A/N: Happy New Year! I hope everyone's 2019 is better than their 2018 (no matter how good or bad your 2018 was! Always hope for improvement, right?) I make NO WRITING RESOLUTIONS, but I definitely hope to be more productive in the next year. In the meantime, our next installment! Young people in love are about to be hungry. :)

Chapter 17

As Scarlett returned Beau to his mother, Rhett remembered the jarring stop that had precipitated this incident. Peering out the front window, he could see the driver staring hopelessly at the passenger wheel well. That didn't bode well, he thought, one corner of his mouth curling down, as he went to see for himself.

The driver looked up as Rhett unfolded his long legs from the bus stairs. "Storm sure made a mess out of these roads," he offered.

Rhett walked around to see what the driver did: the front wheel in a large mudhole, stuck at an angle no bus wheel should go.

"I don't suppose you have a spare axle."

"Ha!" the driver dismissed him. "I'd phone for help, but we're right in the middle of nowhere. There isn't a town for miles."

Rhett frowned and walked a short ways down the outside of the bus, his intention he knew not what: conjure up a telephone out of thin air? With regard to transportation, his flower simply had the worst luck in the world.

"What's up?" he heard a slippery, familiarly unwelcome voice behind him.

Rhett turned around to find Shapeley grinning at him, an expression that portended—if not doom, then at least an unpleasant conversation to follow.

"It looks like we're going to be stuck for a long time," he replied brusquely, and made to move past Believe You Me.

"Say, Doc," Shapeley started, and Rhett continued to walk away. "Like to have a look at my paper?" That last: spoken far too softly for a man of such… grace. Rhett knew instinctively that he and the flower had a new adversary.

Rhett turned back. Shapeley was holding out his paper, folded to avoid any possibly prying eyes from the bus, but the headline jumped out – $10,000 REWARD – and the picture of Scarlett was clearly visible enough. Rhett looked back to Shapeley, his face coolly placid, his mind churning. A $10,000 reward, they'd never make it…

He waited for the shorter man to open the… dealings.

"Travelin' like this, you kinda lose track of what's goin' on in the world," Shapeley offered.

"Mm-hmm," Rhett replied noncommittally.

Shapeley shifted, clearly hoping to get more reaction than he'd gotten. It was a start, Rhett thought.

"If you wanna get anywhere nowadays, you gotta keep in touch with all the news, 's what I always say."

"That's right," he nodded. Rhett had to admit to himself that Shapeley might be a better poker player than he expected. He wasn't giving anything away. Not yet, at least.

"Take this story right here, for instance," Shapeley said, tapping the photo right on the flower's dimple. Rhett inwardly grimaced. "Be mighty nice if we could collect that ten thousand smackers."

"Yeah, wouldn't it?" Rhett asked, wistfully, smoothing his fingers across his mustache dreamily. Playing dumb wasn't his favorite thing in the world, but it couldn't hurt to have Shapeley underestimating him.

"It's a heck of a lotta dough. 'F I was ta run across that dame, ya know what I'd do?"

Finally, they were getting somewhere. Still, he continued the charade, for now. "No, what?"

"I'd go fifty-fifty with you," Shapeley answered, smiling.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"'Cause I'm a guy that don't believe in hoggin' it, see? A bird that figures that way winds up behind the eight ball, is what I always say," his voice unctuously generous.

"What's on your mind?" Rhett leaned close, conspiratorially.

"Five Gs—or I crab the works," Shapeley said, his eyes gleaming.

Rhett made a show of looking around them at the small crowd. "We better get away from this gang. Talk this thing over privately," he jerked his head toward some trees a little ways off, his voice low.

The little man puffed up, extremely self-satisfied, and stuffed the newspaper into his coat pocket. "I knew she wasn't your wife the whole time."

Rhett didn't have time to enjoy the man's obvious lie, as he was sifting too quickly through various scenarios, discarding all but one. He hoped it worked. He led the way toward the little grove, Shapeley following at his elbow.

Once he judged that they were far away enough, Rhett turned around to make sure they were concealed from the rest of the passengers.

"It's a lucky thing, my running into you," he started. "You're just the man I need."

Shapeley's smile widened. "You're not making any mistake, doc, believe you me."

"I can use a smart guy like you." he continued.

If Shapeley's coat had been fastened, the buttons would have popped off with pride as Rhett puffed him up. As it was, he merely put his thumbs in his suspenders as he spoke. "Say listen, when you're talkin' to old man Shapeley, you're talking to—"

Rhett leaned in closely, his voice thick with urgency. "Do you pack a gat?"

Shapeley looked up quickly, the smile disappearing from his face in comical degrees. "Wh—what?" his voice squeaked with uncertainty.

"A gat! A gat!" Rhett repeated, hurriedly. "A rod. Got any fireworks on you?" He began to feel inside Shapeley's pockets for the "sought-after" gun.

"Why, ah- no—" Shapeley started to shift his weight back and forth between his feet.

"That's all right," Rhett shrugged. "I got a couple of machine guns in my suitcase. I'll let you have one of them," he offered generously.

Shapeley's mouth formed a round o, but no sound came out, as Rhett continued to sketch out rough details of a gangster conspiracy. "—expect a little trouble up North. We may have to shoot it out with the cops," he finished.

Beads of sweat were beginning to pop out on Shapeley's forehead. Good. This ridiculous story actually appeared to be working.

"If you come through all right, your five Gs are in the bag. Maybe more. I'll talk to Killer, see that he takes care of you."

It was quiet for a heartbeat, before: "K— kill— Killer?" Shapeley finally squeaked.

"Yeah, yeah, the big boy," Rhett said, starting to enjoy himself, now that success looked more likely. "You know, the boss of the whole outfit."

Shapeley clutched at Rhett's lapels. "You're not— ki- kidnapping her, are ya?" His nervous stutter was getting worse.

"What else, stupid!" At this, Shapeley released Rhett's coat like it was hot coals. "You don't think we're after some penny-ante reward, do you? Pssh," Rhett's voice dripped with disdain. "Ten thousand bucks? That's chicken feed. Listen, we're holding that dame for a million smackers."

"Say, say… look— I didn't know it was anything like this, see—and—" Shapeley started to turn back to the bus.

Rhett grabbed Shapeley by the shoulders and shook him. "What's the matter with you, ya getting' yella?" he menaced.

"Oh, well, I— I'm a married man, got a couple of kids. I can't get mixed up with—" The man's alarm was raising his voice too loud.

"Sh-sh-sh—!" Rhett hissed, no pretend urgency in his voice now. "Pipe down, you mug—before I—!" He shook the man again, because he could. "What're you trying to do? Tell the whole world about it? Now listen, you're in this thing—and you're staying in! Get me? You know too much," he growled.

"I— I— I won't say anything," Shapeley blubbered. "Honest, I won't." He really was frightened now. Rhett almost felt sorry for him.

"Oh yeah? How do I know that? I got a good mind to plug you." He reached into his coat as if for a weapon. "Why should I take a chance with you?"

"You can trust me, Mister. I'll keep my mouth shut," Shapeley promised, mopping his brow.

Rhett glared at him intently, assessing. "What's your name?"

"Oscar Shapeley." He gulped.

"Where do you live?"

"Orange, New Jersey." Shapeley spoke clearly, like a small child proud of learning and being able to recite such information about himself.

"Got a couple of kids, huh?" Rhett remarked, stroking his mustache.

"Y- yes, sir. Just babies. A little golden-haired girl—"

"Love 'em, don't you?" Rhett interrupted.

"Oh, gee, Mister," Shapeley's eyes widened in horror, "you wouldn't—you ain't thinkin' about—"

"You'll keep your trap shut, all right," Rhett muttered, his eyes glittering.

Shapeley was nodding furiously. "Sure—sure, I will—I'll keep my trap shut. You can depend on me, Mister, uh— doc."

"If you don't…" Rhett drifted off pointedly. "Ya ever hear of Bugs Dooley?

Shapeley shook his head solemnly, wordlessly.

"A nice guy, Bugs. Just like you. But he made a big mistake, one day. Got kind of talkative. Know what happened? Well, I can't tell you, but when he saw what they'd done, he couldn't take it. Blew his brains out."

"Gee! That musta been terrible," Shapeley admitted, before his eyes widened again. "But, see, I guess he had it coming to him, talking too much, he shouldna— don't you worry about me none, I don't talk, I never talk. Believe you me, won't never say a word, I wouldn't want anything to happen to my babies."

Rhett felt reassured enough for the moment. So did his gangster persona. He nodded. "Okay. Just remember that. Now beat it."

Shapeley grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. "Oh, thanks— thanks, Mister. I— I always knew you guys were kind-hearted."

"Come on, scram! And stay away from that bus," Rhett ordered.

"Oh, sure, sure, uh, doc. Anything you say," Shapeley bobbed his thanks and backed away from Rhett, his mouth still working mutely.

Shapeley had tripped over a root in his backward haste, and sprang back up, brushing himself off as he turned away, and began to run. Rhett smirked, and lit a cigarette.

Rhett watched him a moment longer, and blew a ring of smoke, contemplating again. One problem might have been solved, but a host of new ones had sprung up.

~nb~

"What's the matter? Why'd we have to leave the bus?" Scarlett asked, as Rhett pulled her along the empty road.

"Come on, come on, don't ask so many questions," Rhett chided her.

"Well, why?"

They had reached a small stream, and Rhett let go of her hand. A large branch was strewn across the bank, and Scarlett perched on it and tried to catch her breath.

"Poor old Shapeley. You shouldn't have frightened him like that," the flower said, a laugh in her voice as Rhett relayed how he'd gotten them out of this predicament.

"At the rate he's going, he's probably crossed two state lines by now," Rhett chuckled and sat down on another branch.

"So… why did we have to leave the bus?" she asked again.

Rhett was removing his shoes and socks. "Well, when Shapeley stops running, he's going to start thinking.

Scarlett leaned forward in anticipation.

"I've been doing some thinking, too," he continued. "Next town we come to, you better wire your father."

The words rather knocked her back, and she sat up straight as she digested this. He was leaving her? Alone on a road with spies everywhere? He didn't dare! Did he? "What's the matter? You weakening?" she asked, hoping she sounded more teasing than frightened.

"Oh no, I was just thinking of you," he assured her. Well, that was certainly nice. "A starvation diet may not agree with you."

She leaned forward again, alarmed. "Did you give that child all your money?" she asked, incredulous.

"I didn't give him anything," he reminded her. "You were the big-hearted gal. All the money I had was that ten-spot." He tucked his socks into his shoes. "So I've been thinking— you… better wire your father."