Miranda bursts through the double doors, Glock 9 mm in one
hand, money-bag in the other. I hear her laughing wildly behind the rubber ape-face mask as she charges across the forecourt to where I'm parked just beyond
the pumps, engine running.
She throws herself into the back seat and rips away the
face. Her dazzling blue eyes look feral and meet my concerned glare, her red
lips part in a grin of pure wild spirit, blonde hair flowing like forest fire,
suddenly I'm in love.
“Where the fuck is he?” I shout, dragged from my delirium by
a wave of steadily pumping adrenaline.
He retreats out of the kiosk, Remington pump action at the hip;
he shouts some unheard instructions to the terrified occupants and turns to
leave. Relief washes over me.
A single shot from inside smashes through the glass. Albert
is lifted off his feet and twists horribly in mid-flight, crashing heavily to
the tar. Blood showers the sunlit morning.
The shock in the boosted 1967 Chevy Nova is palpable,
Miranda screams, I scream before I can stop myself.
Albert picks himself up and staggers woefully in our general
direction, a shadowy figure in a black hooded sweatshirt pushes the doors open
and melts into the sun light.
The stranger lifts the barrel of a Desert Eagle with both
hands, I catch a glimpse of tiger-eye gold ring on his little finger, and pulls
the trigger.
The cannon cracks the day and eviscerates Albert’s head in a
shower of blood scull and latex, his lifeless body is thrown like a rag and slams against the rear wheel of the Chevy.
He fires a third shot which clangs into the side of the car
rocking it with great force.
I ram the gas and the beast’s engine responds with a roar
and a squeal of rubber on the slick surface breathing smoke into the air.
The Chevy kicks right and slides into traffic there’s a
crunch of metal as progress is halted by an unfortunate station wagon. I see
the driver; his face is drowned in fear and confusion.
For a second everything stops, I hear my racing heart beat,
feel the leather between my fingers the smoke in my lungs, for a second I live.
“Drive!” she screams through a veil of tears. I hit the
hammer; this time the Beast’s traction is true.
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