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Bo takes a deep breath in through his nose and closes his eyes, letting it out in a slow exhale. Sirens stop and start outside. More and more police are showing up and he can feel his heart rate start to go faster. It's never been this much. It's never been this many.
A hand on his crouched leg brings him out of his thoughts. Without hesitation, he knows it's Esky, and instantly he feels more grounded. He turns his head and comes face first with the barrel of a rifle. Unexpected.
"I know you mean well," he says in a hushed tone as he takes a finger and gently turns the barrel so it isn't facing him, "but please don't accidentally shoot me as you're comforting me."
Esky notices the gesture, and shifts the cumbersome weapon to her other arm. Bo glances over at her, and it's a sorry sight to see. If they weren't neck deep in armed officers, he would probably laugh: the rifle was a weapon of opportunity, something she grabbed because her pistol had evaded her somehow. He had offered her his, but she refused to take it. "It's your thing," she maintained, "keep it." So she's stuck with this gun that's as big as she is, as she swiped it from the back room before clamoring behind the store counter. Most likely it belongs to the owner, who doesn't seem to have use for it now. He lies several feet from the two, suffering from a single gunshot wound to the head. Well, Bo figures, he isn't suffering anymore.
Part of him feels guilty, but he was going after Esky. Esky is so small, there's no way she could've taken his six foot four body. Fair is fair. Don't bring fists to a gun fight.
Bo hears the familiar sound of a megaphone clicking on. Before he can sigh, a gruff voice comes through it. It is demanding and angry. If he wasn't trying to arrest him, Bo would offer the cop a cup of wine and a bed to sleep in. He sounds like he needs a nap.
"This is your last opportunity to come quietly and peacefully. We have guns drawn and we are not afraid to shoot. Come out with your hands up."
Esky exhales rather sharply. To anyone else, it would mean nothing. But Bo knows. She's starting to freeze up. Guns drawn. Ready to shoot. They aren't messing around this time.
He reaches down and grips her hand. Esky looks at him. Those big eyes. "I'm a little scared here Bo," she whispers.
Bo melts at this. Her declaration of fear almost makes him want to turn himself in just to make her feel safer. Almost. He brings her hand up and kisses it.
"It'll be okay."
Esky breathes deep and lets it out in a huff. "I trust you."
For some reason, Bo feels the urge to tell Esky that she shouldn't. He shakes the thought from his head, and stares ahead.
***
Several minutes pass, and the only escape plan Bo and Esky can come up with is either trying to slip out the six inch wide window in the back room, or to use these plastic spoons to dig out a tunnel through the floor. Neither seem very fruitful. They'd go out the back door, but to get there, they'd have to pass by the firing squad of cops. And the front door obviously isn't an option. So...
"What's left?" Esky echoes Bo's thoughts.
Bo huffs through his nose. His eyes flicker down to the gun in his hand, then the comically large rifle wrapped in Esky's arms. He glances at the store owner on the ground, head sorrounded in a halo of blood, then at the camera poised in the corner that has watched he and Esky the whole time. He leans his head against the wall of the counter, and he can feel it vibrating, like the very number of policemen paired with the sirens and raised guns and even his own shaky breath is moving the ground itself. This makeshift hiding place (if you can even call it that since everyone and their mother seems to know where they are) won't last much longer. Bo knows it. He feels it.
"One of two things is about to happen here Esky," he says, more to himself than anyone else. Esky turns her head, listening intently. The rifle sits next to her on the other side, and she has otherwise occupied her hands by clasping them tightly in her lap. "Either they're going to come in here, or we're going to go out there. And I don't think we stand much of a chance if we wait for them to come in here. I'm not gonna let them take us alive."
Esky opens her mouth as if to ask, "What are you saying?" but the implication can't be more clear. She wants to refute the idea, but she knows it's the only option.
A fleet of trained officers. Dozens of loaded weapons. Shouts and orders fill the air. Bo can even hear the beating of helicopter blades above. Their numbers are growing.
All of that against two kids with two guns and nowhere to go but straight into the fire.
Bo breathes as deeply as his lungs will allow him, and as he lets it out, his nerves settle to a dull roar, and his decision is made. He shifts himself so he is better facing Esky.
"Stay behind me, and hide this--" he points at the rifle-- "as best as you can. Follow my lead. Shoot when I say." He wishes he wouldn't have to say that. But there's no doubt that when Bo pulls out his gun, they'll light both of them up. They'll have to shoot back. Part of him hates it because police are just doing their job, but the other part of him is annoyed, because Bo is only doing his.
Esky doesn't say anything. She only nods. Bo slides his hand behind her neck and pulls her in. Their lips meet and this kiss is sweet and fast. Cherry lip gloss exchanges between them, and Bo leans back against the counter. He adjusts his grip on his gun. Takes one last look. Then he slides it in his back pocket.
Bo turns around. "Follow me." Slowly, he raises his hands up, just enough for his fingertips to be seen from the policeman's view.
"Listen," Bo calls. "We--we'll come out, okay? Don't shoot." Even as he says it, he can hear guns click into place, but he also hears the officers outside go completely silent. Chatter had been occupying them, as they had halfway expected the duo to stay in there all day. They were prepared to wait, and the sudden quiet that overcomes them tells Bo that they're surprised.
He raises his hands up even more, daring to poke his head out. He can't help but gasp and retreat behind the counter once more.
"Holy shit," he whispers to himself.
"What?" Esky asks. "What is it?"
"There's...so many."
He had expected a considerable convoy. But this? There's at least twenty police cars out there, and the doors are all open with cops hiding behind them, guns drawn and pointing directly at he and Esky. He can't hear the helicopter anymore, but he isn't going to rule out the fact that it's landed behind the building or something. For all he knows, the fucking SWAT team is there too.
He takes in another breath and holds it in for a second before letting it out. "Okay. Okay, Esky, here we go. Behind me."
Once again, Bo raises his hands up over the counter before he stands all the way. Esky gets directly behind him, and he stands up straight.
"Come out slowly," demands the guy Bo assumes to be the leader of this whole army.
Bo just nods; he was going to step slow regardless. Esky has that god forsaken rifle balanced haphazardly behind her back. But she's shorter than Bo is, so she's hidden enough as he steps outside. And as he steps outside, he locks eyes with the lead guy, and he can't help but smirk at the look on his face: absolutely shocked. His face is older, decorated in wrinkles and under eye bags from years of detective work. His mouth is hanging open, and he's probably thinking that something fishy is going on, because there's no way they're just going to give up.
Well, Bo thinks, you're right Smitty. You're absolutely right.
They're on the sidewalk right outside the store, hands above his head, and Bo is just about to step out onto the asphalt of the parking lot, when he happens to glance to his left. He sees a brick wall of sorts, and for a moment he's confused, but then he sees that this wall is the sign for the store. One side of the brick is painted in bright and lively colors to say the name of the store. It's thick, and it looks like it's wide enough for two people to hide behind. It hits him that he may not have to become a human shield after all.
How convenient.
"Esky," Bo says, barely above a whisper. "When I say go, dive to the left." He doesn't get an answer, but he knows Esky heard him.
He poises himself just on the edge of the sidewalk, turning his feet just the slightest bit, so that when he jumps, he'll jump far.
"End of the road, huh officers?" he offers. Almost chummy. The lead guy nods, smug. His gun is pointed right at Bo's forehead. "I didn't think it'd end like this."
"Me neither," says Lead Guy.
"Yeah..." Bo sidesteps closer to the wall. He lowers his hands a millimeter. "It isn't going to. NOW!"
As if they'd rehearsed it a million times, Bo and Esky take a leap and a dive to the left behind the wall, just in time to miss a string of bullets that are shot their way. Immediately shouts fill the air, and calls for backup are being barked into walkie talkies. How much backup do they have with them, the whole state?
Bo crouches down and pulls out his pistol. Without looking, he holds it over the edge of the wall and pulls the trigger, hoping he hits something. He looks at Esky, and watches as she fumbles with the rifle. "Shoot it!" he yells. That thing could do some serious damage. Better than one pistol.
"I'm trying," Esky says. "I don't know how to work this damn thing."
"Keep trying." Bo reaches up, and this time dares to peek out and find a target instead of wasting bullets. Half a second is all he gets to assess the situation, and he realizes that they really do have this place sorrounded. Cops are layered on top of each other, and the only way they could make a break for it is if they get someone out of the way. Bo notices Lead Guy.
Don't mind if I do.
Bullets are whizzing close enough to graze him, but he positions himself anyway, and aims for Lead Guy's head. He closes one eye, and shoots.
Bo ducks under the wall, so he doesn't even see if he made contact, but when he hears screams of "officer down", he knows he's done it. He grabs Esky by the arms and yanks her up so she's standing. They prepare to make a run for it, certain that they'll be distracted by Lead Guy's injury, but much to Bo' panic, there's still a clump of police focused on them. He's brought them right into the way of gunfire.
Without a second thought, Bo raises his gun and shoots it at them one by one. He knows they're wearing vests, but he shoots anyway because he needs them out of the way.
Esky is trying so hard to lift the rifle and aim it. She's got it perched on her shoulder and she's pointing it at an officer that's pointing his gun at her. Bo goes to shoot him, but his gun only clicks.
"No." He pulls the trigger again. Nothing. "No. No no no no! Esky!"
Bo feels a pair of hands grab him from behind, and all he can see before he is yanked to the ground is the cop pulling the trigger of his gun at the same time Esky pulls hers. The loudest bang Bo has ever heard rings through the air, and then he can't see Esky anymore.
He is slammed against the concrete, and he looks up to see Lead Guy above him, bleeding from the shoulder and fuming mad. But Bo can't care less. All he can say is, "Esky! ESKY!" He fights to get out from under Lead Guy, and among being punched in the face and punching back with the butt of his gun, he notices that Lead Guy's name tag says Davidson.
Bo kicks as hard as he can, and Davidson exclaims and Bo knows he's hit a sensitive area, and he rolls out from under him. All he can see before she is converged on by an army of police is Esky, on the ground, not moving. Blood stains her hair. No. No. No!
"ESKY!" He screams. He wants to go towards her, but in the back of his mind, he knows he's got to get out of here. He is not going to be taken by these guys. Not alive. He and Esky agreed to this before, so long ago and so many times that it feels like the golden rule of their relationship.
With his heart in his throat, he scoops up his gun and makes a break for it out the back door of the store where their van is. All he can say to himself as he goes is her name, over and over again.
**
The next few days are so horrible, that if Bo is to die and go to Hell right now, he will say with confidence that he doesn't feel as bad as he did in those past few days in terms of absolute panic.
After the whole police debacle, even though it physically hurt his chest to do, he clamored inside the van and floored it out of there. Alone. If he was being followed, he didn't notice. All he could focus on was the road in front of him and the hammering of his heart against his ribcage. He doesn't even remember holding the steering wheel or driving at all. All he remembers is getting in the car, and suddenly he was slamming a hundred dollar bill on the counter of a hotel lobby.
That's where he's been. It's where he's been for the past few days, nervously waiting for a call, a news casting, an owl-delivered message, SOMETHING from Esky to let him know that she's safe. Or even...or even alive.
"Do not," Bo demands of himself. "Don't do that." Don't think like that. Esky isn't stupid. Okay, maybe she's a little stupid, but not in the way that she'd get herself killed. She's street smart, which is exactly the kind of smart you need if you're going to rob people all over the country and run from cops. Esky doesn't die. Neither does Bo. That's not even a situation. They're the Bonnie and Clyde of this generation, except they don't get shot to death, because they're smart.
It's been roughly the same insane-rationality-confirmation-bias thought process throughout these past few days.
Bo is at the bar right now. Inconveniently, the hotel does not have one incorporated into their expensive little restaurant down by the lobby. Conveniently, however, there is a bar right across the street from the hotel, so Bo is walking distance from as many martinis and cocktails as his and Esky's stolen goods will buy him. He's conscious not to spend too much though. He doesn't want to pass out, first of all; second of all, Esky would have his ass if he spent every last penny they worked so hard to get; third of all, Bo doesn't think there's a way he could spend it all: there's at least a million dollars there, stashed in the floorboard of their van. If he spent all their money on drinks, he's pretty sure he'd either die from alcohol poisoning or drain the world's supply. He's not sure which would come first.
Bo raises his glass at the waiter. His hand is already shaking. "Another?" The waiter takes his glass and goes to refill it: she's a short, brown haired woman that looks vaguely enough like Esky that Bo wants to drink until he can't see her face clearly.
She brings back his sixth martini. Her face shows disappointment, maybe even concern, because no one else is in here, and why would someone drink so much unless they were running from something? No, Bo thinks, I'm not running from something. I'm chasing someone.
He raises a toast to no one, and gulps down the drink. It's sweet against his tongue, and slides down his throat, bubbly and chill. Bo can't help letting out a sigh of contentment. "What could be better than a nice, cold drink?" he says out loud. The waitress turns her head, and he catches her name printed on her tag: Lesley. Some part of him expected it to say Davidson.
"Well," started the waitress, who Bo noted to having a southern accent, "what could be better than not havin' to come and drink your woes away in the first place?"
Bo lets his hand, holding the glass, lower to the counter. His smile fades into a deep frown. He stares at the counter. "I don't have woes," he mumbles.
Lesley leans onto the counter, propping herself up with her elbows. "You're on your fifth drink here," she points out.
"Sixth."
"Even worse. Anything I could help with?" She pauses. "Anything to do with that?" Lesley points a red-nail-painted finger at Bo's left cheek, just under his eye. The skin isn't nearly as bad as it was days before, but it's still noticable. A small cut from where Davidson had broken the skin shows, along with greening and yellowing skin: signs of a healing bruise. He sighs.
"I guess you could say that."
Lesley nods. "I figured. Did you get in a fight with someone? Was it over a girl?"
Bo focuses even harder on the pattern of the counter. It's made to look like marble. "I guess you could say that."
"Mhmm, did you lose her?"
He knows it's pathetic. He knows what she's thinking. But it's not like he can correct her. He says, even quieter now, "I guess you could say that."
Lesley stands up straight. "Well, you aren't giving me much to go on here, darlin'."
"Well, there isn't much to talk about--" he looks up at her, slightly smirking-- "darling."
She puts her hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying. There's better ways to deal with heartbreak than drinking. Trust me. I've seen many a guy stroll through here." She reaches for a cloth and an empty glass and she starts to clean the inside of it. Even though it's already clean. Maybe she just needs something to do while she talks. "Some come from losin' jobs, not bein' able to find jobs, some runnin' from police even." Bo looks back down at the counter. "But really, most of 'em come from losin' a girl. And you my friend, you look like you just lost a mighty important girl."
Bo opens his mouth to reply, but Lesley beats him to it.
"You guess I could say that?" Bo looks up at her. She's smiling, attempting to joke around, but Bo isn't in a very joking mood, even know he knows she means well. She just doesn't understand. He reaches into his pocket and places a hundred dollar bill on the counter and slides it over. He stands.
"Thanks for the drinks. Keep the change...Lesley."
Lesley takes the bill, and peers at it in awe. "Thanks," she says.
Bo nods, and turns to start for his room, wanting to slap himself in the face for almost fucking calling her 'Esky.'
***
Today marks a week Esky has been missing, and Bo wakes up hungover.
With a muted groan, Bo throws the covers off of himself, going still for a moment, allowing the sound of the ceiling fan to occupy him as he watches one blade spin round and round.
Eventually, he gets up, rubbing the back of his neck, wishing for the love of his dry tongue that he had a cup of coffee in his hand. Maybe with a little vodka inside. Does the hotel serve breakfast? He checks. It doesn't. Man. He should've looked at the brochure or something before waltzing in here blindly. He was in a rush, okay?
Bo picks up the phone and dials the nearest place that delivers and orders himself a sub. After waiting impatiently for the deliveryman to show up, he ends up taking a shower to pass the time. He stands in the hot water and closes his eyes, feeling each drop stream down him. The steam creates a tasteful atmosphere, and he even entertains himself by posing in the mirror. He feels clean, but he still smells like wet dog. Oh well.
Finally, his food is delivered. He gives the guy a twenty and leaves him to go on his way while Bo tries to enjoy his meal. He sits cross legged in the middle of the bed and reaches over to the side table and grabs the remote. He turns the TV on, not looking for anything in particular as he flicks through the channels. Absentmindedly, he watches each show for about a second before switching to another one when he finds it isn't what he's looking for. Bo isn't quite sure what it is he is looking for, but when he lands on the news, and simultaneously drops the drink he was holding all over himself, he can't help but listen.
After sending off a string of expletives before getting up and grabbing a towel, he notices that he's flipped to the local news station. Though he isn't paying much attention, he half listens to the words being said by the perky reporter as he wipes the drink off of himself.
"And this funky feline is sure to go for a swim once summer rolls around!" she exclaims. Bo just tsks as he gathers the sheets. While cute, a cat that enjoys water isn't exactly newsworthy. Why don't you report something interesting? Perhaps a break in or a burglary? Maybe someone was embezzling funds from their father's business? Maybe even something like--
The reporter interrupts his thoughts.
"Turning to state news, the case of the robbery of Joe's Convenience Store, and murder of the owner, Joseph Barton, still remains open."
Bo drops the sheets. His eyes lock on the reporter, dressed in a gray suit-coat, face neutral and blank, mouth moving simply to report the news. Did she just say...?
"It's been a week since Barton's tragic death, and police are baffled. Back at the scene, we have Detective Arthur Davidson reporting possible leads."
The screen cuts to the front of the store. In the background, if Bo squints, he can see the bullet holes in the brick sign near the door. But there stands Davidson, in his suit, arm in a sling. He looks tired, and like he definitely does not want to be here. His stubble has thickened, and the gray hairs are more noticeable.
"In terms of leads, we know exactly who we're looking for," he says like he knows what he's talking about. "The duo is known as 'Bo and Esky.' Last names unknown. They feigned surrender at the scene and then attempted to engage in a shootout with the officers on scene. Officers were, unfortunately, injured--" he indicates himself-- "but no officer was killed." Bo lets out a deep sigh. No one was killed. Part of him is glad that Esky is okay, but the other part is guilty that she's in the hands of the investigators. What would she say knowing that he ran?
Davidson shifts his feet, like he's ashamed for what he's about to say. "Sadly, during the shootout, one half of the duo, Bo, got away. He was last seen by an officer driving a maroon colored van off scene. The other half, Esky, was shot during the debacle, and, before apprehension, was declared deceased upon arrival at Georgia Hospital."
Wait. What?
A picture of Bo flashes on the screen. "Her partner, however, is alive and at large. He is considered to be armed and extremely dangerous. If you have any leads to his whereabouts, please conta--"
Bo has the remote gripped in his hands, slamming the rewind button.
"...shot during the debacle, and, before apprehension, was declared deceased upon arrival at Georgia Hospital."
No.
"...before apprehension, was declared deceased upon arrival at Georgia Hospital."
No. That can't be right.
"...was declared deceased upon arrival at Georgia Hospital."
No. No. No.
"....declared deceased upon arrival at Georgia Hospital. If you have--"
NO!
"...deceased upon arrival at Georgia Hospital. If you have--"
"...deceased upon arrival at Georgia Hospital. If you--"
"...deceased upon arrival at Georgia Hospital."
Bo turns the TV off. He lets his hand fall into his lap as he stares at his reflection in the now dark TV screen. His mouth is hanging open.
He stammers into the air. "But we just..."
If he tries hard enough, he can taste the cherry of her lipstick when they kissed...how long ago? Just a week?
Part of him wants to stand up and scream. The other part of him wants to throw something against the wall. Part wants to go out and drink until he passes out in a ditch somewhere. In fact. He might do just that.
But before he can, all Bo can do is lay down in the bed, pull the drink-covered blankets up to his chin and sob. Snot covers his pillow and he knows he's probably dehydrating himself with all this crying, but it's all he can do. All he can do until the exhaustion pulls him into a nightmare filled sleep. All he sees is Esky. One minute, she's standing. Then there's a shot. Then he can't see her anymore. Davidson stands above her rotting corpse. His gun is smoking and he his smiling and his arm is still in a sling.
***
When Bo wakes up that night, near two a.m., the first thing he does is grab his wallet and make his way to the bar. Maybe Lesley is tending. Part of Bo wonders if she's single.