BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next on your reading list?

She put her head down as he braked and left the road a few lengths ahead of the old truck with the wood cargo box. As he pulled into the meadow so that the truck stood between him and the highway, she turned her head and saw him slouched down in the seat, maybe to seem smaller, more like Hollywood. Then he showed his teeth. “There you are, you sonofabitch.”

He picked up a little orange walkie-talkie and spoke into it. “That you, Pony? Dude, it’s me.” He’d made his voice higher and put a little twang into it. Then he stuck his right hand out the sunroof in a wave as he flashed his brights with his left. She wanted to look but she didn’t. He slowed more. She heard a voice. Then he hit the gas and turned the wheel. The engine rose up loud and she felt a thump from the front.

She raised her head and watched Peter leap from his seat with the rifle. He stood over Pony Boy, who lay in a crumpled heap with his hair in his eyes. Pony raised a palm and tried to sit up but couldn’t. He tried to keep the pain from his face, but failed. Something was wrong with his leg.

The gray truck was parked well behind the stand of evergreens, hidden from the road.

40

Helene watched as Peter took a few steps and kicked something away into the grass. He slung the rifle behind his back and returned to Pony Boy and began to pat his clothes.

She was already out of the car when Pony grabbed at Peter’s arm, trying to pull him off balance. Peter leaned in close, hands moving too fast for her to follow, and the other man fell away into the grass. Then Peter snatched up Pony’s wrist and bent it backward, forcing him to roll onto his chest with a hard grunt. “Okay, damn,” Pony said, his face sideways in the grass. “Enough.”

Peter didn’t let go. “Take off your belt. Slowly.”

Pony Boy just stared up at him with one eye.

Peter bent the wrist farther. “I can break something else, or I can tie you up and leave you for the cops. Your choice.”

Pony flexed his jaw. Then he reached for his belt buckle.

Peter tied Pony’s wrists behind his back and quickly went through Pony’s pockets, taking a wallet, keys, and a knife from his pants and a phone from the coat. He popped the battery from the phone, then walked a few steps into the meadow to collect a black revolver. It was like her daddy’s gun, but bigger.

He opened the cylinder, checking to see if it was loaded, then snapped it closed and handed it to her. “I’m going to move the car out of sight. If he moves, shoot him. If Roy comes, shoot them both.”