'What's the idea, Geoff?' said Trevor as they drove at high speed the wrong way through the scenario. Fields and hedgerows and gated drives flashed past. 'This isn't the way to Hungerford.'
Teresa said nothing, watching the landscape through the window at her side, blocking out the intrusive banshee whine of the siren, looking out at the sky, the trees, the endless vista of summertime England. lt unfolded around them as they sped along, urging her on to the edges of reality.
Then there was a jolt, and reality was tested to the point of destruction.
As the scenario lurched back, Trev abruptly jammed on the brakes and the car slowed awkwardly, nosing down and sliding at an angle across the dusty road. They had arrived in an instant at the Bear Hotel at the bottom of Hungerford High Street, where a police line had been thrown across the road.
They parked their patrol car, then walked round to the luggage compartment at the back, where the bulletproof jackets were stored. Teresa and Trev pulled them on, then went to work in Hungerford.
Teresa, disappointed, remembered LIVER.
Copyright (0 GunHo Corporation in all territories
There was an electronic buzzing until the words faded. No music, though.
Teresa was driving the curves of Highway 2, north of Los Angeles, through the mountains; it was May 15, 1972. The sun shone down into her opentop, the radio played the Mothers of Invention, she had her girl curled up affectionately beside her.
As they rounded one of the steeper bends a truck on the other side of the road did not take the grade and it tipped to one side, crashing down and skidding towards them, crushing their car with devastating effect.
Teresa was driving the curves of Highway 2, north of Los Angeles, through the mountains; it was May 15, 1972. She braked, hauled the car over to the side of the road and did a U-tum.
Grit and dust flew up behind them, and hovered in the sunlight after they had accelerated away down the hill.
After driving ten miles back towards the city, she took a left on the freeway heading east towards Las Vegas, and settled down for the long drive. The radio was playing the Mothers of Invention, and her girlfriend was rolling a joint. When they came to the desert the road became a blur, the car's engine note steadied, and there was nothing more to do or see.
Teresa waited until she was certain, then recalled the LIVER acronym.
Teresa was instantly aware of heat, bright lights and clothes that were too tight for comfort.
She blinked, and tried to see what was going on around her, but her eyes had not yet adjusted. There were people standing further back, beyond a ring of lights, not paying the least attention to her.
A woman came up to her, and brusquely patted her
forehead and nose with powder. 'Hold still a while longer, Shan,' she said impersonally, then moved back behind the fights.
Shan, Teresa thought. My name is Shan. Shouldn't 1 have known that from the start?
Full of curiosity, Teresa looked down at herself and discovered that she was dressed as a cowgirl. She raised a hand to touch her hair: she had some kind of cowboy hat on her head, making her scalp feel glossy with sweat, and the strings dangled beside her face. She peered down at her chest and found that she was wearing a shirt made out of a cheerful check material. With one finger, she eased forward the V above the top button, and glimpsed a tiny underwired bra made of black lace. She had breasts that swelled wonderfully above the cups, in a way she had always dreamt of. The leather miniskirt she was wearing exposed most of her legs, which she could see were clad in sheer silk stockings. She touched them sensually.
Her fingers discovered what felt like a suspender belt under the skirt. She knew she had panties on, but they were far too tight and they were cutting into her flesh. Her boots were made of white calf, and came up to her knees. They pinched the sides of her feet.
SENSH
She turned to see where she was, feeling the clothes twist uncomfortably against her body and tightening under her armpits. She discovered she was sitting precariously on a high bar stool, next to a wooden counter with a polished surface. Behind this was the space where the barman would work, and on the wall behind that was a tall mirror with an Ornate gilt surround. Teresa could see her reflection in the mirror, and she looked at herself with immense interest and amusement.
Her face had been made up with lavish and exaggerated
features: blackoutlined purple eyeshadow and heavy mascara, white foundation cream, too much blusher, and lip gloss that glistened wetly, like red plastic. The woman's efforts to dull the sheen of perspiration on her brow and nose had been only partly successful. Long auburn curls tumbled from beneath her hat.
Teresa straightened, and by shrugging her shoulders and pulling at the seams of the clothes attempted to make herself more comfortable. She tried unsuccessfully to pull down the hem of the miniskirt.
There was a man standing next to her, also dressed in cowboy clothes. He had a long drooping moustache and a beard, both apparently false, and he leaned back on the counter with one elbow, showing no interest in her. He was holding a tabloid newspaper in his free hand, and was reading the sports page. She thought she should know his name, but apparently that information was also not a part of the package.
SENSH
She looked into the main part of the room, but the bright lights still made it difficult to see the other people clearly. There were at least four men there, as well as the woman who had spoken to her. One of the men was also dressed in cowboy clothes. lt was hard to make out the area beyond them, but Teresa gained an impression of unused space and that this small set, the bar of a western saloon, was the only part in use.
A large video camera stood on a tripod. Another slightly smaller one was being held by one of the men, who was making some adjustment to a battery pack he wore around his waist.
After a few more moments of consultation, one of the men stepped forward to where Teresa could see him.
