“Yeah.”
“You don’t have a real home?”
“Hab you?”
“I’ve got a trailer,” Sandy said “It’s not very far from here.”
“I got a trailer hitch.”
“I know. I saw it. But we’ve got one dead headlight and a smashed windshield. We’d be pulled over by the first cop that sees us. Then we’d both be busted.”
“Id was selp-depense. He beat me up.”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t doing it when you ran him down. If they find out what happened, you’ll end up in prison.”
“Puck dat.”
When the road came into sight through the trees, Sandy shut off the headlight. She drove to the edge of the pavement and stopped. The road looked dark and empty. She stared at the little MG.
“We take years?” Lib asked.
“It isn’t mine.”
You was...”
“I know. The guy it belongs to is dead. I killed him.”
“Yer kiddin’.” She let out a wet, snorty laugh.
“He attacked me. and my kid tonight.”
“Ya
“Yeah.”
“Ain’t dat a hOOt? You’n me, we bote killers!”
“I don’t know what to do about his car.”
“Can’t pull no trailer wid it.”
“I know.”
“Leab it.”
“It’s got my fingerprints on it.”
“Better wipe ‘em opp.”
“Yeah. Okay. Wait here.”
Sandy left the engine running. When she opened the door, the overhead light came on. She looked over at Lib.
They looked at each other.
Lib had cleaned most of the blood off her face. She held a wadded, red bandana against her nose and mouth. A large, golden ring dangled from one of her ears. The lobe of her other ear was torn . and bloody. She might be about thirty years old, but it was hard to tell because of her battered face. She was larger than Sandy, had broad shoulders, and looked strong. Her shaved head made her seem tough, even though her face was torn and puffy.
Lib took the rag away from her mouth and asked, “Where’s yer shirt?”
“Where’s your hair?”
“Haw!”
“I’ll be right back.”
Sandy climbed out of the car and shut its door. She hurried up the roadside to the MG, dropped into its driver’s seat, and pulled out the ignition key.
She stuffed the key ring into a front pocket of. her shorts. Then she leaned sideways and opened the glove compartment.
It held a small revolver.
Sandy pursed her lips, quickly pulled out the handgun and stuffed it into her pocket.
Then she reached into the glove compartment again. This time, she found a few maps and a small stack of paper napkins—Slade must’ve saved the napkins from visits to fast food joints.
Sandy took them out and snapped the compartment shut. There seemed to be six or eight napkins. She used them to wipe the front of the glove compartment, the dashboard, the gear shift knob and the steering wheel. She opened the driver’s door, then wiped the inside handle.
The road was still dark and empty.
She climbed out, shut the door, and rubbed the outside handle. And the area around the handle. Then she made a quick swipe along the top of the door.
Shoving the napkins into a pocket, she hurried back to Lib’s car.
“Whose car is this?” she asked Lib.
Lib sniffed loudly, then said, “Mine.”
“Are you the real owner?”
“Sure.”
“The
“Y’kiddin’ me?”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Puck no.”
“It’s stolen?”
“Y’betcha.
“Great.
Sandy pulled onto the road, turned left, and headed for her trailer.
“How hot is it?” she asked, and put the headlight on.
“We’b had it a mont.”
“A month?”
“Stole it in Mexico. It’s good ‘n sape.”
“What are you, some kind of big time criminal?”
Lib let out a laugh, then snorted. “Dat’s a good one. Bill ‘n me, big time. Bonnie ‘n Clyde. Dat’s us. Know what? Bill was nuttin’ but a chicken-shit bully wit da brain ob a worm.”
“Was he your husband?”
“Haw!”
“Guess not.”
“Wortless puck.”
Sandy slowed down as she approached her turn-off. The road ahead looked empty. In the rearview, she saw only darkness and bits of moonlight. She swung onto the dirt tracks and powered her way up the hillside. Bushes squeaked against the sides of the car, scraped against its undercarriage.
“Ya lib up here?”
“Yeah. Me and my kid.”
“How old’s yer kid?”
“Six months.”
“A baby.”
“Yeah.”
“Boy ‘r girl?”
“Aw. Dat’s nice, real nice. But ya don’ gotta man?”
“Just him.”
“Bastard knock ya up ‘n run off?”
“Knocked me up and got killed.”
“Aw.”
“Yeah.”
“Did ya lub him?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
