No Such Creature

He hit the Okay button and the map came back. He was definitely closing in on the bitch, and he hit the gas a little harder. She was a looker, he had to admit. He had the photograph he’d swiped from Bill’s room on the seat beside the computer. Green eyes you could swim in, and a smile that was, well, let’s just say you can keep Saint Pete. When you die, this is what greets you at the Pearly Gates-silky wings and a smile like this girl’s. So, the order of business would be: scare the living shit out of her till she hands over the emeralds, have a little fun with her, then, sadly, switch off the light before you leave.

That switch was getting increasingly easy to throw, Zig noticed. There’d been Melvin; he’d had a pang or two about Melvin, mostly because it hadn’t been necessary-he’d been too impatient. The Pookie guy had been an accident; you couldn’t be held responsible for other people’s health problems. But he was a little surprised at himself for doing Clem-that hadn’t actually been part of any plan. In fact, that had made him feel pretty bad for a couple of hours. Stu? Well, the truth was he didn’t know Stu all that well, so he didn’t care that much. He’d been twiddling the radio dial for news all day. There was nothing about any bodies found in Dallas, other than Bill Bullard.

That was another no-brainer: guy shoots you, you have to kill him. According to the radio, the cops were looking for a man in a blue suit and a red tie, both of which he’d dumped a couple of hundred miles ago.

An Allied moving van in front of him forced him to slow down. Zig took the opportunity to hit the Update button on the laptop.

The little red arrow was pulsing near Lost Gap, less than ten miles ahead.

“Fuck you, Allied,” he said, and swung out across the solid line, flooring it. A Mazda coming the other way honked incredulously, then hit the brakes and swerved onto the gravel shoulder, fishtailing in a cloud of dust.

Zig got back into his lane and tried to keep things at a good clip without screaming to be stopped by a trooper. Last thing he wanted was a conversation with some redneck in a Smokey outfit and aviator sunglasses. He had to get this babe’s shapely butt in his sights in the next few minutes or he’d lose her for good.

TWENTY-THREE

Sabrina switched the music off and then there was just the wind in her ears and the thrum of the Mustang’s engine. The sun was burning bright and she was getting a little concerned about skin cancer. But how can you think about skin cancer when you’re having so much fun?

This was fun, right?

She would have been having fun if it weren’t for this little ache floating around under her rib cage. She kept hearing Owen’s voice, that throaty whisper when he’d said, “God, you are so beautiful.”

It wasn’t the first time a man had said that to her, but there was an intensity about Owen that made her just know he really meant it, that he was truly thrilled to be with her. A quarrel developed between Sabrina the Romantic and Sabrina the Free.

Sabrina the Romantic: Owen saved me from a beating and I shouldn’t have swiped his stuff.

Sabrina the Free: Oh, please. He’s a guy. He just wanted to get into your pants. And you shouldn’t have let him.

Sabrina R.: Owen knows stuff. He likes lots of things. He’s curious and funny. I liked being around him.

Sabrina F.: He’s a born thief and liar, and if the circumstances had been reversed he would’ve done exactly the same thing to you.

Sabrina R.: He seemed like he always wanted to give me things, not take them. Besides, we have a lot in common. How many guys am I going to meet who know what it’s like to grow up in a criminal family?

Sabrina F.: Since when is that a recommendation? How many guys in Facebook put Professional Thief in their list of good qualities? You want to be free, you stay away from romantic entanglements, especially with junior criminals.

Sabrina R.: Yeah, but he made me feel so good.

Sabrina F.: Oh, please. Now we’re going to be led around by the crotch?

Sabrina R.: Not just that way, in every way. He made me cheerful-not a word you hear a lot. That afternoon at Carlsbad was one of the best times I’ve ever had in my life.

Sabrina F.: Girl, don’t be a fool. You got yourself a Mustang and the open road and a lot of money. The world is your oyster.

Sabrina R.: Then how come I feel so bad?

Sabrina F.: Take a look at yourself in that rear-view, honey. What could be better than the wind in your hair and a tank full of gas?

As a matter of fact, Sabrina did not have a tank full of gas. The needle was showing about an eighth of a tank.

A sign on the road said, Been taken for granted? Imagine how God feels. And then the red and white disc of a Texaco station appeared at the top of the next hill.

“I knew you’d have to stop sooner or later, sweetheart.” The arrow was stuck on a service centre just east of Lost Gap. Zig held the accelerator steady at ten over the limit.

He passed a pickup truck that had an asphalt roller in the back. Then there was a yellow school bus. He rounded a curve that combined a Chevy dealership and a Dairy Queen, and then the Texaco sign came up on the right.

A couple of cars were jockeying around the pumps, but there were only a few vehicles in the Wendy’s parking lot: pickups, minivans, SUVs, some dusty-looking Mazdas and Toyotas. Then he saw it: a brand new candy-apple Mustang with the top down, parked by the fence in the shade, a girl car if there ever was one.

Sabrina finished the last of her Coke and emptied her tray into the bin.

In the washroom she spent quite a while attacking her hair with a brush, without much effect. Her thighs were bright pink below the denim skirt, and the pale stripes of skin under her tank straps were vivid. Definitely time to put the top up, she thought as she stepped back out into the sunshine.

The Mustang looked cool out in the lot. Some guy had parked his gigantic SUV next to it, which made the Mustang look like a toy. He had the back door open, rummaging, and came out unfolding a map.

Sabrina got into the Mustang and put up the canopy. It worked like a charm, little motor whirring away. She was about to back out when the engine quit. She tried the ignition again-nothing. She waited a second, tried again. Still nothing.

“Damn.” She reached into the glovebox for the owner’s manual.

The SUV guy came into her line of sight and pointed at the hood of her car, eyebrows raised.

Sabrina rolled down the window. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” she said. “I just got the car yesterday and I haven’t figured everything out yet.”

“Try it again,” he said.

She tried it again, but the engine stayed utterly inert.

“You just got this?” he said.

Sabrina nodded. “Yesterday. Better not be anything major.”

“Naw, I bet I know what’s wrong. My daughter has a Mustang.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Fuel injection is my guess. Brand new car, sometimes takes a few miles to settle in. Injection timing goes off and the engine just shuts down.”

“You’re kidding. Is this going to be a regular problem?”

“Shouldn’t be. You want to just pop the hood and I’ll take a look?”

“Um, I don’t know where the release is.”