Honeybun on the Run

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

SLAPPING HANDS. STINGING pain. And beneath the irritating slapping, a bone-deep throbbing that made his teeth ache. Clovis swiped at the slapping hands and groaned, carefully probing the spot on his skull where somebody’d attached a vise.

“You took quite a hit, Honeybun.”

His fingers encountered a goose egg and he winced. He recognized the voice. His back up had found him. Clovis opened his eyes, wincing at the bright light shining directly into them.

“Jeezopete, Phillips. Get that light out of my eyes.”

The agent lowered the flashlight and reached to help Clovis stand. “Did you see who clocked you?”

Clovis shook his head. “I think I know who it was though.”

“A pretty little black woman and a tall, punky looking white kid?”

Clovis rubbed the spot on his head and looked around for his gun. He didn’t see it. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“We passed ’em on the way in.”

“Did you pick up my gun?” Clovis patted his pocket and discovered his cell phone was gone too.

Phillips shook his head, his wide face filled with concern. “No. You should probably get that goose egg looked at.”

Federal Agent Doug Dael came through the door from the gift shop. “No sign of them on the bus.”

Clovis’s gaze snapped around to the other man, taking in the dark suit and white shirt. “Why can’t you guys wear jeans like the rest of the world? I’m sure they took one look at you and flagged down the first passing vehicle to get away.”

The two men shared a look. “We did see them leaving the building.” Phillips told him.

“They were heading for the bus.”

Clovis started for the door. “Did they get on?”

The two agents dropped in behind him. “If they did they got back off again,” Dael told him helpfully.

Clovis hurried through the gift shop and outside, looking around. Across the lot a bus was just pulling away. His bus was still sitting in the same spot, though the driver was awake and writing something on his clipboard.

“Go talk to the driver,” Clovis told them. He turned to Dael. “Give me your spare piece.”

The shorter, dark-haired man narrowed his gaze. “Why?”

“Just give it to me.”

Dael sighed, reaching under his pant leg to extract a small revolver.

Clovis took the thirty-eight and checked the chamber. “Where’d you park?”

Phillips jerked his head toward the first row of spots, directly in front of the sub shop. “The white Dodge Charger over there.”

Clovis held out his hand. “Keys.”

“Now wait a minute, Honeybun.”

“Just give me the keys, Phillips!”

The agent complied. “How are Dael and I supposed to get back to Indy?”

“Alf will send a car. I need a phone too.”

The two agents exchanged a look and Dael reluctantly handed his phone over. Clovis strode toward the car. “Call me if you learn anything from the driver.”

“What do we tell Alf?” Dael called out.

“Tell him I’m following a bus to Memphis. He’ll send somebody after me.”

Clovis climbed into the Dodge Charger and started it, backing out and shooting toward the exit. He figured the bus with the punk and his pretty girlfriend had about a ten minute lead on him. It shouldn’t be hard to catch up to them.

Passing under a parking lot light, he squinted in pain. He only wished he’d had time to buy some darn aspirin for the pounding in his head.

That stupid little punk was going to pay for clocking him.

###

EMMA SAT IN THE VERY last row of the bus and stared at Shawn. The full bus had only had two open seats and they weren’t together. She didn’t like it. But she’d made a quick judgment that it was safer to switch buses. There was no telling if the two Feds they’d passed were looking for them...but she wasn’t going to take the chance.

Too much was at stake.

Shawn was flirting with a young girl who looked about fifteen. She smiled and giggled like she was totally charmed by the bad-tempered punk. Emma dragged her eyes away from them, another layer of worry settling in to join an already intimidating array of doubts and concerns.

Her fingers itched for her cell phone. She longed to make the daily phone call early, to put at least one of her worries temporarily to rest. But they’d taken her phone.

She had to use Shawn’s, a throwaway that she’d dropped into a privacy case so it couldn’t be tracked.

Emma wasn’t taking any chances.

“You travelin’ alone, beautiful?”

She glanced across the aisle. The man sitting across from her was so fleshy his arm nearly touched hers across the space between the seats. His breath was sour with old booze. She shook her head, choosing not to encourage him by responding.

He leaned closer, his buffalo-sized head coming much too close. A fresh wave of sour breath wafted her way and Emma grimaced, leaning away.

Her shoulder bumped the woman in the seat next to her and she came awake with a snort. “What? Are we stopping?”

Emma gave her an apologetic smile. “No. Sorry.”

The woman coughed wetly without covering her mouth and Emma shielded her nose and mouth. The last thing she needed was to get sick.

“If you want we can have dinner together in Memphis.”

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes with frustration. The man had tried repeatedly to engage her in conversation and, in desperation, Emma had finally succumbed to being rude. It didn’t seem to matter. He apparently had an impermeable ego. She glared across the aisle, hoping to penetrate his drunken fog once and for all. “I’m not having dinner with you. I’m traveling with a friend and I’m not interested.” She lifted her brows. “Is that clear enough?”

The man stared at her through blurry brown eyes and then laughed, reaching across to pat her arm. He squeezed it, his hand heavy and moist.

Emma tried to jerk her arm away but he held on. She reached into her bag, her hand closing over the handle of her .38 special. She wouldn’t shoot him, but she wasn’t averse to clocking him on the head with it as she’d done the cute blond guy.

The thought made her even grumpier.

She leaned toward the drunk, her voice low and throbbing with anger. “Let go of me right now.”

His response was to squeeze her arm again and laugh. “Name’s Eddie. What’s yours, honey?”

“Emma!”

Her eyes jerked to the front of the bus, where Shawn was out of his seat, his oversized jeans drooping past his butt as a big man with graying hair jerked on the front of his jacket. “Son of a...”

“That your boyfriend?” drunk Eddie asked.

Emma stood up, swinging her purse quickly and smacking the big drunk on the temple with it. His eyes rolled back in his head and he drooped forward, hitting his head on the seat in front of him.

“Oops, sorry.” Emma smiled as she started up the aisle. Her smile widened as she approached the obviously irate older man, hoping to soothe whatever trouble Shawn had started.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

The man gave Shawn’s coat another jerk and she grabbed Shawn’s hand as he started to raise his fist. He wasn’t nearly as tough as he thought he was and the other man looked like ex-military.

A big, strong guy with a ruddy face and close-cropped gray hair. “This punk was bothering my daughter.”

“Dad.”

Emma slid a glance to the young girl, who seemed to be doing her best to disappear into her seat.

“Be quiet, Shirley.”

The girl’s face pinkened but she slammed her mouth closed and turned away, staring out the window. “This is why I didn’t want to sit with you,” the teen murmured.

Emma felt her pain.

The driver turned in his chair. “Hey, what’s goin’ on back there? You folks need to take your seats.”

Emma lifted a hand to the driver and then looked at the irate father. “My brother can be a real ass at times.”

The man turned a narrowed blue gaze on her, clearly not willing to be talked down from his rage. “She’s only fourteen. I should call the cops.”

Shawn lifted his hands. “Hey man, we was just talkin’.”

“You always talk with your hands, boy?”

Shawn snorted, seeming to think the man was joking.

Emma glared at him. He was so clueless. “Look, I’m sorry. Mom sent me along to keep him out of trouble so I feel responsible. How about I send him back to my seat and you sit next to your daughter. I’ll take your seat.”

The man’s face softened slightly as he considered her offer.

The girl made a small noise of outrage. Emma avoided her gaze, laying it on a little thicker. “You can keep her safe that way.” And she’d get away from the drunk. Win-win.

The man finally nodded, jerking his head toward Shawn. “Just keep him away from me.”

“I promise.” Emma grabbed Shawn’s arm and tugged, encouraging the man to let go. He finally did, giving Shawn an angry little push before releasing him.

Emma glared at Shawn, shoving him toward the back. “You go sit down and don’t make another peep.”

Thinking he was safe again and showing her his usual disrespect, the punk puffed up and leaned menacingly close. “You watch yourself, woman. I ain’t takin’ no crap from you.”

She lowered her voice and lifted on her toes, getting right in his face. “Or what? You’ll tell Daddy? Trust me, Daddy won’t be pleased to hear you’re making a target of yourself. You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

The kid laughed off her words but stepped back. Lifting his hand he made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and pretended to shoot her. Then, laughing, he sauntered back and dropped into her abandoned seat.

Emma sagged into the empty seat a few rows up, tears stinging her eyes. She was so tired of being tired. So weary of being scared. She wished she could just walk away. Let the little jerk get what he deserved.

But she couldn’t. So there was no point even thinking about it.

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Praying they could keep the drama to a minimum for a while. She felt like she hadn’t slept in days.