Rest in peace, Bonnie Elizabeth Parker (October 1, 1910 – May 23, 1934) and Clyde Chestnut Barrow (March 24, 1909 – May 23, 1934) on the 80th anniversary of your death.
May your fearlessness outlive us all.
A few days later and a few miles closer to the Louisiana border, Duncan makes Courtney the getaway driver for their first official heist as a crew.
"Yer shooting ain't nowhere near adequate for a job yet," he says, ticking off fingers, "Al's been itching to get back into action for a while, and if ya wanna be useful to this crew, you gotta get used to working every job: driver, distraction, and firepower."
Courtney carefully looks over the dashboard and steering wheel. She'd never been behind the wheel of a car before, especially not one of the fancy Fords that Duncan had a particular fondness for stealing. She grips the wheel and turns it slightly to get a feel for it.
"You can drive a Ford, right?" Heather asks as Al and Duncan load up their weapons from the trunk.
"Why don't you do your job and I'll do mine?" Courtney says, sitting up in the driver's seat.
Heather narrows her eyes and slams the driver door.
That had been half an hour ago. Courtney checks her watch and looks out at the grocery store. Al, Heather, and Duncan had been in there for all that time and all she'd done was sit in the car and fiddle with the controls, first cripplingly nervous then unbearably bored.
Glancing occasionally at the quiet grocery store, Courtney plays with the string of pearls she'd bought for herself with her share of the train heist money. They weren't even going to give her a share. But she argued that she was extra manpower and after a lengthy fight with Duncan and an even longer fight with Heather, Duncan finally tossed some bills in her suitcase while she slept. She picked up the pearls in the next town they passed through.
While playing cat's cradle with herself for the fifth time, it suddenly dawns on Courtney that the reason for the quiet might be that Duncan Clyde and Co. are in trouble. She stops short. What was protocol for a plan gone wrong? Was she supposed to drive away without them? Was she supposed to go in after them?
Courtney turns the key back and shuts the car off. Wary for anyone watching, she slips out of the Ford and crosses the empty street to the grocery store. She flattens herself to the hot paint between the front door and window and, holding her breath, listens for noise inside. When it remains quiet, Courtney peeks over through the window.
The front door slams open. Her gang comes running out with their arms full of groceries and appliances. Al's carrying the whole cash register.
"Start the car, Courtney!" Duncan yells at the vehicle. Courtney takes a second longer to recover from the surprise, then she runs back across the street into the driver's seat, her pearls clattering.
"What the hell?" Duncan says as she jumps in after them. "Yer supposed to have stayed in the car!"
"I know! I know!" Courtney says, turning the key in the ignition, "I thought something bad had happened to you guys!"
The car doesn't start. She jerks it in again. Nothing.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?! Move over!" Heather orders, yanking Courtney aside and climbing into the driver's seat herself before jamming the key all the way in, turning it hard enough to snap, and starting the car with a jerky roar. She slams her foot on the gas and the car peels out.
"Why the fuck weren't ya in the car?" Duncan snarls from her other side, grabbing Courtney's arm. His other hand is holding a bag full of soup cans.
"You were taking too long!" she says. "I thought you were caught or something."
"If we're caught, that ain't yer problem!"
"Well what am I supposed to do if you just leave me in a car with no instructions other than 'just drive'?"
"Drive!" Heather and Duncan shout at her.
"Both of you, calm down," Alejandro intones from the backseat, adjusting the cash register on his lap. "It's her first heist."
"Her second heist," Heather corrects sharply, "and she could have gotten us all killed if the store owner had come after us guns blazing! You said you could drive a Ford!"
"I said I'm sorry!" Courtney snaps, pulling her arm free of Duncan. She looks back out the window as Heather puts distance between the heist and themselves. "Maybe if you left better instructions or actually taught me how to drive a damn car, I could do my job better!"
All three of them, even Al this time, turn to glare at her.
She catches their looks and backtracks. "I mean, I obviously know how to drive a car, I wouldn't just-"
Heather stomps the brakes. Courtney has to brace herself against the dashboard to keep from nicking herself against the windshield.
"Get out."
Courtney looks from Heather to out the window, at the long stretch of empty road and the open grasslands scattered with the occasional tree. "Are you crazy? I'm not-"
Duncan opens his door, grabs her, and yanks her out.
"If you can't drive, then you can walk," he says before getting in the passenger seat again. "The safehouse ain't going nowhere, which is more than I can say for us."
The car barrels off down the road.
Courtney blinks after it, the sun beating down heavily on the quiet road. Then she picks herself up, rips up the side of her cotton dress to run better, and starts chasing after the car.
Not even two miles down the road, she goes back to walking. The road is burning hot, her shoes keep sticking to it and she keeps seeing mirages in the distant heat. Courtney turns back to the road behind her. The safehouse is at least five more miles and if a heat stroke doesn't get her, the cops swarming the grocery store not far behind her might.
"Fuck you, Duncan Clyde!" Courtney screams at the empty road in front of her. "Damn you to hell," she mutters, wiping sweat from her brow.
She keeps trudging, checking the road in front of and behind her until one of the mirages looks decidedly like an oncoming car. Courtney stops walking and squints at it for a few seconds longer until she can hear it as well as see it. Messily, she tears the fabric of her cotton dress further up the side and with a forced poise, Courtney flips her hair back and flashes her leg out on the road. The car screeches to a halt beside her.
The redhead driver leans over to roll down his window.
"Afternoon, M'lady," he says, with a tip of his hat. "Do you need a ride?"
"That would be wonderful," she says, walking over to lean against his open window. "My boyfriend left me out here in this awful heat and I have no way to get home." Courtney reaches over and places her hand over the driver's own, still on the window crank. "Thank you for stopping for me."
He flushes for a moment before grinning and pushing up his glasses.
"It's my job to help out lovely gals such as yourself. Get in."
Courtney hitches up her dress and slides into the car without another word. She smirks when the driver doesn't take his eyes off her legs.
"Are you from around these parts, ma'am?" he asks, as he turns back onto the road.
"No, I'm from a little more out west," she says, "and it's Miss, not Ma'am." The driver is only slightly younger than she is. "Call me Bonnie."
"Well, Bonnie," he says, glancing over at her. "I was sure lucky to pick you up. Your jobbie must be out of his mind to leave you on the side of the road like this."
Courtney runs a hand through her hair. It's tangled and matted with sweat. "He was in such a bad mood," she says, "I must have upset him when he was already upset and the son of a-" she catches herself, "-dolt...decided to make me walk home."
She crosses her legs at the knees so that the ripped dress falls a little further open.
"Like I said," the driver repeats, glancing over at her, "out of his mind."
Courtney slowly rolls one of her pearls between her thumb and forefinger. "Got a smoke?"
"Sure. Glove compartment."
Inside the compartment are matches and a half full box of cigarettes. They're crammed in beside a toolbox and some neatly folded newspaper clippings.
"So, hero," she asks, lighting up, "what can I call you other than my savior?"
"Oh! Harold," he says. "Harold Hamilton."
"Hmm," Courtney hums, putting the matchbox back. "I like it," she says. "It has a nice ring to it."
Harold beams. "You're the first gal to ever think so!"
Courtney smiles back coyly. "Really?" she asks. "I'd think a sheik like you with a name like that would have gals hanging off his arms."
He blushes. Courtney smiles wider.
"No ma'am. Miss!" he corrects, adjusting his glasses sheepishly. "I, uh, don't get out much other than working in my Pa's garage. Not much hoopla in this town anyway. Though!" he adds suddenly, looking excited, "I just passed a grocery store swarmed with police and news reporters. You'll never believe who they guess robbed it!"
Courtney squeezes the pearl between her fingers hard enough to hurt. "Who?"
"Duncan Clyde!" he says. "You know of him? He's a legend! Never gets caught by the police, always has a quick plan and a fast getaway. And he's always driving the best cars!"
"I take it you're a fan of his."
"Got all his newspaper clippings," he says proudly, pointing to the glove compartment. He sighs. "It must be so exciting to travel from place to place, have all that money, do what you want when you want!"
Courtney rests her chin on her palm and stares out the window. "Not that exciting," she mutters.
Harold is quiet for a moment. "Sorry, Miss Bonnie," he says earnestly. "Criminals aren't really the kind of subject to be discussing with gals present. Where am I dropping you off?"
As he says it, he whizzes right by the safehouse, tucked by itself on the edge of the forest. Courtney hadn't been keeping track of just how fast they were going.
"Oh damn, that was it!" Courtney says.
Harold grins. "Want to see something snazzy? Hold onto something."
She hesitantly clasps the door handle and before they get much further, Harold switches gears and slams on the brakes, skidding, turning the car in a perfect U that flattens her to the side with the force. Without missing a beat, he's switching gears and on the gas again, driving back down the road at the same speed.
"That was...wow," Courtney says breathlessly.
"No one makes them like Mr. Ford, Miss Bonnie," he says, puffing up his chest. He pulls up on the side road to the house with a grin. "Here's your stop. Anything else I can do for you?"
Courtney glances at the house, looking for signs that Duncan and the gang are still in it. The car isn't visible, but the curtain by the front door moves ever so slightly. She looks over at Harold, who looks like he's already fallen in love with her.
"Harold," she says, grinning to herself, "would you like to meet Duncan Clyde?"