Ropes of bittersweet and Virginia creeper wound around the abandoned gas station, encircling rusted pumps and pushing their way through the roof of the rotting garage. Shepherd’s purse and wild radish adorned three junked sedans. Pigweed rose from a pile of old tires like masts on a beached schooner.
There were no cars on the small country road. Luna, Ned and Warren stood behind the garage, all regarding the Ram. Both headlights were shattered, the grill smashed, the sides scratched, gouged, and dented; there was a small oval hole in the rear window, surrounded by a series of radial cracks.
“Thank you!” gasped Luna, incandescent with exhilaration. “Thank you both for being so incredibly awesome!” She threw her arms around Ned and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then planted one on Warren’s. “They’ll never get us!”
Ned regarded her, baffled. “Pay no attention to her,” said Warren. “It’s the adrenaline.”
“Do you know what I just did?” Ned demanded, enunciating exaggeratedly as his composure teetered. “I just pushed a police officer down a flight of stairs! I locked him, Gunderman, and another cop in the basement, and then I destroyed three of their cars! I assaulted a police officer, and another one shot his gun at me!”
“Wow!” cried Luna, and gave him a blinding grin. “Good thing he was a lousy shot!”
Ned turned on her, eyes blazing. “‘Good thing he was a lousy shot?’” he shouted. “Are you nuts? You’re endangering the lives of all of us, just for that stupid bird?”
Luna stopped, her eyes wide, then she rushed toward him and thumped him heavily on the chest. “‘Stupid bird?’” she shouted back. “So that’s what you really think? You were supposed to be gone at the Florida border! Why are you still here?”
“I was supposed to be gone at Warren’s! And I’m still here because — according to you — you’re my tar pit!”
“All right, break it up!” said Warren, stepping in and pushing them apart. “And would you keep it down?”
Warren sat in the driver seat, cleaning the mud off his face and arms with a rag and a bottle of water he found under the back seat. Ned slouched on the passenger side, staring angrily into space. Luna pulled the cover from the crate and addressed the eagle in a husky half-whisper. “It’s okay,” she said, sending an unwanted pang through Ned’s heart. “It’ll be all right.” Mars rattled his feathers, the soft slaps audible through the car.
“So,” said Warren. “One thing we’re not gonna do is drive around town in a hot truck. Forget the next stop — it’s three hours away, we’ll never get there. Gotta figure out a new game plan.”
Luna rummaged beneath her seat and retrieved a stack of license plates. “We’ve got Missouri, Nebraska, and Michigan,” she read.
“Oh, make it Michigan!” said Ned. “Then they won’t even notice the rest of the truck!”
“Warren!” snapped Luna. “Can we just drop this guy off in …”
“Knock it off!” Warren growled, a threatening rumble that made all sound in the truck cease. “That’s better,” he continued pleasantly. “I should call Glenn. Maybe he’s got some guys in the area. Blue phone. Grab my readers, too.”
Luna reached into Warren’s knapsack and retrieved his phone and glasses. “I left my stuff at Trish and Angelica’s,” she muttered, looking pained.
“Glenn! Wassup, man. Listen — I know I was going to return your truck tonight, but there’s been a snag.”
“Where’s my truck?” came Glenn’s voice.
“I’m sitting in it. It just needs a little TLC, which I will give it as fast as humanly possible. Meantime, you know anyone around Rock Ridge, Wisconsin?”
“You better watch your back,” said Glenn, then there was a heavy click.
“Huh!” said Warren. “That could’ve gone better.” He rubbed his beard. “Let me give this one a shot.” He scrolled through his phone, pressed a number, and waited. After a few moments, he disconnected and tried again. When there was no answer, he tried another number.
“Hello?” came a woman’s voice.
“Hey Ruby, it’s Warren! How you doing? Sal around?”
“No.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“You tell me!” she said belligerently.
After he hung up, Warren turned to Luna. “What about you?”
Luna shook her head. Warren turned to Ned. “You?”
“Oh, sure!” said Ned, roused from his vision of a furious judge pounding a gavel. “All my best friends live in the backwoods of Wisconsin!”
“I’m not feeling the love in here,” said Warren, peering over his readers.
“Wait a minute!” said Luna. “What about Stanley?”
“Who’s Stanley?” asked Ned suspiciously.
“He’s the turtle guy!” said Luna.
Ned turned to Warren. “Didn’t you just finish saying no more rehabbers? Gunderman knows we’re going to rehabbers! What about Stanley’s license?”
“That’s the beauty of Stanley!” said Warren, scrolling. “He hasn’t got one.”
“As deeper we sink,” Ned muttered, and leaned his head against the window.
“Stanley! Wassup, man?”
A surprised voice emerged from the phone. “Warren? How are you? Where are you?”
“I am in an undisclosed location with two people who would probably prefer to remain anonymous. Except for one is Luna.”
“Luna! No joke?”
“Hi, Stanley!” called Luna, as Warren pressed speaker.
“Luna! This is crazy! You know you’re all over the police scanners?”
“Oh, yeah. I guess.”
“So, are you with that guy Ned Harrelson? Is he the other person?”
“Ugh,” said Ned.
“Is that him?” asked Stanley. “Is that Ned Harrelson groaning in the background?”
“What about me?” asked Warren. “Aren’t I all over the police scanners?”
“Sort of. You must be the ‘Unidentified White Male.’ Evidently, they don’t have your name.”
“Gunderman didn’t give you up!” said Luna, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Aww,” said Warren, smiling affectionately. “That sonofabitch.”
“Stanley, where are you?” asked Luna. “Didn’t you move?”
“I did,” said Stanley. “I’m in northeast Iowa. Hang on a minute, here. You can’t be far from Trish and Angelica’s, which is Rock Ridge, so I am… 87 minutes from you.”
“They won’t be expecting us to go south!” said Luna encouragingly.
“Can you put us up in your fine hotel?” asked Warren. “Like, tonight?”
“Of course! Absolutely! Are you still in the trashed blue Ram? Indiana plates?”
Ned snorted.
“Yes!” called Luna.
“Want me to pick you up?”
“No way can we ditch the truck,” said Warren. “Trust me on this.”
“Then I’ll direct you. I’ve got scanners on five precincts, so I know where the cops are. I’ll get you around them. Good?”
“Fabulous!” said Luna.
“Let me get set up. Give me ten minutes.” He hung up, and Warren turned to Ned.
“No sweat,” he said. “Stanley’s good with legal issues.”
Ned swallowed. “What do you think they’ll charge me with?”
“Don’t know yet,” drawled Warren. “The night’s still young.”
• • •
Trish and Angelica’s driveway was jammed with vehicles. Gunderman stood in front of the house, grim-faced, as two men hoisted one of the police cruisers onto a flatbed truck. Two additional squad cars had arrived, as well as the Fish and Wildlife SUV. The ground was littered with glass and metal.
As soon as he heard the scramble and the slammed door, Gunderman knew he had made another serious mistake. He had predicted that Warren would be out of the net in two minutes; he hadn’t predicted that Harrelson would catapult a police officer down a flight of stairs, lock the door, and wreck three cruisers. He had paid no real price for losing Luna after he’d captured her at Sean Callahan’s. Obviously, this would be different.
Gunderman stood beside Sergeant Nielsen, who regretted his decision not to call for backup as much as Gunderman regretted his decision not to make Ned lead him down the basement stairs. Trish and Angelica waited nearby, wearing looks of surly contempt. A police officer approached them, unbuckling his handcuffs. “Sergeant, do you want me to…” he began.
“You must be kidding, Sammy,” snapped Angelica, and raised her hands to her hips. The cop stopped, and Trish turned a poisonous gaze on the sergeant. “We already told you, Gavin,” she said. “She’s on her way to New Mexico.”
Sergeant Neilson gave an irritated grunt and waved toward a squad car. “Take them in,” he growled. “Book them, get statements, then release them.”
The officer Ned had knocked down the stairs spoke up. “I’ll fill out a report, Sergeant,” he said. “Losing the suspect was my fault.”
“Thank you, Officer,” said Gunderman. “But I take full responsibility for the entire operation.”
“I don’t need any of this,” muttered Nielsen, as his radio crackled to life. “Yeah,” he said. “Anything?”
“Negative, Sergeant. So far, no trace of them.”
• • •
The Ram slowed to a crawl. They had driven the last mile and a half in darkness, the only light coming from the dashboard, the headlights, and a spray of stars in the sky. “Look on the left,” came Stanley’s voice. “Another ten yards. See the tree limb on the ground? Okay, edge in and drive over it. Can you see the trail?”
A neatly-dressed man of medium height stood before a cozy house surrounded by woods. He was slightly round and had a shock of white hair. “Fugitives!” he said cheerfully, and grasped Warren’s hand. “Warren,” he said warmly, and turned to the others. “Luna! Ned! Welcome! This is great. I feel like I’m on an episode of ‘America’s Most Wanted!”
After they settled Mars in the clinic, Stanley supplied them with grilled steak, potatoes, assorted vegetables, and several bottles of wine. He listened appreciatively to their travelogues and stories of mutual rehabber friends, wore a look of concern during the recounting of the raid at Trish and Angelica’s, and raised his eyebrows whenever the tension between Luna and Ned spiked.
“Ned thinks Mars is ‘a stupid bird,’” Luna explained, giving Ned a dagger look.
“People say the darnedest things after they’ve been shot at,” Ned retorted.
“Settle down, kids,” said Warren, “or no dessert.”
After dinner Stanley led them into his study, which was spacious and wood-paneled and home to a large foldout couch. Three telephones and a half dozen radios rested on an old oak table, one bookshelf was stacked with screens and transmitters, and another overflowed with manuals and textbooks. “This is how I keep track of everybody,” he explained.
Eventually Warren concluded they were set for the night, claimed the couch, and ordered Ned and Luna not do anything dumb. Stanley refused offers of help with the dishes, and directed them to supplies in the bathroom cabinet. When Luna started down the hallway toward the guest room, Ned held back. He waited until the door shut with an audible click, then he turned to Warren and Stanley.
“She’s got mental problems!” he hissed, pointing dramatically toward the hallway. “She’s a landmine! Shouldn’t she be in a place?”
One second Warren was by the couch, and the next he materialized in front of Ned and grabbed him by the shirt. “A place?” he repeated, teeth clenched. “What kind of place?”
Stanley quickly inserted himself between them. Warren retreated a few steps, rubbed the back of his neck, then returned to Ned. “Listen,” he said, smoothing Ned’s crumpled shirt. “We just need to get her to Hélène’s.”
Ned trudged toward the guest room, still rattled by the look on Warren’s face. Talk about nightmares, he thought.
The guest room was similar to the rest of the house, neat and orderly and furnished in earth tones. There was a queen-sized bed, a stained glass lamp, and vintage prints of assorted reptiles. Ned heard the sound of the shower. He closed the bedroom door and yanked one of the curtains shut. Luna emerged wearing what appeared to be one of Stanley’s button-down shirts, and grimaced when she saw him. “Stanley will have you out of here tomorrow morning,” she said frostily.
“Good!”
“And I’ll get my own stupid bird to Canada!”
“Fine! Bon voyage! As for tonight, I’ll sleep in the living room!”
He held her simmering stare as he headed for the door. Just as his hand shot past the doorknob and encircled her shoulders, she flung both her arms up and around his neck. Their kiss was long and fiery.
Suddenly Ned pulled back. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
He hesitated, torn between lust and fear. ”I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Why?” she asked. “Is it because you think I’m nuts?”
Ned was determined to play it cool after his encounter with Warren, but the stress of the past week got the better of him. “Yeah, I think you’re nuts!” he blurted out. “You, and everyone you know!”
She stood straight and square and nodded, as if acknowledging the validity of his opinion. Her eyes held his. “I’m not crazy, Ned,” she said finally. “I just have a few issues.”
Ned factored this into his critical thinking, a process which took about three-fifths of a second, then he pulled her toward him and pressed his lips against hers. He stopped, removed his glasses, and tossed them onto the dresser. In one fluid movement, picked her up and carried her to the bed.
Luna rolled, straddled him, and removed Stanley’s shirt. She flung it into the air, it slid off the windowsill, and came to rest on the floor. Ned stopped, staggered by her abruptly revealed body. She pulled off his pants and seized him with a proprietary grip, and with a sharp intake of breath he sat up, flipped her beneath him, and plunged inside her.
Ned felt like a finely tuned engine. The motion was constant, fluid, and deep; the sensations overwhelming, the visuals beyond his imagination. She was everywhere, silky and slippery, wrapping him in a breathtaking swirl of erotica, his unattainable dream woman come to life.
Luna felt like a bird on the wing. She dove, spiraled, and rode the wind, anchored only by Ned’s awestruck gaze. He was everywhere, hard and demanding, gentle and tireless, taking her to greater heights; to where the sky was wide, the air was clear, and no one could find her.
Eventually they collapsed, exhausted. Ned lay on his back, breathless, Luna beside him. The blue sheets eddied around them like a late summer stream.
Ned gazed at the cream-colored ceiling, at the white molding around its periphery. He couldn’t see any of it clearly, of course, as his battered glasses were on the dresser. He wondered if there was a Richter scale of human pleasure, if titanic sex could alter one’s brain chemistry in any permanent way, and how much time they had before a squadron of law enforcement officers burst into the room and arrested them both.
Luna rolled over and rested her head on his chest. Ned was so floored by this epic act of voluntary intimacy that he couldn’t disguise his astonishment. Cautiously, he folded one arm around her. This is all I need, he thought. For the rest of my life, this is all I need.
After a minute or two, though, he found himself waiting for her to follow her monumental act with words. After that kind of afternoon, shouldn’t she want to talk about it? After that kind of sex, shouldn’t she be wide awake? He waited for the dam to burst, for a torrent of emotions, memories, comparisons, strategies, declarations, and questions to gush forth.
The room remained soundless. He glanced down, wondering if she were even conscious. Her eyes were closed. “Luna?” he said.
Luna stirred, poised at the edge of sleep, and felt Ned’s arm around her. The silence was so beautiful, so calm, so comforting. It was like dawn, she thought dreamily, fragile and perfect, when not even the birds had awakened; after she had survived the night, but not yet faced the day. She held him and kept her eyes closed, trying to preserve their rumpled blue bed and transient safe house in her mind. She would remember them, she thought, after time had passed, and things had changed, and he was gone.
“They didn’t catch us, Ned,” she said, in the husky half-whisper she used for no one but Mars.
The pang in his heart grew warm, took root, and bloomed like a wildflower. He rested his cheek against her head. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “They won’t catch us.”