the back seat and says, “Okay, let’s go!”
He suddenly seems in a good mood.
Willow says, “Not without the vacuum cleaner.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
So much for his good mood.
Willow says, “I’m not leaving without Cameron’s vacuum cleaner. Period.”
He punches the back of her head with his fist and waits to hear her cry.
“Fuck
you
!” she yells.
“Fuck
me
? What the hell’s
wrong
with you? Drive, bitch!”
“Get the vacuum cleaner or drive yourself.”
“Drive!”
“Vacuum cleaner!”
He shakes his head. What
is
this bullshit? Yesterday’s world was a simpler place. He’d smack Willow around, she’d cry, they’d have sex, she’d cry some more, next morning everything’s back to normal. This whole vacuum cleaner attitude makes no sense.
He sighs.
Then again, why dwell on it? He’s got more important things to think about, like the bag full of drugs and black toad powder Chuckie sold him.
Bobby suddenly laughs and wonders why. He didn’t hear or say anything funny. He’s just sitting here, wondering about—wait, there it goes again.
Now he’s giggling like a moron.
Must be the speedball.
He’s never had enough cash to mix the gravy before, and he’s suddenly feeling giddy. Seconds ago his senses were deadened. He had to struggle to remain standing. Thought he might collapse.
Now he’s flying!
He’s hit that level where half of him wants to shut down and sleep and the other half wants to party.
Chuckie the drug dealer was right when he said, “H and blow’s a hell of a show!”
Bobby can’t wait to try the Black Toad. And what’s the only thing stopping him?
A vacuum cleaner.
He gets out of the car for what seems the millionth time and pops Willow’s trunk open again.
While he’s retrieving the vacuum cleaner, Willow notices something attached to the sun visor that has no use being in a rental car. She takes a tissue from her purse, uses it to remove the device, and places it in her purse.
Who knows what might be of value later on?
If there
is
a later on.
Meanwhile, Bobby throws the vacuum cleaner in the back seat, climbs in after it and says, “Before the night’s over, you’re going to tell me what’s so special about this piece of shit used sweeper.”
He presses the lock button on her key and says, “Your car’s locked, and you’ve got all your shit. Let’s roll.”
Willow looks at Cameron and says, “Are you okay?”
Cameron shakes her head no and says, “There’s a dead body in the trunk.”
Willow’s eyes grow huge.
“Start the car,” Bobby says. “
Now
!”
“You killed the doctor?”
“What doctor?”
She picks up the rental agreement and reads, “Dr. Gideon Box, Royal Tower, West 64
th
Street, New York City.”
Bobby says, “Right. Like you don’t know him.”
“What I know is you’ve apparently killed someone and stolen his car. And you’re making me drive it. And you’re leaving my car here at the murder scene.”
“He’s not dead,” Bobby says. “He’s resting.”
“Who the hell is Gideon Box?” Willow says. “And how do you know him?”
Bobby says, “Tell her, Cameron.”
Cameron says, “It’s Chris Fowler.”
“That the name he gave you, slut?” Bobby says.
“He’s dead, Willow,” Cameron says.
Bobby says, “He’s not dead, you dumb bitch. He’s unconscious.”
“I know a dead body when I see one!” Cameron snaps.
Bobby says, “Drive, Willow.”
“Where?”
“My grandma’s farm.”
“Grandma Maggie? I thought she was in assisted living.”
“She is. But the farm’s still for sale.”
Bobby laughs again for no apparent reason, then realizes the car hasn’t moved.
“Did I tell you to start the car?”
“Maybe I would if you’d—I don’t know—give me the fucking keys?”
He throws the keys onto the dashboard and says, “I’m going to beat that attitude out of you when we get to the farm.”