Criminal by Terra Elan McVoy Page A

to say all of. So they understood Bird had no idea we’d taken her car, didn’t know anything about it.
    We got in, and Dee put the bag at his feet. We held hands, sweet. He told me to head to the interstate. Dee put the stereo on, loud, but the pulsing music felt good. A kind of holiday, just the two of us.
    I didn’t pay much attention to what we passed or even, really, how long I was driving. It just felt good, letting Dee lead me wherever he wanted. A surprise. Eventually he told me to get off the interstate, and we drove some more, turned, drove, turned. I didn’t really know where we were, but there were brand-new strip malls and steak houses and the biggest Walmart I’ve ever seen. Eventually he told me to slow down, turn into a subdivision. There was a brick sign at the entrance, the name in cursive. The houses were bigger and newer and farther apart than the ones in our neighborhood. We took another turn and he told me to stop the car just past this yellow house with a pretty front porch. Full of plants. I had no idea who lived there. I thought maybe it was a party, though there weren’t many other cars around. Was I finally going to meet his family? His friends? Again, I was glad I’d gotten a little dressed up.
    He looked out my window. “You see down there?”
    He was pointing slightly behind us, between two other houses. I don’t remember what they looked like, but the grass between themwas bright and damp. I thought, for a second, I wanted to lie down in it with Dee.
    He told me to follow the road we were on all the way to the stop sign, go through it, and then take the very first left into a cul-de-sac that ended on the other side of those two houses.
    â€œWhen I tell you,” he said, “you drive over there, and I’ll meet you.”
    I was starting to get a strange feeling. I asked him what he was going to do.
    â€œDon’t you trust me?” he said.
    â€œYes, of course,” I said right back.
    He took out the short brown wig and handed it to me. That, and a big, mildew-smelling flannel shirt. “Then put these on.”
    I was trying to keep the idea in my head that this was some kind of funny game—maybe some elaborate trick to play on his mom or something—but I didn’t like the creepy way it was feeling. When I asked him about it again, though, he got mad.
    â€œJust put it on and shut up,” he said.
    So I put on the wig and watched him as he pulled a billowy ladies’ blouse out of the bag and took off his T-shirt. He put on the blouse. For a strange reason I wanted to laugh, but the serious look on his face, and the way he kept looking around at the other houses, it wasn’t funny at all. He took out a black miniskirt and put that on too. Tights. His boots back on over those. I knew then something was really wrong.
    But when I told him I wanted to leave, he got angry. Yelling things like “shut the fuck up,” and “keep your ugly mouth shut,” and “you’ll do what I fucking tell you to do.” Everything around me got sharp and bright. I was blinking, fast, feeling really scared but not knowing what to do. My heart was racing. This was no romantic getaway.
    I paused. Those disguises—I’d skipped over them in my story, but it made me feel the same strangeness thinking of them again. How intentional it all seemed. But then I took a breath and remembered my purpose. All I needed to do was give them enough to keep them away from Bird. Just to tell them we were there, but not her. At the scene. I told them Dee was acting strange, and I was scared. I couldn’t help that part because it was so true.
    He put the wig on and reached into the bag again. Two guns. I started freaking out. He grabbed my wrist, squeezing hard. I thought he might punch me, but he didn’t. Instead he leaned in, kissed me hard.
    â€œI gotta do something,” he told me. And it was hypnotizing, how sure and