Bonnie's Pistol of Fire

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Romeo and Juliet in a Getaway Car

            by Ada Ruzer

 

            The Berkeley Marina’s rolling fog gently covers everything. It has a way of concealing and obscuring shapes and shadows. Chilly temperatures, high winds, desolation and the color gray are what Bonnie fixes her attention upon as her classic black high heeled shoes clash with the worn gravel walkway. Her pink cheeks, raven hair and green eyes make her exotic and striking. She picks her way through the geometric sculptures that stand at the edge of the Marina, walking, mulling. When she reaches the jutting rocks, Bonnie stops and stares at the man next to her.

            “Hello, Carson,” she says as if she is saying “Hello Dolly!”

            “Beautiful Bonnie, so nice of you to stop by.” Carson is a thick-necked man with a thick personality. A defined jaw is beginning to sag under the weight of his age. A steak and potatoes kind of guy known for his ruthlessness.

            “Where is my father?” Bonnie says, working hard to conceal the sour note in her voice. She bites it back. Locks it in her jaw.

            “Easy, baby, in due time. More importantly, do you have my money?” His dry tone rubs her nerves. Bonnie wants to kill him. Wipe that smirk off his face. Do anything to stop the lusting and disgusting looks he throws at her. Instead, she answers as sweetly as possible, “I’ll give you two thirds now. Take me to my father, and I’ll give you the rest.”

            The glint in Bonnie’s eye reflects malice and confidence, and Carson sees that she will not be pressed, so he nods.

            “Next Monday, meet me here at nine o’clock sharp.” Seeing the power he holds over her Carson leans in, winks and asks, “How did such a pretty girl like you get such a name?”

            “My father,” she answers curtly.

                                                            *   *    *

            As a child Bonnie had loved her namesake. Bonnie and Clyde had been her father’s favorite movie and when his only daughter was born, he named her appropriately. It didn’t matter that her black hair contrasted starkly with Faye Dunaway’s blonde bob. She was his Bonnie, and he her Clyde.

            He brought her into the business. It was their special game, a secret with which her father trusted her to keep. Bonnie frequently hit up little convenience stores off the freeway when she was younger with her father. He would whisper, “You go left, and I’ll go right”. Bonnie often quivered her lips and cried as if looking for her parents, while her father stole licorice, sodas and anything else she desired.

            The rides home were always memorable. In the dark, her dad’s laughter and praise made Bonnie’s small lips part into a wide, uncontrollable grin. She was a thieving Cheshire cat. At home in their little apartment he would gently sing her to sleep.

            The older she got the more intricate the thefts became. Bonnie quickly surpassed the thrill of little do-dads and stole her first pair of diamond earrings at twelve. ‘Petite splendors’ she had thought; they had cost over three hundred dollars. She still saw herself standing there, cupping their sparkle, her eyes wide.

            A wry smirk had covered her father’s face when he saw the pair. Bonnie remembered how it had stretched his young, taught face and distorted it into a mask.

            “You are ready.”

                                                *     *    *

            On her drive home Bonnie stops at The Caning Shop on Gilman. It is in back of the Gilman Music club and next door to her father’s office. At twelve he had taken her here, given her a key, and showed her the world he really lived in. Called himself a Mafioso. Low run bookie in reality. But at twelve, Bonnie was hypnotized. There it all was. Journals of profits and dues lay meticulously stacked by the window. A worn wooden desk sat at the center. Yet even at twelve Bonnie dimly realized that her father’s life was like fool’s gold. Shiny and eye catching. It amounted to nothing. The room still smells of cigarettes and cheap accomplishments.

            Bonnie steers her Silver BMW up Marine Avenue and switches into third gear. She parks and pinches her cheeks, ruffles her hair and laces her running shoes. She can see her fiancé, Seamus, reading the paper.

            “How was your run?” He looks up at her as she walks into the house.

            “Tiring, great…” she says, fingering her velour jumpsuit.

            Seamus may be the love of her life, but he knows little about where she comes from. She made sure of that.

                                                            *    *   *

            A year ago her father had come to her with a plan. A ‘masterpiece’, he had called it. The Guernica of theft or the David of con. He explained to her how it would take time, careful planning and patience. Bonnie listened half-heartedly. He would become a driver for the Royal armored car service that specialized in diamond transportation.

            “These won’t be ‘petite splendors’, Bonnie,” he said staring her straight in the eyes, searching her for fear.

            Bonnie nodded absentmindedly. She never quite understood how such a dirty and captivating article had evolved out of carbon.

            “What do you want me to do?” cocked her eyebrow and held her breath.

            “ Manipulate. Seduce. The usual. “, His eyes harden as he gives the assignment, to him it seems the only way to stay close to Bonnie.

            “You must really care about me,” Bonnie says dryly as the lump of hurt manifests itself in the back of her throat.

            “I do. I really do.”        

                                                *   *  *

            “Stop! Miss!”

 Bonnie coyly looks over her shoulder as a man sprints toward her, clutching a cell phone in his hand. A smile breaks over his face as he catches up to her. He takes in her shape, her legs, her face.

            “Excuse me, but you left your cell phone”, he says breathlessly.

            “Oh, thank you so much. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” she says flirtatiously.

            “That would be great”, he answers.

            Their first date had ended in bed. Now lying next to Seamus, she remembers their hot embraces, the way he said her name.

             Wealthy, attractive, and the son of the armored car company owner, Seamus smelled of normalcy. Bonnie still pinches herself from time to time, unable to fully comprehend this person who respects her and loves her.

            They make a handsome couple.

            Soon Bonnie’s father receives a promotion. Overwhelmingly happy he had said to her over coffee, “We’re getting closer Bonnie!” He squeezes her hand, waits for her devilish smile to appear, but only receives a dull, “great.”

            Seamus had blindfolded her. Made it as romantic as possible. He held her hand, helping her cross the Golden Gate Bridge. Bent on one knee, he proposed.

            Speaking in ways that had made her knees weak, Bonnie felt compacted, as if she were short of breath, as if the fate of the world was held in her hands, waiting for her answer.

            “Yes”, she said softly, peeking through her lashes, at the easy going smile that was so different from her fathers’.

            Hire the caterer. Pay the band. Steal a car.

                                                *    *     *        

            “I’ve got it! The Solano Stroll!” Bonnie’s father is alight with excitement, suddenly throwing his newspaper down on to the floor of his shabby Telegraph apartment.

            “What about it?” Bonnie listens, only half-hearing, as her father bubbles with his new idea.

            “The Solano Stroll, the whole town will be too busy with the event to pay attention to any reports of a stolen car,” he says.

            Bonnie’s father’s grin is joyfully sinister. He seems so delighted with his thievery, Bonnie thinks. I wonder when he’ll realize that corruption won’t get him anywhere.

            “No reason to get too excited, there are many complications…” Bonnie says quietly.

            Jumping over the sofa, Bonnie’s father slides into the seat closest to her and grabs her hand, tugging her toward him he lifts her chin.

            “Bonnie, everything will be fine. We will be fine. This is perfect.” His eyes gaze upon hers, his filled with hope and excitement, hers clouded with pity and doubt.

                                                            *    *     *

                        It is on a cold foggy Monday evening at the Marina that Bonnie meets Carson, her hair flying in the wind. Bonnie hands over the thick stacks of bills, carefully counting out each hundred. She shows Carson she means business.

            “Take me to my father”, she repeats, this time her voice does not quiver. It is almost silent, emotionless. She walks through a tunnel, focused on the end.

             Carson smirks and then rethinks his approach. He looks her up and down and says, “You’re one heck of a lady, are you sure you can do this?”

            A thin smile appears on her face, a smile that Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow would have respected and accepted. Nodding, she replies, “Lets go.”

            They slowly make their way along the Marina, the rocks like menacing beasts in the dark. Half an hour later, Carson brings her to the little abandoned boathouse on the outskirt of the docks. The house’s paint is peeling and the foundation looks shaky. It is an old house, sad and damaged. Bonnie climbs the stairs and prepares to see her father, bracing herself for his reaction.

            “Bonnie! My Bonnie!” He is barely able to control himself. Bonnie looks at him and sees a man aged before his time. His hair is graying. A thin and fragile frame moves toward her as his fingers shake. He looks as if he has been beaten. She barely recognizes him.

            “Thank God you found me. They’ve kept me locked up here. I couldn’t escape!” His words come rapidly. A frenzy of panic buzzes in his throat, spilling out the fear that he has kept bottled up for the past five days. No more Mafioso, just a simple weak man.

            “I know dad, but it was the only way…” Bonnie’s voice trails off as her cheeks begin to burn.

            “What do you mean the only way? What about our plan? Who are these guys? They won’t even tell me their names.”

            “These are my guys, dad” Bonnie chokes back her emotions. Her tears burn her eye sockets, engraving the image of her fathers broken face.

            “Your guys! What do you mean?”  He looks at her in disbelief.

            “I love someone, and you can’t ruin that for me. No more theft, dad, no more Bonnie and Clyde. No more us.” Turning around she says steadily “He’s all yours, Carson.”

            The single shot shakes the house. Shakes Bonnie. Shakes the docks. The chipped paint flies and lands in the bay.  Finally able to flow, her hot tears glide down her face. Without hesitation Bonnie advances, submerging herself into the darkness.