Crescent City Connection

a pinkish face, and he wore a rust-colored shirt, no doubt picked by his mama, who thought it flattered him. The girl was a Barbie blonde. Her nail polish and lipstick probably matched and were called “Candy Apple” or “Sugar Frost.”
    Lovelace noticed one thing that pleased her—the girl wore shorts. She hadn’t even thought to notice the weather, but she did now. It wasn’t freeze-your-butt weather, which might mean she wouldn’t die of exposure if she ever managed to get away.
    She said, “Where are we going?”
    Nobody answered. Apparently, they hadn’t thought it out. The girl remained rigid.
    Lovelace touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?” The girl turned to her, her face an odd mask of fear and confusion, her painted lips twisted. “What happened to you?”
    Lovelace hadn’t had time to think about what to do once she got away. In fact, she was still dealing with the odd sensation of being free—in her heart of hearts, she hadn’t thought she’d make it.
    “I wonder,” she said, “why he isn’t chasing us.”
    She was sorry instantly—the girl looked terrified.
    “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “He isn’t dangerous.”
    Woody and Candy both spoke at once. “You know him?”
    “He didn’t hurt you?”
    Lovelace thought fast, and she was amazed at the clarity and speed with which her thoughts came.
    These two probably want to keep a low profile as badly as I do.
    The last thing she wanted was to be taken to the cops. She didn’t know where she was, but so far it showed no signs of being a big city. These two had been in a motel parking lot, probably having just checked in, and they were both babies. More important, the girl was probably well under eighteen.
    She told them a blend of truth and fiction, inventing as she went along. “He’s my dad. See, I’ve been living with my boyfriend and he doesn’t approve. He’s like… I don’t know, some kind of family-values freak, I guess you’d say, and he just… came and got me.”
    “Oh, you poor thing.”
    Lovelace would have smiled if she hadn’t been so scared—it was certainly the right story for Woody and Candy.
    “Could you help me with my hands?” She thrust her taped wrists in the space between the neck rests.
    Candy gasped, but she began rummaging in her purse. “Your dad did that?”
    “Yeah. My own dad did that.” She tried to keep her voice tight and contained, but it got away from her. “My own father, goddammit!” She couldn’t even wrap her own mind around it. What kind of father kidnapped you and drugged you?
    Candy fished out some nail scissors and hacked at the duct tape. Woody kept glancing in the rearview mirror.
    “See anything?”
    “Not yet. Look… are you a minor?”
    Ha. Woody’s not dumb. But maybe he’ll think I am.
“Why do you ask?”
    “Because if you are, the cops are just gonna send you home.”
    “Cops? Omigod. I didn’t think about that. What am I gonna do?”
    “I’m thinkin’,” Woody muttered. “I’m thinkin’.”
    “Uh… could I ask something? Where are we?”
    “You mean what town? Jackson, Mississippi. That is, near it, sort of.”
    A long way from Evanston, Illinois.
Why?
she wondered.
And where had he been taking her?
    Candy said, “Where do you live? I mean, with your boyfriend?”
    Something told Lovelace to lie about the place, too—to lie about everything.
    “Austin,” she said.
    “Well, do you want to go back? We could take you to a bus station.”
    “Would you? That would be great. I mean, that would be really great.”
    It had drawbacks, though, not the least being that she had no money. She thought of saying it, knowing they’d give her some, but in the end she just couldn’t mention it—she’d rather steal than sink that low.
    They drove for a while in silence, Lovelace getting more and more nervous as various scenarios crowded into her head: They dropped her at the bus station, and he was waiting for her. She tried hitchhiking, and he picked her up. She checked into a hotel, and he broke into her room.
    Woody broke her reverie. “Shit! That was Pearl Street.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “It’s okay. I can get off at Lakeland Drive and double back.” He swung off the Interstate, and in a moment they entered an area with a lot of street life—young people, bars, coffeehouses. She might be able to get lost in the crowd.
    “Hey, listen… you know—you could just drop me here.”
    “Here? Why?”
    “I think…” she