Courtney jumps to her feet and slaps Duncan Clyde across the table so hard it sprains her wrist.
She hears hammers pull back, though Duncan doesn't immediately reach for anything but his cheek, and Courtney turns to see the only other individuals in the train cart, the woman from the robbery and the man from the newspaper photos, standing, pointing pistols at her.
"You're right, hermano," the man says, appreciatively. "She is feisty."
"Sit down, Bonnie Jones," the woman says. "We haven't gone through enough trouble to make shooting you right now the poor choice."
Duncan waves them off, rubbing his jaw. "Lose the guns. If you shot up every gal who's ever slapped me, you'd be out of ammunition real quick."
"What is going on?" Courtney demands as the man and woman put their guns away.
"Thought you'd be more happy to see me, Sweetcheeks," Duncan says with a scowl, adjusting the fedora she'd knocked askew with her slap. "You've done gone and hurt my feelings now."
Courtney fists clench. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He smirks. "I dunno, Courtney, maybe I changed my mind and thought I'd give ya a chance after all. If yer half as good out of the bedroom as you showed me you were in it, you'd make a helluva gun moll. Whaddya say?"
Her breath catches at the offer. But her common sense catches up quickly. With a stony expression, Courtney swipes her dress under her legs and sits firmly back down in her seat. "After what you put me through? Forget it."
Duncan gives a low whistle. "Listen, dollface," he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, "when I give an offer, I never repeat it. Ever. Except, now, I have repeated it. You turn me down this here time, yer never gonna see a lick of me again, no matter how lucky ya say you are." Duncan points at her. "So you better think real hard if ya wanna give this up a second time."
Courtney crosses her arms and crosses her legs at the knees. Her heart drums loudly in her ears.
"I have thought about. Real hard, as you say. How do I know you won't ditch me again the next time you get me into bed?"
"You don't."
"So why the hell would I trust anything you say?"
"Because face it, doll," he says, "yer life sucks without me."
Courtney eyes him, and his compatriots. The woman eyes her distastefully. The man smiles at her encouragingly. Duncan's grinning like she's already said yes.
"You don't know the first thing about my life," Courtney says tensely.
Duncan smirks. "You underestimate how good I am at my job, baby. How'd ya think I knew to sit down at yer desk at the bank? How'd ya think I found you? Here, today, on this train?"
She fidgets with her sleeve. "You got lucky," she guesses.
A door to the compartment clicks open. Duncan's partners discreetly reach for their guns as Cody peeks in.
"Everything ok-kay up here, Mister?"
"Peachy," Duncan says casually. "Thanks for fetching Mrs. Jones just now, and for pickin out her train for me back at the station. Al, tell 'em how thankful I am."
Duncan's partner walks over to Cody and puts a set of keys in his hand. "It's the green Ford parked around back of the Dallas station," he says with an earnest smile. "She's all yours, amigo."
Cody tips his hat at everyone in the room. "Have a pleasant trip."
Courtney stares after him as he leaves the compartment, shutting the door behind him. After a moment, she turns her attention back to Duncan, who is looking at her expectantly.
"Give me one good reason to believe you won't go back on your promise again," she says.
Duncan snorts. "Ya don't need a promise, babe. I could use a gun moll. You need a ticket out of yer life. That's just what I'm offering. Now stop playing goddamn coy and take it," Duncan says firmly, holding out his hand.
Courtney pauses a beat, then takes his hand without shaking it.
"I want my money and the suitcase you took from me in Chicago back," she tells him.
The case nudges against her shin under the table. "Done."
"And...I want a fair cut," she adds after a second. "Of any money stolen."
The woman partner scoffs. Duncan looks amused. "That's not a yes."
Courtney searches his eyes one final time. They're unreadable.
She doesn't need sixty seconds to weigh her options. She's had millions of seconds since they first met and the answer, however reckless, has always been the same.
Courtney shakes his hand.
"I'm in."
"That's more like it," he says, grinning. He retracts his hand to pull a gun from his belt loop. It's the same gun she'd stolen off him last they met. He slides it across the table to her and she catches it righ before it slides off. "If I like your audition outside of the bedroom, we'll see how fair a fair cut is."
"If we like her audition," the woman partner corrects. "We all know you'd use any excuse to keep her around to save you the trouble of paying for brothels."
"Play nice, Heather," the man says. He takes the seat next to Duncan and outstretches his hand to Courtney. "Alejandro Barrow, at your service, Mrs. Jones. You can call me Al, or Buck, whichever suits your fancy. My brother's told me all about you."
Courtney takes the hand offered, looking between the two men. Tall and bronze, Al doesn't look related to Duncan even in facial structure, but Courtney doesn't ask. Instead, she says. "A pleasure to meet you, Al. You can just call me Bonnie."
"If we're all done making friends," Heather intones, "maybe we can move this along?"
"Good idea," Duncan says, getting up and indicating that his brother do the same. "Me and Al will get the equipment ready. Be a doll, Heath, and bring Courtney up to speed."
The men leave the compartment and Courtney watches them go, confused. She jumps as Heather sits down directly across from her and slams her palms on the table.
"Listen up," she says. "I'm taking exactly one minute to humor Clyde's ridiculous penis driven idea of letting you join up. Then I'm saying to hell with it all and leaving you on this train with the rest of our targets to get on with my fucking life."
Courtney blinks. "You're...robbing this train?"
"Obviously. Like we'd come all the way back to goddamn Texas just to pick up a jane for Clyde."
Courtney stiffens at Heather's tone and sets her shoulders. She grabs the gun from the table confidently. "I know what I've signed up for," she says. "I'm ready to-"
Heather takes the gun from her waist and points it at Courtney with lightning speed.
"No, you're not. Do you know how much dough is on this train right now? Where it is? Can you even fire a gun?"
Courtney glances down quickly at the piece in her hands and Heather answers her own question. "Of course you can't. How about a Heat chase? You know how to escape one of those? Can you pick out which speakeasies might turn you over to the coppers? You even know how to get in a clubhouse?" Heather rolls her eyes. "You contribute nothing to this crew and you-"
"I know banks," Courtney interrupts, face hot.
"Really?" Heather's eyes go from piercing to mocking. "Where are the three exits to the North Carolina Federal Reserve? What lock does Kansas General use to store their valuables after hours?"
Heather pulls back the hammer on her gun. "Don't kid yourself, Bonnie Jones. You are here because you are a desperate, pretty face, and both Clyde and Al are suckers for desperate pretty faces. But guess who isn't? Me. So if you so much as sneeze a second late and jeopardize all our lives for your mangled death wish, I will put you down myself. And you are sadly deceived if you think Clyde will bat an eye at your 'accidental' passing."
Heather puts the gun back in waistband and stands. "When you hear Al's signal, follow me and do what I do. Shout at a few people, wave that thing around like you know what you're doing, but for god's sake, don't do anything as stupid as pulling the trigger."
As Heather leaves, Courtney finds her nerve. "I'm more than a desperate, pretty face, Heather."
"You're just noise until I see some action," Heather says. "And Bonnie," she adds, leaning against the door, gun back in hand, "it's not 'Heather', it's Mrs. Barrow. Alejandro is my husband. Don't you forget it."
There's a gunshot and a scream from the compartment next door, and Heather disappears out the door.
Courtney scrambles for her own gun, forgetting her book and her bag and her suitcases, forgetting Justin and Dallas and New York, and rushes out after Heather, cursing.
Like getting out of Texas was going to be the end of her problems.