The panhandler’s hair was a wild mess—Finn had never seen a bigger fro, not even at Norfolk, where hair like that was a symbol of rebellion. The man’s beard was greying and equally matted, and he had crazy eyes, wide and bulging, reminding Finn a little of Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. He wore socks—no shoes, just socks—and a huge, pea green army duster. From what Finn could see, the man wore all his clothes layered beneath, making him impossibly bulky and probably extremely ripe, even in the cold sunshine. He turned his cardboard sign toward them just as the light turned green, and Finn looked away as the cars in front of them started to inch forward.
“Stop! Finn! Pull over! Pull over!” Bonnie cried, her hand on the door handle as she turned in her seat, staring at something beyond her shoulder.
“Stop!” she screeched again, so instead of turning and following the line of cars in front of them onto the ramp, he went straight ahead and flipped on his hazard lights as he veered across traffic onto the narrow shoulder of the road. Maybe he was so responsive because Bonnie was pounding on his arm and shrieking for him to stop.
Bonnie was out of the car before the Blazer had even come to a full stop, and it was Finn’s turn to cry out, warning her to hold on, but she didn’t listen. She ran down the side of the road until she was standing across from the panhandler who still stood on the median, watching the cars fly past him in both directions. Bonnie was separated from him by a lane of traffic, but she waved her arms, trying to get his attention. Finn waited until there was a break in the traffic, and then slid out of the car, not wanting to open his door and risk having it removed by an oncoming truck. Luckily, it was a small town, and the traffic wasn’t heavy, but his inability to follow Bonnie had given her plenty of time to reach the panhandler, who she now stood talking to on the median, as seemingly comfortable with the grizzled man as she was behind the microphone. As Finn watched, she looped her hand through the man’s arm and led him across the road toward Bear’s car and Finn, who could only watch the two of them approach in horror.
“Finn! William’s heading in the same direction we are! I thought we could give him a ride.”
Holy. Shit. Bonnie Rae Shelby was a lunatic. He was in love with a lunatic! The thought brought Finn up short. In love? He didn’t love her! He just . . . wanted her. Like he’d told her this morning. He just wanted her. That was all. He wanted a lunatic.
“I’m needed in Joplin.” The panhandler’s voice was strident and powerful, but he smiled at Finn as he and Bonnie neared the vehicle, his beard parting like the waters of the Red Sea, revealing that he didn’t have all of his teeth. “My friends call me George Orrin Dillinger the III, but as I told the lady, you can call me William.” He drew out each syllable like he was delivering a sermon.
The fact that the panhandler’s friends called him by his full name yet he and Bonnie could call him another name entirely made absolutely no sense, but Finn just nodded numbly and watched as Bonnie popped the trunk, threw their few belongings inside, and made a spot for William, aka George Orrin Dillinger the III, aka the crazy man who would be sitting behind him for the next three hours until they reached Joplin, the next stop on Finn’s plotted route.
William climbed into the car, and just before he shut the door, Bonnie asked him if she could borrow his cardboard sign, just for a second. He acquiesced, obviously, because Bonnie Rae grabbed it as William pulled the door closed, and then she held it over the roof of the car, showing Finn, who still stood next to the driver’s side door. Bonnie’s eyes were almost as wide and crazy as George Orrin Dillinger’s. She pointed at the words on the sign fiercely, not speaking.
I Believe in Bonnie and Clyde the sign read. Finn read it again, and then again, not sure what to make of it. Then he looked at Bonnie and shrugged.
“So?”
“So?” she hissed. “It’s a sign!”
“Yeah. It is. A cardboard sign.”
“Finn! It has our names on it!”
“Names which happen to be the same names as a very well-known pair. He could have written ‘I believe in Sonny and Cher’ or ‘Beavis and Butthead’ or ‘peanut butter and jelly.’”
Bonnie looked a little crestfallen. He’d taken the magic out of the moment. He was good at that.
“And now we have a smelly guy named William with the initials, G.O.D. in our backseat. And I’m not happy about it, Bonnie Rae.”
“His initials are G.O.D!” Bonnie’s eyes were seriously going to pop out of her skull. The magic was back. Finn moaned and then started laughing, once again not even sure how any of this could possibly be real. He even pinched himself, just to make sure he’d actually woken up this morning to a pop star in his arms, a Bear on his front steps, and now, God in his backseat.
He just shook his head and got in the Charger before a passing car took a chunk out of his ass, and Bonnie followed his lead, the cardboard sign still clutched to her chest.
The interior of the car already reeked. Bonnie made polite noises about it being a beautiful day and rolled down the windows a bit. Finn immediately lost his appetite.
“You hungry, William?” he asked.
“Yes sir. I am.” William nodded, his powerful voice a little too loud for the interior of the car.
“Here!” Bonnie Rae handed William her sandwich as they headed southwest toward Joplin.
“What does this sign mean, William?” Bonnie reached back and set it on the seat beside him, though he barely looked at it.