The Ford is silent. Duncan focuses on the roads, twisting and turning with maneuvers that would leave most people dizzy. From the backseat, Courtney keeps her eyes on Officer Izzy Hinton's bleeding leg. With one hand pressing the picnic blanket to the officer's wound, Courtney holds Izzy's gun in her other hand, trained on the woman's chest.
For her part, the policewoman hasn't said a word to either of them since being dragged into the car. She grits her teeth against the pain caused by the rattling car and mutters a lengthy conversation with herself. Courtney can't make out any of it.
The car jumps on something in the road. The officer swears vividly and screws her eyes shut.
"There's a flask in my pocket," Courtney says. "If you can reach it, you can have whatever's left."
Izzy opens an eye and glances at Courtney's dress pocket. Reaching with surprising flexibility, she grabs the flask, uncorks it, and drains it. Duncan has more in the glove compartment. Courtney doesn't ask for it.
"Cheers," Izzy says with a grin and wince.
Courtney puts more pressure on the policewoman's leg and says, "I'm sorry. About...all this."
Izzy doesn't answer right away. Her orange hair comes undone at the next jolt of the car. It falls down her back in a cascade.
"Bonnie Jones," she says, without inflection.
"Yeah," Courtney answers, eyes on her hands. "That's me."
Izzy smiles lopsidedly. "Wasn't it weird, being Bonnie Bons before you got married?"
The question comes out of nowhere. Courtney plays off her surprise.
"I, uh, liked the sound of it."
Izzy laughs, straining a little as the car takes a sharp turn. "Bonnie Bons and Justin Jones. Like comic strip characters."
Courtney doesn't take her eyes off the wound, but a glint of light catches on her wedding ring. She feels Izzy looking at it and straightens the aim of the gun in her hand. It does nothing to the contemplative expression on the policewoman's face.
"His father just passed, you know," Izzy says. "Heart attack out of nowhere. Boom. Dead. Wasn't even that old."
"...I'm sorry," Courtney admits. "He was a nice man." She keeps her eyes focused on the checkered pattern of the blanket, and how the red and white squares are almost all red now.
The car races down the road. Courtney can still feel the policewoman's eyes on her wedding ring.
Izzy says, "He misses you. Justin."
Courtney folds the picnic blanket to an area that isn't soaked in blood, pressing it to the officer's skin with renewed strength. She doesn't answer and doesn't meet the woman's gaze.
Izzy's hand reaches down to lay over Courtney's, her nails bitten to the quick. Courtney flicks her eyes up, confused, and it takes her a moment to name the look on Izzy's face.
Pity.
Through her bangs, Courtney chances a look at Duncan. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
Izzy looks at him too, before looking back at Courtney. Then, she winks conspiratorially.
Courtney pulls back her hand. As Izzy presses the cloth to her own wound, Courtney shifts to the other end of the bench, both hands on her gun, expression fierce.
"I don't know what my mother told you," she growls, "but everything I've done this last year has been because I wanted to. I left Justin. And for good reasons. I wasn't kidnapped, or brainwashed, or whatever else Mama would have you believe. I don't miss Justin, or Dallas. Mama doesn't understand…"
Her mother's voice rings out in her memory, disowning her, refusing to listen, and Courtney has to squeeze her eyes shut to keep the anguish from swallowing her.
When the feeling passes, Courtney opens her eyes and finds Izzy gleefully reaching under the front seat and pulling out the bottle of whiskey Heather and Al hadn't finished at the picnic. She braces herself and pours the liquor on her leg, hissing as the amber liquid stains the blanket and the leather seats.
Courtney waits for Izzy's face to relax, then demands, "Tell me about your ex-husband. The one in Arkansas, who won a general store in a card game."
"Oh, Owen?" Izzy shrugs. "What's there to say?"
"If you're as thorough as Captain Hamer says you are," she says, fighting through the stutter of her heartbeat at his name, "then you already know that I know him."
"Yup," Izzy chirps. "Crazier than a bedbug, that Owen. No wonder we didn't work out."
"He's a nice man," Courtney says defensively.
"Too much of a good guy," Izzy sighs, rolling her eyes. "He doesn't really believe there are 'bad people' in the world. I guess it's why you two got along so well."
Courtney doesn't act fast enough to suppress her flinch.
"What are you talking about?" Courtney says. "I robbed him."
"And I'm queen of China," Izzy answers, laughing at her own joke. "Owen's always been a terrible liar. And, for the record, so are you."
Leaning forward, Courtney points the gun down at Izzy's other leg.
"If you don't shut up right now," Courtney growls. "I'm shooting your other leg. Am I lying?"
Izzy checks on Duncan again. Courtney looks too. He's watching the road, but he's gritting his teeth hard enough to see the veins in his jaw.
Angry, Courtney snaps in Izzy's face. "Hey! Look at me when I'm threatening you!"
Shrugging, the policewoman looks back at Courtney. She keeps a hand pressed to her wound.
"I don't think you're going to shoot me, Bonnie," she says casually. "In fact, I don't think you've ever shot anyone. I don't think you meant for any of this to happen, and I know you didn't sign up for the mess the Barrows have gotten you into."
Courtney opens her mouth, then closes it, fighting a sinking realization in her stomach.
"Oh, I'm like a human lie detector," Izzy brags when Courtney doesn't answer. "That's what they told me at the academy. I can read the truth all over you"
"What are you doing?" Courtney whispers, glancing nervously at Duncan. If Duncan starts to think she's insincere in her actions… If he starts to doubt her or think she's playing some elaborate game with him and his family...
Izzy leans forward suddenly, expression wiped of amusement.
"Helping you," Izzy says with quiet intensity. "Let me."
Courtney doesn't have the chance to answer. The car screeches to a stop, throwing Courtney and Izzy off the bench and against the front seats. Izzy clutches her leg, gasping, and Courtney has to press a hand against her own side, crumpling on the floor between the seats.
Before either of them can recover, the door on Izzy's side of the car opens. Duncan reaches in, grabs Izzy under the arms, and dumps her on the side of the road. Reaching across the bench, he grabs Izzy's gun from Courtney, points it in the air, and fires the full round of bullets one after the other.
"Get in the front," he orders, dumping Izzy's gun beside her and shutting the door.
Courtney tries to pull herself up to the seat. Her side cramps, bruised by the throw.
"I'm fine back here," she says.
Duncan gets behind the wheel and peels off. By the time Courtney makes it back up onto the bench and looks out the window, Izzy is a receding dot on the side of the barren road.
"Duncan… Baby?"
"I ain't keen on coppers getting in my head," Duncan says without looking at her. "Brace yerself."
Courtney grabs the door handle as Duncan takes a sharp turn onto another dirt road, hidden by trees, then doubles back. As he does, Courtney swallows hard and folds up the bloody picnic blanket.
Heather, Harold, and Al had stayed behind to take Ma and Scruffy home in Gwen's car, only after Duncan and Al had reassured Ma that Gwen would be fine. The two of them had then agreed to meet up at "the spot" in Oklahoma.
After leaving Officer Izzy Hinton, Duncan and Courtney spend the next four days in a motel on the border of Oklahoma, waiting for the others. They burn the picnic blanket.
Duncan takes turns with her standing at attention for when the others arrive. They never sleep at the same time. For the most part, Courtney doesn't sleep at all. She closes her eyes and hears Trent Hamer's voice at the door of the Joplin apartment. She sees the copper being shot in front of the car and imagines the other eight going down in similar ways. She hears Izzy and her mother implying that none of it is her fault, when it so clearly is.
On night four, while Duncan sleeps, Courtney plucks a sheet of stationery from the small desk in the corner of the room and writes a letter to her mother. She begs her understanding for the choices she's made. She promises money and an easy retirement when she and Duncan finally get out of the game. She tells her Mama that despite everything, she'll always love her.
When she finishes, she rouses Duncan.
"Baby, I wrote my mother a letter," she whispers. "How can I get it to her?"
"When we're next in Dallas," he mutters.
"But you said we wouldn't be passing through for a long time. I need to send it to her."
"You can't send yer ma a letter, doll," Duncan says into his pillow.
"But we said such awful things to each other," she whispers. Her hand trembles as she passes it over his shoulder. "I'll send it under a fake name."
"Not even under a fake name," he says flatly. "I'm sorry, but ya gotta do what Al and I do. Write yer letters and wait till ya see yer ma in person to hand them to her. There's no other way that's safe."
"Please," she insists. "I'll write it in code. I'll let you look over every word! Just please let me tell her... She has to know..."
"Know what?" Duncan asks without turning over.
Courtney squeezes her eyes and swallows hard. She brings her legs to her chest. "I'm sorry. Never mind. Go back to sleep."
Duncan pauses under the blanket.
"Yer ashamed of me now, is that it?"
Courtney recoils at the ice in tone. "No! I didn't say that!"
"Ya sure about that?"
On her hands and knees, Courtney looks down at Duncan. "I'm sorry about Joplin. I want to tell her I'm sorry about Joplin!"
"Why? You did yer job," he says, voice low. "I told ya there ain't no shame in that."
"I never wanted to kill anyone!"
"I told ya," he growls, "ya didn't."
"You don't know that!"
Duncan grows more tense by the minute. "Far as the laws are concerned, everything fired from our side was me or Al."
"I don't care about the authorities, I care about the truth! Did I kill anyone?"
Courtney doesn't get an answer.
"Duncan. Did. I. Kill. Anyone?"
"No," he snaps. "Drop it."
Courtney glares down at him. Her voice rises. "Did you know your father was a copper?"
Duncan tucks their blanket up under his chin. "I ain't talking about this."
"You don't want to talk to me?" Courtney snaps. "Fine! That's nothing new." She flops back down on the bed. "You lied to my mother about wanting to settle down close to her. You lied about how many people you killed and about having a sister. It's not like our entire fucking relationship is founded on lies."
Duncan turns enough that she can see the challenge in his eyes. "Ya don't trust me."
"Don't change the-"
"No!" He sits up sharply. "You don't trust me! Fuck! A batshit crazy copper and yer Jesus-happy bitch of a ma show up after months and months and say ya shouldn't trust me and just like that, ya don't!"
"Don't talk about my mother like that," Courtney hisses, sitting up slowly. "Because I can find a few choice things to point out about yours."
Duncan slaps her.
Holding a hand to her face, Courtney has half a mind to pull her gun on him. Instead, she forces herself to act calm until, with labored breathing, Duncan's brain catches up to his actions. He stares at his hand like he has no idea who it belongs to, then meets her vicious glare with a startled look. He pulls back his hand.
Finally, after a long beat, he turns away and settles down into bed.
"Go to sleep," he says, voice hollow. "I ain't having this conversation again."
Courtney throws the letter onto the bed, finished except for the return address, and all but runs to the bathroom. From the bottom of the sink, she pulls out a whiskey bottle left behind by the motel room's former occupants and gulps it down like water.
Hours later, there's a knock at the door. Tucked between the toilet and the tub, Courtney jumps to her feet and staggers against the wall, bracing for the hail of bullets. She fumbles to pull out her gun with shaking hands and staggers to the door of the bathroom. On the bed, Duncan is awake and aiming his scattergun at the peephole.
"Is Mr. Patricks here?" Alejandro's voice calls.
Duncan tosses aside the gun and jogs to the door, throwing it open.
"He and all his children," Duncan answers, throwing his arms around his brother, "ya sonova fuckin' bitch."
He and Al hug each other tightly as Heather and Harold peek inside the motel room.
"We got Ma back to the house without any problems," Harold reports when Duncan pulls back from his brother.
"Any trouble on your end, hermano?" Al asks.
Duncan cuts Courtney a quick look, then says, "No. Dumped the law and headed straight here."
"Wonderful," Heather says dryly. She looks between Duncan and Courtney. "Ready to make tracks?"
Without meeting anyone's eye, Courtney stumbles out the door and to the car, muttering, "Am I fucking ever."