💭 | you find true love in the most unlikely of situations.
This idea has been in my mind for so long now 😫 I will write more parts to this in the future too but I am not quite sure when I will have the time as of now! Though I do hope to write and post a part two in the next few days at least. I do not think there is anyone else even in the public enemies fandom like this but if you even read this then I do thank you 🩶
The inside of the car smells of leather and faint, leftover cigarette smoke that still clings to the plush seats. The streets outside pass by as nothing more than fleeting, blurred images in your eyes as you lean your head against the glass pane of the window. Street lamps glow and flicker with a dim orange hue to aid the few pedestrians that still walk the streets as the late evening descends further into darkness.
You had left your husband behind at a dinner minutes ago now. You never could stand them. They are more akin to business meetings with his high up associates and their own bored wives than they are dinners. They are a way for them all to boast their wealth to one another like pompous peacocks. The moment you had whispered to your husband about having come down with a sudden case of a headache before the third course had even been served, he had waved you off with unbothered disinterest. You wonder if he had even heard you telling him that you would be going home for a rest. You suppose it was at least a better outcome than him pulling you aside into a desolate room to scold you for interrupting his conversation with a possible investor, which was a common happening.
The back of your throat almost burns as you think of him. This marriage had been a thing of simple, dumb youth. You regretted it more and more with each passing hour of every day. He had been so different in the beginning. Though you assume they all are. He had been so skilled at hiding his true colours until it was too late for you to do the simple thing and walk away from it all. Now, you have a heavy chain around your neck in the form of a sparkling diamond ring on your finger and he was the only one with a key.
“Are you feeling alright back there, mrs Carlton?” The escort driver snaps you from your daze from the front of the car. You almost scoff at the concern that laces his quiet, gentle voice. How was it that a driver who knew close to nothing about you at all seems to hold more real care for you than your own husband… you shake your head in silent disbelief. “I will be fine.” You sigh softly, raising a hand to massage your temples in repeated movements. “Thank you for asking.” You pull your fur lined coat tighter around your chest, sinking further into the comforting warmth.
You watch as the streets grow darker and less illuminated as the car turns to take the usual route through a deserted backstreet that leads further toward the expensive street that your home rests in. Soon, the only lights you can see outside are the ones reflecting into the road from the car headlights and that of the silver moon shining through the clouds. You close your eyes, seeking a moment of peace. You know that your husband will be home soon after you. You only hope that he will not be drunk out of his mind when he comes through the front door as he often is. The thought of having to deal with him in his drunken state almost makes you open the car door and throw yourself out.
For now, the soft mechanical humming and precise movement of the car lulls you into a state of momentary peace.
Just then, the peace and quiet is broken by the unmissable and piercing sound of screeching tires. Your eyes snap open at the sound. You lean forward from your spot in the backseat to look out through the windshield. The middle of the road is now blocked sideways by an unfamiliar black car that you had certainly never seen before. “What the-” Your driver exclaims, pressing his foot down on the breaks in time and bringing the car to a sudden, lurching halt in front of the makeshift blockade.
“What is this about?” You question aloud; quietly and more to yourself than your driver or anyone else at all. Before your driver can even respond with his own confusion, the doors of the car in front of your own open. Two men step out into the darkness. The darkness outside conceals their faces and the haste at which they move gives you no chance to observe them any further as they rush past the shining headlights. All of a sudden, your car door as well as the door leading right to your driver is all but ripped open.
Your mouth goes dry as your gaze darts to the now open space of the door frame. Staring back at you is the threatening barrel of a sleek handgun. The hand holding it does not even tremble or hesitate. “Out of the car, missy. Now.” The figure demands, gesturing toward you with a quick flick of his weapon. By their voice and general shadowed build, it is obvious that they are a man. “Oh, and put this on, will ya?” The man adds, pulling a tatty seed sack from the inner breast pocket of his black coat and quickly shoving it over your head, giving you no time to take it and do it for yourself.
The sack takes away almost all of your vision as you take in the sudden complete darkness you have been plunged into. You can hear your driver shouting in the front seat before another voice chimes in and tells him to “shut it, mister. We ain’t here for you.” The man at your drivers door sounds younger than the one towering in front of you. Your shoulders drop as you tilt your head to look up at the man standing in front of you through the sack. “I assume this is a kidnapping then?” You question, clearing your throat in a desperate attempt to stop your voice from wavering with shock.
Through the tiny holes in the itchy sack, you can see the faint black outline of the man stiffen and the shape of his head glance over at his partner before falling back to you. “Yeah, it is.” He confirms. “Now get outta the car. Hurry up.” The man leans down and takes ahold of your wrists with one hand, pressing them together and holding them both in his grip as he pulls you up and out of the car. The feeling of his gloved hand around your wrists pulls a slight flinch from you at first but then, you notice the strange sort of gentleness it has to it. It feels different to the kind of grasp that your husband has when he would grab you in the same way. It lacks the simmering anger and the rough carelessness. It lacks the feeling of his fingertips digging into your skin in a way that would be guaranteed to leave blooming bruises for the following morning.
The man stills for a second, obviously having caught sight of your flinch, before loosening his grasp a small amount and guiding you forward. He halts after a few seconds of walking before moving his hand from your wrists to your shoulder, pushing you downwards slightly. “Mind your head now, doll. Get in the car.” He murmurs, helping you slide into the backseat of the car he had earlier emerged from. When you settle inside, the first thing you take in is the smell. Unlike your own car, it smells strongly of fresh cigarettes, gun oil and heavy steel. Thankfully, none of the men can see the way your nose scrunches in distaste beneath the sack. His hands push you further long the cramped backseat. “Move up.” He says, sitting down right beside you in the back once you have scooted across to the other side.
You feel his shoulder brush against your own but do not speak a word, assuming it best to remain quiet for now. He closes the door and then, the passenger side door slams closed too. You can hear two other figures shuffling around in the front seats. The driver, who had never stepped out of the car, and the passenger, who had been occupied with your own driver. “You deal with the driver?” The stern question comes from the drivers side of the car. His voice sounds similar to that of the man who had grabbed you and is now sitting beside you. You wonder if they are related at all. “Yeah. He won’t be waking up for a little while… not ‘til we’re long gone anyway.” The passenger responds with an airy and almost unsettling chuckle that causes the hair on your arms to rise. Your chest tightens with silent concern for your driver, your fingers twitching in your lap.
The car lurches forward as the driver presses on the gas, obviously beginning to drive you far away from the scene before anyone comes looking. For a while, the drive is completely silent bar for the hushed, careful mumbling between the passenger and the driver. You suppose they have had this all planned out, given their obvious preparations. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you.” The man beside you openly observes. Two hums of both suspicion and agreement come from the front seats. You can feel his eyes on you through the sack but keep your own gaze looking straight ahead into the darkness. “You tied her up yet, Fred?” You bite down on your inner cheek, resisting the rising urge to let your fight instinct take over, knowing it could very well result in you being shot in mere seconds. “‘m getting to that now.” The man next to you answers. So his name is Fred, you think to yourself. For some reason, the name sounds familiar as you repeat it back to yourself in your head; like you had read it somewhere before or perhaps heard it once in passing.
You hear the backseat creak as Fred leans down and takes ahold of something from the car floor. His gloved hands are chilled as they take ahold of your wrists once more, pulling them over to him. “Sorry about this, doll. Gotta make sure you won’t go and do something real stupid is all.” He explains, wrapping what feels like old rope around your wrists and knotting it in place. The smallest, quietest whimper slips from your lips before you can stop it when the rope pulls tight, rubbing a slight burn across your skin in an instant.
Fred pauses in place, his hands stilling on the rope. For a moment, you fear you might have angered him. For a moment, you brace yourself for a swift smack across the face. Then, he sighs heavily, a reluctant sound. You feel the knot being loosened enough to where the rough rope no longer rubs a burn against your wrists with any small movement. Your breath hitches in your throat at the strange, unexpected show of real kindness and gentleness. “Thank you…” you mutter, quickly moving your tied hands back to rest atop your expensive dress skirt. Fred nods before realising you cannot see him and throws his head back with a heaving groan, though it lacks any real irritation or anger. “Yeah, you’re very welcome.” He responds, an audible veil of light sarcasm lining his tone. “Just sit still and be quiet.”
Once again, the car falls quiet. The silence is heavy and thick with weighing tension. You sit rigid and still, staring out into the darkness of your sack with a blank, void expression. For a reason you cannot quite place, you feel no seizing fear. As much as you expect to feel scared, as much as you search for the fear that you should very likely be feeling after being snatched and tied up to be driven to an unknown destination, you fail to find it anywhere within yourself.
Instead, you think of the other outcome. You think of waiting at home for your husband to arrive. You think of the familiar fear that would have made your skin itch once he walked through the front door with liquor on his hot breath. You think of having to act as if all was well when the following morning came along.
As the car drives you toward somewhere you do not know, you find your head carefully falling to rest upon the window as it had mere minutes earlier in your own car. Your mind falls into a strange sense of calm and unusual peace instead of fear or even anger. ‘How much worse could this situation truly be compared to your usual every day life with your husband.’ You think to yourself with a quiet sigh of acceptance, allowing your heavy eyes to fall closed. Just for a moment, you tell yourself, a moment of resting your eyes will do no harm.
You fail to feel the watchful eyes of Fred staring over at you from his side of the car, observing you with a strange curiosity and a glimmer of almost protective softness swirling deep within his dark eyes.
Felonious Females: Kate "Ma" Barker and Her Wayward Children
Felonious Females: Kate “Ma” Barker and Her Wayward Children
She was born Arizona Donnie Clark on October 8, 1873 to parents John and Emaline (Parker) Clark in Greene County, Missouri. Arizona, or Arrie (and later Kate) as her family called her, grew up on a Missouri farm, and raised as a good Christian went to church and Sunday school.
In 1892 she married George Elias Barker, a farm laborer, and together they had four sons: Herman, Lloyd, Arthur and…
A couple of photos I found of the house where Fred Barker and his mother met their deaths after a shoot out with the FBI. It has since been determined that Ma Barker had a much smaller part in the shoot out, that’s if she took part in it at all. January 16, 1935
