Bad Monkey

She touched my cheek and said, “Darling, where’s my shampoo and conditioner?”

“Darling”? Seriously?

My whole world was crashing down. How could she take my heart in her hands and choke it like a baby bunny rabbit?

The last time we made love I knew something wasn’t right because she didn’t make a sound. Also, she didn’t move her butt very much, which isn’t like her. I asked what’s wrong, princess, and she said nothing’s wrong, everything’s beautiful.

But that night in bed I had a horrible feeling she was thinking about someone else. It had to be Andrew, the man she was with before she came back to Tulsa and took me away. He’s got some hot new girlfriend now and I think Ms. Chase is jealous. Supposedly the girlfriend is a doctor, like Ms. Chase’s husband, and maybe that screwed with her head, too.

Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe she just went batshit crazy which can happen when the monthly hormones take over. I’ve seen it before, and watch out!

All I know is I’ve lost my true soul mate. Yes, she was an outlaw and a schizo but I loved her anyway—and I would have stayed glued by her side until the law hunted us down. Every day on the road with Ms. Chase was wild lust and adventure, and I don’t regret one single moment.

If she showed up on my doorstep tomorrow I’d take her back in a heartbeat, and no man alive would blame me. I’d go through the fires of Hell and follow her anywhere, except back to Tulsa because I am seriously done with the Olive Garden.

Like the book says, you can’t go homeward angel. And by God I’m not.

Yancy drove out to the detention center on Stock Island, a place where as a detective he’d interviewed numerous inmates though never a former lover. He was friends with the duty officer, so he and Bonnie had a room to themselves. She was excited to see him and disappointed by his chilly reponse.

“Andrew, why are you looking at me like that? It’s just a fire. Nobody died.”

“You’re right. It’s not like you burned down an orphanage.”

“Please, there’s no cause for sarcasm.”

Her county jumpsuit was the same blaze orange as Nick Stripling’s poncho. She wore the braided pigtails but the jailers had taken away her lip gloss.

“You think they’re recording us?” she said, looking around for a video camera.

Yancy said no. The phone calls usually got taped but he wasn’t sure about visitations.

“Cody wants to come see me, too, but Mr. Montenegro says absolutely not.”

“Why did you do this, Bonnie? So much drama.”

“Oh please. It was all for you. Don’t pretend like you don’t get it, or I’ll really be upset.”

“But I truly don’t get it.”

“You were right about Cody,” she said. “He was keeping a secret journal of everything we did, just like before. His notion is to do a book and get rich. He thinks he can write, which I suppose is my fault for building him up so much in class. But isn’t that what teachers are supposed to do? I didn’t know he would peak in eleventh grade! At first I was livid about the new diary, but then Mr. Montenegro said it’s good for my case in Oklahoma because they’d have to charge him with aiding a fugitive, which would be messy for the prosecutors.”

“Because he’s supposed to be the victim,” Yancy said.

“Exactly, Andrew. The boy I supposedly corrupted.”

“Here’s the thing: They don’t need Cody’s testimony to convict you for bail jumping. Also, Bonnie, this arson? Major felony. Nobody gets a free pass if they torch a home.”