Raff_Davis
03-04-2009, 10:08 PM
This is a very cinematic style piece... My personal critique is that a) it moves pretty fast and b) it's a little sloppy. All critique is welcome.
This is the beginning draft and the next part has been added in a comment at the bottom. More has yet to come.
:)
It is considered a very lucky occurrence when one meets a person, and immediately knows that their acquaintance will last as long as life should permit. Someone might meet their best friend or their spouse this way. This is not to be mistaken with the cliché of “love at first sight”. But by the first few words and subtle notes of opinion hidden in a fragrant assortment of socially acceptable and/or unacceptable dialogue, one gets a sensation of warmth and love that can only be described as two human spirits kindling the first flame of a perpetual relationship. Someone might even call it fate.
* * *
She was captivating as she entered the bar and took a seat at a booth with her comrades. Something in the air of the way she carried herself drew all eyes toward her.
Short dark locks shaded her face, damp with sweat from the hundred and ten degree weather. Practically non-existent black shorts and a matching black sports bra was all that separated wandering eyes from a curvy, muscular body. Sitting down with a certain amount of grace she, with even more grace, propped her feet up on the table revealing custom black chucks.
I was staring, making my interest in her very obvious (though I didn’t realize I was so enthralled). Because this girl had distracted me so completely, I almost didn’t notice the strange group she had entered with.
Apart from the girl, there were three Mexican men, wearing heavy black coats. One was an older man, maybe mid-forties. A crooked cigarette rested between his lips, smoke curling up from the lighted tip. Another had long black hair down to his hips, wearing an expensive pair of sunglasses. He was a decade and half younger, upon estimation’s accuracy. The last one had no distinguishable features; he just looked like a Mexican in a black trench coat. What made her presence among them strange was the color of her skin; the girl was whiter than a normal white woman. She was pale to say the least. Well, she was actually slightly pink from the heat, but otherwise, very noticeably pale, like Betty Paige.
I was mortified when she caught me staring at her. Quickly and awkwardly, I faced forward and looked down at the lonely cube ice at the bottom of my water glass. I was afraid to flinch. I froze, thinking that perhaps if I stayed still and concentrated enough of my energy, I might become invisible. Laughter rang out from their booth, and I knew they were mocking me. Think happy thoughts, I told myself. In a little while, you’ll be gone, and you won’t even have to think about them.
An image of the Mexican beach made its way into my mind. I welcomed it whole heartedly. It was sunset, and crowds of naked senoritas gathered, ready to throw themselves at me. I smiled. These thoughts were definitely welcome. For a moment, I fantasized about walking out of the bar, setting my baby in gear, and taking off to where the pot is legal, food is cheap, and the babes are easy... but my fantasy was rudely interrupted by even more howls of laughter from their table. I opened my eyes and subtly turned to sneak a peek at them.
Two blue eyes and a freckled nose blocked my view. Holy **** on a mountain of ****. It was her.
She smiled. “Hi.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m Michelle.” She was magnificently attractive to say the least. Not reminiscent of a modern Hollywood bimbo, but very much so like the classy Claudette Colbert or Audrey Hepburn.
Trying to appear ‘cool’ and ‘aloof’, I nodded. “Like The Beatle’s song?”
“Yeah, like the Beatle’s song.” Her smile exposed two cute lttle dimples. My stomach twisted in knots. She took a seat next to me, but stared strait forward. “I hear they make the best fake IDs here.”
“Oh really?"
“You know, I don’t think you’re twenty one.”
Shakily I answered, “Well I am.”
Facing me with a grin she said, “You’re a horrible liar.”
“ I'm not lying.”
"Oh yes you are. C'mon, I won't bite. You can tell me whatever it is you're here for."
I sighed. "I have business here, private business. That’s all you need to know." I didn’t want to tell her anything. For all I knew she could be trying to get the reward.
“Ooh, so mysterious. Not dangerous business, I hope?” Her face was placid, almost completely serious.
“Fine. Do you really want to know why I’m here?”
“Hell yes! Lay it on me.”
I motioned for her to come closer. She inched forward. In a whisper I said, “I’m here to collect young girls who are too curious for their own good.”
“How frightful!” She rested her chin on her hand, and elbow on the bar as she leaned closer to me and scoped the room playfully. “Who are targeting?”
“The one wearing distractingly short shorts and an all too thin bra for a well air conditioned bar… I must also note that she is wearing the most spectacular pair of chucks I have ever laid eyes upon.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty cute. So what are we talking… human trafficking, or something more grotesque?”
“Professionals never tell.”
She looked at me with disgust for roughly five seconds, then shrugged and said, “Eh, that’s too bad.”
“Yup.” I looked back down at my lonely ice cube, which had shrunk considerably. “Why are you here?”
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you here talking to me?"
"You looked like you could use some company."
"Bull****. Why are you in this bar?"
“Are you sue you wanna know?”
“Sure.”
Her eyes sparkled and I could see her excitement as she prepared to speak. “I’m getting a fake ID. My Dad’s a total ****head and flipped when he caught me drinking last summer. He grounded me for like, the entire summer. Then he took me to get an abortion because he insisted that I was pregnant but I wasn’t. He thought I was letting every cheap-*** oozing horny boy bone me, but really I was only letting one cheap-*** oozing horny boy bone me, but it wasn’t like I could get pregnant because he wore a condom every time, and I was pretty much like, on shots for contra…. Anti baby making ****, so there was like a very, very small percentage that his man juices could even make it to my eggs before our sacred weapons shot them down.” With her hands she made a gun and motioned shooting an invisible target across the room. Under her breath she muttered, “Bang!” Then she put her fake gun in a fake holster and wiped her hands together. “Anyway, I ran away from home when I was fifteen, which was like a year-ish ago, and now I need a fake ID because I keep encountering some weird ****, and one of these days I wont have an ID and I’m gonna really ****ing need it.”
Beautiful, yes. A little crazy… definitely. “Um… you don’t say? I can’t say I understand, but I’m really glad that you are in a place where you feel comfortable sharing that information.”
“Oh don’t act so alarmed. Why do you need an ID?” She smiled.
“I really don’t want to say much about it.” I would have told her to buzz off, but I couldn’t send a girl that hot packing.
“Oh come on! After that whole ****ing monologue I just gave you, you’re really gonna leave me hanging?”
I stared at her in disbelief. My better judgment told me not to say anything, but then again, my better judgment went to hell a long time ago. “Fine. You really wanna know?”
“Yes please.”
“My brother and I got into some trouble in Nevada, so we split and are meeting up in Nogales before we head to Mexico.”
“So why do you need a fake ID?”
“Actually, I need two.”
“The plot thickens!” She folded her hands together and rested her chin on the bridge she had made.
“We’re both eighteen, but due to the delicate situation we’re in, I thought new identification might do us well.”
“Freakishly horny mom… or twins?”
“Twins.”
“This is getting good! Fraternal or identical?”
“Identical.”
“Ah. You’re more mysterious than I would have guessed. No offense, but you come off rather… bland.”
“Good. I prefer not to… draw attention to myself. ”
She frowned. “Hmm. Well attention isn’t all bad sometimes. It has its perks.” She winked.
I laughed. Even though she was weird, she had a likability factor… and I’m not talking about her excruciatingly hot bod.
Her friends at the booth were staring at us. Trying to keep my voice low I asked, “What’s the deal with your friends? Looks like they just walked out of the Matrix. Are you guys drug dealers or something?”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled. “Not exactly.”
Then the strangest thing happened.
First came the loud pops, a sound I’d only heard once before. Then I heard the shattering. It wasn’t until the smell of burnt gunpowder tinged my nostrils that I realized what was going on. I looked at Michelle to assure that I wasn’t the only one who had heard it, but she was already back at the table with the Mexicans. They were opening their trench-coats and unloading some heavy weaponry. Michelle had strapped a huge knife to her thigh with a black leather strap and sheath, and opened a case containing a pistol. I’m not an expert on weapons, but it looked expensive and deadly. She cocked it back and looked at me.
“Get behind the counter! Quickly!” Nothing about the tone of her voice suggested playfulness as it had before. Looking outside beyond the shattered windows, I saw them: Six Mexicans with machine guns approached the bar.
One of them called out, “We know you’re in there Diablo! Are you gonna run away again like a little pussy?”
I suddenly came to a horrific realization; I could die today.
Michelle grimaced at the men outside of the bar and muttered “incompetent oafs”. She then looked at me. “What the hell are you waiting for? GET BEHIND THE COUNTER.” She pointed her gun at me. “GO!”
I wasn’t proud of myself, but did what any person who is scared ****less would do. I dropped to the floor like a true coward and crawled around to the other side of the bar, where the blonde bartender sobbed.
More loud shots rang off. I covered my ears and curled into a ball. I sat there in horror for fifteen seconds before the noise ceased.
There was a pause… they were reloading. Michelle slid over the counter, knocking over my glass. It shattered as it hit the cheap tile. She landed next to me, reloaded, then looked at me.
“Pathetic,” she said, shaking her head. She was right.
I started crawling toward the kitchen. There had to be a back door or something.
“No!” She shouted. “You stay right here! We leave together!”
I stopped and laid flat on my stomach. The cold tile only seemed to intensify my anxiety. I looked over at her to try and read her next move. Her breathing was intense. Holding her gun firmly, she closed her eyes in silent fury, sweating profusely. Her eyes opened to reveal sangfroid and determination. Even amidst the chaos she was truly serene. Shots rang from above us once more. “OKAY!” She shouted at me. “Go now!”
I didn’t hesitate. I crawled as fast as my hands and knees would allow into the kitchen, then I stood up and started running to the back door. I kicked it open and started around the side of the building. Sprinting as fast as I could, I pulled my keys out of my pocket. Hidden in the alleyway, my 1968 Road Runner waited. I unlocked the door, got in, and started the car. Michelle was at the passenger side. I unlocked it and she jumped in.
“GO!” She screamed. She didn’t need to tell me. I sped out of there faster than I knew I was capable of going. I headed to the highway.
Once on the highway, I calmed down, because I realized I was alive, and realized that there were no Mexicans behind me. Michelle sat with one foot on the floor, the other on the edge of the seat, looking constantly through the mirrors. Her gun was in her hands, resting on her lap, ever so gently. She was silent.
She stayed that way for a half hour. I was much too taken back to converse with anyone. My hands were still shaking and my wrists and knees ached from the intense crawling.
I thought she was gonna sit there quietly all night, but then she finally spoke. “Turn right on the next exit.” I obeyed her. We now were headed South, toward Mexico. I was exceptionally confused.
“Michelle… I want you to know that I am willing to cooperate, but I also want to know what’s going on. What was that back there?”
“My name is not Michelle and I don’t reveal information as easily as a lascivious cowardly bastard in a bar.” She kept staring forward, an expression of contemplation on her face.”
“Ouch.” I said. “You’re quick to judge.”
“Shut up and drive.” She sighed, the way girls do when they get irritated. “Tell me about your brother.”
“I thought you wanted me to shut up.”
“Are you forgetting who’s holding the gun here?”
“Geeze. No need to get snappy. His name is Max… and I’m Myles by the way.”
Uninterestedly she said, “Matching names. Cute.”
“He’s my total opposite.”
“How so?” Although conversing with me, she remained distant. Her voice was no longer theatrical as it had been in the bar, but almost monotone.
‘Well, he’s very confident for one thing. I have an anxiety disorder, and because I’ve had that since childhood I’m pretty closed off from people. Like, I never understood how he was able to just go up to people and strike a conversation with them. He can make a life-long friend in just one conversation.
In high-school, the girls were just all over him. Everybody wanted to be with Max. It’s strange because we’re identical, but I seem to repel girls, and he’s like a damn chick magnet.
But, our differences are the reason we work so well together. He can manipulate people into doing whatever he wants them to. I don’t have that ability. What I have that he lacks is common sense. If it weren’t for me, he’d probably be dead by now.”
“I have to disagree with you.”
“On what?”
“You say that you aren’t confident, but I think you are. It takes a confident person to use sarcasm accurately, and you’re funny as hell. You’re just a little shy, that’s all.”
“Thanks, I think…”
“So blah, blah, blah, you and your brother are different… What happened in Nevada that is causing you to leave for Mexico?”
Hesitantly I said, “He hurt someone.”
“Tell me the dirty details.”
“Are you gonna turn me in if I do?”
“If you haven’t noticed already, I have no interest in feeding a legal system.”
“But I don’t know that you’re not interested in the money.”
“The only thing I want to do is satisfy my curiosity. Rest assured, I’m not turning you in.”
“Fine. Growing up, he was always the strange one. I mean, neither of us were really normal, seeing as how our mom was a Las Vegas stripper and all, but Max has a bit of a problem. He killed a dog once. He stabbed it to death just because he wanted to see what would happen. I covered for him that time. But it gets harder to cover for someone when the prey gets bigger. Last week he killed a girl named Alison Sanders. They had been dating for three months, but then she cheated on him. You don’t know my brother, but anyone that does will tell you that a 'happy Max' is much better than an 'angry Max'. Anyway, I came home from work, and he was standing over her bloody body. He was shaking. All he kept saying was that he “didn’t remember doing it” and that he knew he was “gonna go to jail”. I panicked too, and we both decided that it would be best to get rid of the body. That wasn’t enough to keep him out of jail though, so we left. Our life in Vegas was ****ty already, so we figured there was no harm, no foul. We took off fast, with no plans as to where we were headed and how we were gonna get by. We both realized this about a half hour into our trip. We stopped for some food just before we got out of Vegas to contemplate what we should do. We both decided that Mexico was our best bet, and from there we’d go to South America. I thought it was a solid plan. After we finished eating, I went to put gas in the car with whatever I could scrounge up in my pockets, and Max went to the bathroom, or so he said. Before I know it, he’s running toward me from across the street yelling, “Go Myles! Drive!” I freaked out. “What did you do?” I shouted back. He handed me a huge sack of cash, and said, “Meet me Nogales!” Then he took off. I was really about to crap my pants, so I just started driving to Arizona. The whole way home I kept looking behind me thinking that I was gonna get caught, but I didn’t. That night I just kept driving. When I finally stopped, I found out that there was ten thousand dollars in the bag.
Out of the two of us, I’m the only one with a cell phone, because I’m the only one with a job… so basically, I had no way of contacting him. But sure enough, he called me from a payphone in California that night. He also had a sack full of ten thousand dollars. He had stolen a car and then another car and then another in order to get to California. He’s gonna have to steal a couple more to get to Nogales. So, that’s pretty much everything. And the past week I've been staying in a motel in Phoenix, tying to get my mind in order.
“****! That was so not what I expected to hear! And you… sweet nerdy bar boy, I wouldn’t have pinned you as an accomplice to murder.”
“I’m not!” I was trembling. “I’m not an accomplice to murder. He’s my brother, and the only family that I have left. I had to.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well don’t go crying on me.”
I sped down the road that she had directed me to. There were no intersections. It was just one long road.
“So are you gonna tell me about your car?”
“What about it?”
“Tell me how an eighteen year old comes to be in possession of a mint condition 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner.”
“Only if you tell me one thing.”
“Very brave of you. I think I can handle that condition. Lay it on me.”
“Where do I fit into your plans? Like, you aren’t going to kill me right?”
She laughed. “I’m not gonna kill you. I need you because I barely just turned sixteen and don’t know how to drive. I am very lucky in the fact that you ended up having such a sweet ride.”
“I see. So after I take you to wherever it is that you need to go, I can go?”
“Not quite.”
I was silent. And scared.
“Don’t think for a second that I’m not a threat to you. I’ve killed *******s three times as big as you with my bare hands, so you don’t want to find out just how much damage I can do with a knife or gun. You see, you are very much a hostage in this situation, and I am very much a professional. I intend on letting you walk away from this with your life, but you are a very important part of my plans. So don’t get any ideas, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good! I’m glad I got that off my chest.” She smiled and sat back in the seat and looked out the window. I tried not to **** my pants.
It took me a few minutes to gather the courage to say anything. “So if your name isn’t Michelle, then what is it?”
She turned and looked at me with a frightening gaze. “Dakota.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“Now its your turn to tell me about the car.”
“Oh right…” I felt like an idiot. “It’s the only present I’ve ever gotten from my Dad. My brother and I are the product of a stripper’s one night stand with a wealthy businessman from New York. I was able to track him down on the internet a couple of years ago, and I contacted him. He gave me this car if in return, I would never let his family know about us. He’s not the Dad of the year, but he sure knows how to compensate.”
“Nice. Obviously he didn’t get it off the lot though?”
“He bought it when he was my age, but never drove it because he moved to the city and became a career man. His friend kept it in good shape for him all of these years. I’m not a grease-monkey or anything, but I’d say she's in pretty good shape.”
“Must be nice. Was your brother jealous?”
“No, not at all. He was pre-occupied with… other things.”
While I sat there driving and conversing with her, I couldn’t help but wonder how this gung-ho babe ended up holding me hostage from the passenger seat of my car. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I could take her, but I felt weird about trying to over power a female, even if she did have a gun.
* * *
We checked into the Oasis Motel at Dusk. That damn girl made me pay for it. Why she insisted on this particular venue, I was oblivious. Let’s just say ‘oasis’ isn’t the adjective that I’d use to describe it. Cheap teal paint decorated the exterior walls, and white stucco was the main attraction inside. The bed was small and springy, and the comforter stained with God knows what. Tacky paintings of cactuses and Native Americans were the only effort at décor. A bare bulb on a shade-less lamp was the primary source of lighting. Absolutely no effort was put into decorating the bathroom. There was no mirror, just an alluminum tray hanging from the wall.
For the duration of our transition from Car to motel, Dakota had her gun resting on the small of my back. I was relieved when she closed the door and she lowered it. But within five seconds she ordered me to sit down the bed.
Grinning as I settled on the bed I muttered, “Well, I can clearly see what your plan is now.”
She laughed. “Not in your wildest dreams. Oh, and I’m gonna need your car keys.” Recouping from the long ride, Dakota arched her back and stretched her arms out.
“I thought you couldn’t drive.”
She climbed onto the bed, inching closer to me, then rested her knee between my legs. Her face was inches away from mine. In order to avoid eye contact, I kept my eyes focused on a stain on the bed. As she spoke I could feel her warm breath on my face. “No, but I wouldn’t want you driving away while I’m taking a bath.” She had slipped her hand into my left pocket and withdrew my keys. “Then I’d have to chase after you… butt naked. And while you might get a certain amount of pleasure out of that, I would not enjoy it one bit.”
I could have died of anxiety. My heart was beating with overwhelming intensity, for several reasons.
After retrieving the keys, she went into the bathroom, and sat in the empty tub. She sat there staring at me for about thirty seconds and then smiled. “Perfect!” She started to untie her chucks and set one on the bathroom floor, then the other.
Without warning, she took off her sports bra and flung it into the sink, exposing her bare breasts. I quickly looked away, not knowing if she would blow my brains out for being a pervert but found myself shifting my eyes in that direction anway.
“It’s okay,” she said as she tossed her shorts into the sink. “You can look if you’d like. I don’t mind. Flesh is flesh.” She snickered.
I sat up and looked at her…at her face. Or at least I tried to. “Are you crazy or something?”
Her eyes became stone cold. Her stare had the effect of a spear, piercing through the very fiber of my being, leaving me sore and vulnerable. My heart was like an open wound, and her eyes like salt. “Madness is divinest sense to a discerning eye.” Her voice was cool, and suddenly she seemed less sarcastic than she had led me to believe.
“Dickinson… you read Emily Dickinson?” I was shocked at this revelation.
“I despise the single-minded, you know.” She set my gun and her keys on the toilet-seat. Her hands then made their way to the faucet and started the water. She leaned back in the tub and closed her eyes.
“And is that what you think I am… single minded?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet. But what I am sure of is your ignorance. You may not be single-minded, but you lack the gift of acuity.”
She did have a point. I have a reputation for being dumb-*** sometimes.
I know I probably should have feared for my life, but I was somewhat intrigued by her. I could try to run, but at this point, there really wasn’t anything for me to lose. Technically there wasn’t anything for me to gain either, but I figured I might as well ride this one to shore.
After thoroughly contemplating the situation, I found myself drifting into darkness, lulled by the swooshing sounds of the water, and the thought of her body in it.
* * *
My internal clock never aloud me to sleep for more than eight hours, especially since rays of sunlight flowing in through the cracks of the curtains were distractingly bright. For a moment, I was in disarray, not knowing where I was or why I was there. But then recollections of the bar, the girl, the gunfire, and the hotel room came back.
Drowsily, I sat up and looked around. There was no sign of her. The bathroom door was closed. Possibly she was getting ready in there. Girls spend a lot of time in the bathroom. My mother always had, and so did every girl I’d ever dated. Supposedly it is necessary for vanity purposes, but it still seems pointless as hell to me. Women are beautiful without intricate hair styles and over-done make-up.
I really had to pee. I couldn’t hear anything going on in the bathroom. Annoyed, I got up and knocked on the bathroom door. “Dakota? I really gotta piss. How long are you gonna take?”
There was no answer.
I walked to the window to see if she had taken off in my car, but it was still there at the far end of the parking lot.
I trudged over to the bathroom. “I’m coming in.” I twisted the door knob and opened the door. She was still in the tub, curled up in a ball. All of the water had since been drained. She was naked. I walked over to her and poked her shoulder, but she didn’t move.
It was then that I noticed she wasn’t sleeping at all. Underneath her body was a pool of blood, dripping from her slit wrist. Her knife was hanging loosely from her other hand. I fell backward, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. On the toilet seat were my keys and her gun. Nearly hyperventilating, I grabbed the keys and stumbled toward the hotel door. I began to undo the lock, but stopped. This would catch up with me. People saw us go into this room, and the old lady in the lobby commented on my car. This would screw up everything that my brother and I had strived for. I had to clean things up. Anyhow, it wouldn’t have been the first time I had to clean up somebody else’s mess.
Covering my mouth and nose with my sleeve, I eased myself into the bathroom. I stood over her lifeless body, pitying her for whatever might have driven her to suicide. It took me five minutes to gather the courage to do anything.
I turned on the faucet. Carefully, I leaned her body forward and washed away the blood using a washcloth. When all traces of the blood had gone down the drain, I turned the faucet off.
Taking a deep breath, I lifted her lifeless body out of the tub and over to the bed. I took one of the thin towels and shredded it, and bandaged her injured wrist.
I took her clothes out of the sink, and dressed her. She really did have a magnificent body. It was a shame that she had to go and kill herself. I couldn’t help but to wonder why she might have done it. Although somewhat insane, she was uninhibited and seemingly content with her lifestyle.
Putting her sports bra on was the hardest part. I had to maneuver her arms and head and inevitably grazed her breasts. It felt freakishly wrong seeing as how she was dead and all. I finally got it on her. And I also decided that I respected women for the daily trouble they must go through putting on bras.
Reveling in my success, I did a ridiculous thing. I hugged her corpse.
To my surprise, I heard a heart beat. It was subtle, but I definitely heard it.
It freaked me out to say the least. The hairs in the back of my neck stood on edge. Reluctantly, I put my fingers to her neck and felt for her pulse. Sure enough, she had one, all be it slow.
“You crazy *****.”
This is the beginning draft and the next part has been added in a comment at the bottom. More has yet to come.
:)
It is considered a very lucky occurrence when one meets a person, and immediately knows that their acquaintance will last as long as life should permit. Someone might meet their best friend or their spouse this way. This is not to be mistaken with the cliché of “love at first sight”. But by the first few words and subtle notes of opinion hidden in a fragrant assortment of socially acceptable and/or unacceptable dialogue, one gets a sensation of warmth and love that can only be described as two human spirits kindling the first flame of a perpetual relationship. Someone might even call it fate.
* * *
She was captivating as she entered the bar and took a seat at a booth with her comrades. Something in the air of the way she carried herself drew all eyes toward her.
Short dark locks shaded her face, damp with sweat from the hundred and ten degree weather. Practically non-existent black shorts and a matching black sports bra was all that separated wandering eyes from a curvy, muscular body. Sitting down with a certain amount of grace she, with even more grace, propped her feet up on the table revealing custom black chucks.
I was staring, making my interest in her very obvious (though I didn’t realize I was so enthralled). Because this girl had distracted me so completely, I almost didn’t notice the strange group she had entered with.
Apart from the girl, there were three Mexican men, wearing heavy black coats. One was an older man, maybe mid-forties. A crooked cigarette rested between his lips, smoke curling up from the lighted tip. Another had long black hair down to his hips, wearing an expensive pair of sunglasses. He was a decade and half younger, upon estimation’s accuracy. The last one had no distinguishable features; he just looked like a Mexican in a black trench coat. What made her presence among them strange was the color of her skin; the girl was whiter than a normal white woman. She was pale to say the least. Well, she was actually slightly pink from the heat, but otherwise, very noticeably pale, like Betty Paige.
I was mortified when she caught me staring at her. Quickly and awkwardly, I faced forward and looked down at the lonely cube ice at the bottom of my water glass. I was afraid to flinch. I froze, thinking that perhaps if I stayed still and concentrated enough of my energy, I might become invisible. Laughter rang out from their booth, and I knew they were mocking me. Think happy thoughts, I told myself. In a little while, you’ll be gone, and you won’t even have to think about them.
An image of the Mexican beach made its way into my mind. I welcomed it whole heartedly. It was sunset, and crowds of naked senoritas gathered, ready to throw themselves at me. I smiled. These thoughts were definitely welcome. For a moment, I fantasized about walking out of the bar, setting my baby in gear, and taking off to where the pot is legal, food is cheap, and the babes are easy... but my fantasy was rudely interrupted by even more howls of laughter from their table. I opened my eyes and subtly turned to sneak a peek at them.
Two blue eyes and a freckled nose blocked my view. Holy **** on a mountain of ****. It was her.
She smiled. “Hi.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m Michelle.” She was magnificently attractive to say the least. Not reminiscent of a modern Hollywood bimbo, but very much so like the classy Claudette Colbert or Audrey Hepburn.
Trying to appear ‘cool’ and ‘aloof’, I nodded. “Like The Beatle’s song?”
“Yeah, like the Beatle’s song.” Her smile exposed two cute lttle dimples. My stomach twisted in knots. She took a seat next to me, but stared strait forward. “I hear they make the best fake IDs here.”
“Oh really?"
“You know, I don’t think you’re twenty one.”
Shakily I answered, “Well I am.”
Facing me with a grin she said, “You’re a horrible liar.”
“ I'm not lying.”
"Oh yes you are. C'mon, I won't bite. You can tell me whatever it is you're here for."
I sighed. "I have business here, private business. That’s all you need to know." I didn’t want to tell her anything. For all I knew she could be trying to get the reward.
“Ooh, so mysterious. Not dangerous business, I hope?” Her face was placid, almost completely serious.
“Fine. Do you really want to know why I’m here?”
“Hell yes! Lay it on me.”
I motioned for her to come closer. She inched forward. In a whisper I said, “I’m here to collect young girls who are too curious for their own good.”
“How frightful!” She rested her chin on her hand, and elbow on the bar as she leaned closer to me and scoped the room playfully. “Who are targeting?”
“The one wearing distractingly short shorts and an all too thin bra for a well air conditioned bar… I must also note that she is wearing the most spectacular pair of chucks I have ever laid eyes upon.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty cute. So what are we talking… human trafficking, or something more grotesque?”
“Professionals never tell.”
She looked at me with disgust for roughly five seconds, then shrugged and said, “Eh, that’s too bad.”
“Yup.” I looked back down at my lonely ice cube, which had shrunk considerably. “Why are you here?”
"What do you mean?"
"Why are you here talking to me?"
"You looked like you could use some company."
"Bull****. Why are you in this bar?"
“Are you sue you wanna know?”
“Sure.”
Her eyes sparkled and I could see her excitement as she prepared to speak. “I’m getting a fake ID. My Dad’s a total ****head and flipped when he caught me drinking last summer. He grounded me for like, the entire summer. Then he took me to get an abortion because he insisted that I was pregnant but I wasn’t. He thought I was letting every cheap-*** oozing horny boy bone me, but really I was only letting one cheap-*** oozing horny boy bone me, but it wasn’t like I could get pregnant because he wore a condom every time, and I was pretty much like, on shots for contra…. Anti baby making ****, so there was like a very, very small percentage that his man juices could even make it to my eggs before our sacred weapons shot them down.” With her hands she made a gun and motioned shooting an invisible target across the room. Under her breath she muttered, “Bang!” Then she put her fake gun in a fake holster and wiped her hands together. “Anyway, I ran away from home when I was fifteen, which was like a year-ish ago, and now I need a fake ID because I keep encountering some weird ****, and one of these days I wont have an ID and I’m gonna really ****ing need it.”
Beautiful, yes. A little crazy… definitely. “Um… you don’t say? I can’t say I understand, but I’m really glad that you are in a place where you feel comfortable sharing that information.”
“Oh don’t act so alarmed. Why do you need an ID?” She smiled.
“I really don’t want to say much about it.” I would have told her to buzz off, but I couldn’t send a girl that hot packing.
“Oh come on! After that whole ****ing monologue I just gave you, you’re really gonna leave me hanging?”
I stared at her in disbelief. My better judgment told me not to say anything, but then again, my better judgment went to hell a long time ago. “Fine. You really wanna know?”
“Yes please.”
“My brother and I got into some trouble in Nevada, so we split and are meeting up in Nogales before we head to Mexico.”
“So why do you need a fake ID?”
“Actually, I need two.”
“The plot thickens!” She folded her hands together and rested her chin on the bridge she had made.
“We’re both eighteen, but due to the delicate situation we’re in, I thought new identification might do us well.”
“Freakishly horny mom… or twins?”
“Twins.”
“This is getting good! Fraternal or identical?”
“Identical.”
“Ah. You’re more mysterious than I would have guessed. No offense, but you come off rather… bland.”
“Good. I prefer not to… draw attention to myself. ”
She frowned. “Hmm. Well attention isn’t all bad sometimes. It has its perks.” She winked.
I laughed. Even though she was weird, she had a likability factor… and I’m not talking about her excruciatingly hot bod.
Her friends at the booth were staring at us. Trying to keep my voice low I asked, “What’s the deal with your friends? Looks like they just walked out of the Matrix. Are you guys drug dealers or something?”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled. “Not exactly.”
Then the strangest thing happened.
First came the loud pops, a sound I’d only heard once before. Then I heard the shattering. It wasn’t until the smell of burnt gunpowder tinged my nostrils that I realized what was going on. I looked at Michelle to assure that I wasn’t the only one who had heard it, but she was already back at the table with the Mexicans. They were opening their trench-coats and unloading some heavy weaponry. Michelle had strapped a huge knife to her thigh with a black leather strap and sheath, and opened a case containing a pistol. I’m not an expert on weapons, but it looked expensive and deadly. She cocked it back and looked at me.
“Get behind the counter! Quickly!” Nothing about the tone of her voice suggested playfulness as it had before. Looking outside beyond the shattered windows, I saw them: Six Mexicans with machine guns approached the bar.
One of them called out, “We know you’re in there Diablo! Are you gonna run away again like a little pussy?”
I suddenly came to a horrific realization; I could die today.
Michelle grimaced at the men outside of the bar and muttered “incompetent oafs”. She then looked at me. “What the hell are you waiting for? GET BEHIND THE COUNTER.” She pointed her gun at me. “GO!”
I wasn’t proud of myself, but did what any person who is scared ****less would do. I dropped to the floor like a true coward and crawled around to the other side of the bar, where the blonde bartender sobbed.
More loud shots rang off. I covered my ears and curled into a ball. I sat there in horror for fifteen seconds before the noise ceased.
There was a pause… they were reloading. Michelle slid over the counter, knocking over my glass. It shattered as it hit the cheap tile. She landed next to me, reloaded, then looked at me.
“Pathetic,” she said, shaking her head. She was right.
I started crawling toward the kitchen. There had to be a back door or something.
“No!” She shouted. “You stay right here! We leave together!”
I stopped and laid flat on my stomach. The cold tile only seemed to intensify my anxiety. I looked over at her to try and read her next move. Her breathing was intense. Holding her gun firmly, she closed her eyes in silent fury, sweating profusely. Her eyes opened to reveal sangfroid and determination. Even amidst the chaos she was truly serene. Shots rang from above us once more. “OKAY!” She shouted at me. “Go now!”
I didn’t hesitate. I crawled as fast as my hands and knees would allow into the kitchen, then I stood up and started running to the back door. I kicked it open and started around the side of the building. Sprinting as fast as I could, I pulled my keys out of my pocket. Hidden in the alleyway, my 1968 Road Runner waited. I unlocked the door, got in, and started the car. Michelle was at the passenger side. I unlocked it and she jumped in.
“GO!” She screamed. She didn’t need to tell me. I sped out of there faster than I knew I was capable of going. I headed to the highway.
Once on the highway, I calmed down, because I realized I was alive, and realized that there were no Mexicans behind me. Michelle sat with one foot on the floor, the other on the edge of the seat, looking constantly through the mirrors. Her gun was in her hands, resting on her lap, ever so gently. She was silent.
She stayed that way for a half hour. I was much too taken back to converse with anyone. My hands were still shaking and my wrists and knees ached from the intense crawling.
I thought she was gonna sit there quietly all night, but then she finally spoke. “Turn right on the next exit.” I obeyed her. We now were headed South, toward Mexico. I was exceptionally confused.
“Michelle… I want you to know that I am willing to cooperate, but I also want to know what’s going on. What was that back there?”
“My name is not Michelle and I don’t reveal information as easily as a lascivious cowardly bastard in a bar.” She kept staring forward, an expression of contemplation on her face.”
“Ouch.” I said. “You’re quick to judge.”
“Shut up and drive.” She sighed, the way girls do when they get irritated. “Tell me about your brother.”
“I thought you wanted me to shut up.”
“Are you forgetting who’s holding the gun here?”
“Geeze. No need to get snappy. His name is Max… and I’m Myles by the way.”
Uninterestedly she said, “Matching names. Cute.”
“He’s my total opposite.”
“How so?” Although conversing with me, she remained distant. Her voice was no longer theatrical as it had been in the bar, but almost monotone.
‘Well, he’s very confident for one thing. I have an anxiety disorder, and because I’ve had that since childhood I’m pretty closed off from people. Like, I never understood how he was able to just go up to people and strike a conversation with them. He can make a life-long friend in just one conversation.
In high-school, the girls were just all over him. Everybody wanted to be with Max. It’s strange because we’re identical, but I seem to repel girls, and he’s like a damn chick magnet.
But, our differences are the reason we work so well together. He can manipulate people into doing whatever he wants them to. I don’t have that ability. What I have that he lacks is common sense. If it weren’t for me, he’d probably be dead by now.”
“I have to disagree with you.”
“On what?”
“You say that you aren’t confident, but I think you are. It takes a confident person to use sarcasm accurately, and you’re funny as hell. You’re just a little shy, that’s all.”
“Thanks, I think…”
“So blah, blah, blah, you and your brother are different… What happened in Nevada that is causing you to leave for Mexico?”
Hesitantly I said, “He hurt someone.”
“Tell me the dirty details.”
“Are you gonna turn me in if I do?”
“If you haven’t noticed already, I have no interest in feeding a legal system.”
“But I don’t know that you’re not interested in the money.”
“The only thing I want to do is satisfy my curiosity. Rest assured, I’m not turning you in.”
“Fine. Growing up, he was always the strange one. I mean, neither of us were really normal, seeing as how our mom was a Las Vegas stripper and all, but Max has a bit of a problem. He killed a dog once. He stabbed it to death just because he wanted to see what would happen. I covered for him that time. But it gets harder to cover for someone when the prey gets bigger. Last week he killed a girl named Alison Sanders. They had been dating for three months, but then she cheated on him. You don’t know my brother, but anyone that does will tell you that a 'happy Max' is much better than an 'angry Max'. Anyway, I came home from work, and he was standing over her bloody body. He was shaking. All he kept saying was that he “didn’t remember doing it” and that he knew he was “gonna go to jail”. I panicked too, and we both decided that it would be best to get rid of the body. That wasn’t enough to keep him out of jail though, so we left. Our life in Vegas was ****ty already, so we figured there was no harm, no foul. We took off fast, with no plans as to where we were headed and how we were gonna get by. We both realized this about a half hour into our trip. We stopped for some food just before we got out of Vegas to contemplate what we should do. We both decided that Mexico was our best bet, and from there we’d go to South America. I thought it was a solid plan. After we finished eating, I went to put gas in the car with whatever I could scrounge up in my pockets, and Max went to the bathroom, or so he said. Before I know it, he’s running toward me from across the street yelling, “Go Myles! Drive!” I freaked out. “What did you do?” I shouted back. He handed me a huge sack of cash, and said, “Meet me Nogales!” Then he took off. I was really about to crap my pants, so I just started driving to Arizona. The whole way home I kept looking behind me thinking that I was gonna get caught, but I didn’t. That night I just kept driving. When I finally stopped, I found out that there was ten thousand dollars in the bag.
Out of the two of us, I’m the only one with a cell phone, because I’m the only one with a job… so basically, I had no way of contacting him. But sure enough, he called me from a payphone in California that night. He also had a sack full of ten thousand dollars. He had stolen a car and then another car and then another in order to get to California. He’s gonna have to steal a couple more to get to Nogales. So, that’s pretty much everything. And the past week I've been staying in a motel in Phoenix, tying to get my mind in order.
“****! That was so not what I expected to hear! And you… sweet nerdy bar boy, I wouldn’t have pinned you as an accomplice to murder.”
“I’m not!” I was trembling. “I’m not an accomplice to murder. He’s my brother, and the only family that I have left. I had to.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well don’t go crying on me.”
I sped down the road that she had directed me to. There were no intersections. It was just one long road.
“So are you gonna tell me about your car?”
“What about it?”
“Tell me how an eighteen year old comes to be in possession of a mint condition 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner.”
“Only if you tell me one thing.”
“Very brave of you. I think I can handle that condition. Lay it on me.”
“Where do I fit into your plans? Like, you aren’t going to kill me right?”
She laughed. “I’m not gonna kill you. I need you because I barely just turned sixteen and don’t know how to drive. I am very lucky in the fact that you ended up having such a sweet ride.”
“I see. So after I take you to wherever it is that you need to go, I can go?”
“Not quite.”
I was silent. And scared.
“Don’t think for a second that I’m not a threat to you. I’ve killed *******s three times as big as you with my bare hands, so you don’t want to find out just how much damage I can do with a knife or gun. You see, you are very much a hostage in this situation, and I am very much a professional. I intend on letting you walk away from this with your life, but you are a very important part of my plans. So don’t get any ideas, okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good! I’m glad I got that off my chest.” She smiled and sat back in the seat and looked out the window. I tried not to **** my pants.
It took me a few minutes to gather the courage to say anything. “So if your name isn’t Michelle, then what is it?”
She turned and looked at me with a frightening gaze. “Dakota.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“Now its your turn to tell me about the car.”
“Oh right…” I felt like an idiot. “It’s the only present I’ve ever gotten from my Dad. My brother and I are the product of a stripper’s one night stand with a wealthy businessman from New York. I was able to track him down on the internet a couple of years ago, and I contacted him. He gave me this car if in return, I would never let his family know about us. He’s not the Dad of the year, but he sure knows how to compensate.”
“Nice. Obviously he didn’t get it off the lot though?”
“He bought it when he was my age, but never drove it because he moved to the city and became a career man. His friend kept it in good shape for him all of these years. I’m not a grease-monkey or anything, but I’d say she's in pretty good shape.”
“Must be nice. Was your brother jealous?”
“No, not at all. He was pre-occupied with… other things.”
While I sat there driving and conversing with her, I couldn’t help but wonder how this gung-ho babe ended up holding me hostage from the passenger seat of my car. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I could take her, but I felt weird about trying to over power a female, even if she did have a gun.
* * *
We checked into the Oasis Motel at Dusk. That damn girl made me pay for it. Why she insisted on this particular venue, I was oblivious. Let’s just say ‘oasis’ isn’t the adjective that I’d use to describe it. Cheap teal paint decorated the exterior walls, and white stucco was the main attraction inside. The bed was small and springy, and the comforter stained with God knows what. Tacky paintings of cactuses and Native Americans were the only effort at décor. A bare bulb on a shade-less lamp was the primary source of lighting. Absolutely no effort was put into decorating the bathroom. There was no mirror, just an alluminum tray hanging from the wall.
For the duration of our transition from Car to motel, Dakota had her gun resting on the small of my back. I was relieved when she closed the door and she lowered it. But within five seconds she ordered me to sit down the bed.
Grinning as I settled on the bed I muttered, “Well, I can clearly see what your plan is now.”
She laughed. “Not in your wildest dreams. Oh, and I’m gonna need your car keys.” Recouping from the long ride, Dakota arched her back and stretched her arms out.
“I thought you couldn’t drive.”
She climbed onto the bed, inching closer to me, then rested her knee between my legs. Her face was inches away from mine. In order to avoid eye contact, I kept my eyes focused on a stain on the bed. As she spoke I could feel her warm breath on my face. “No, but I wouldn’t want you driving away while I’m taking a bath.” She had slipped her hand into my left pocket and withdrew my keys. “Then I’d have to chase after you… butt naked. And while you might get a certain amount of pleasure out of that, I would not enjoy it one bit.”
I could have died of anxiety. My heart was beating with overwhelming intensity, for several reasons.
After retrieving the keys, she went into the bathroom, and sat in the empty tub. She sat there staring at me for about thirty seconds and then smiled. “Perfect!” She started to untie her chucks and set one on the bathroom floor, then the other.
Without warning, she took off her sports bra and flung it into the sink, exposing her bare breasts. I quickly looked away, not knowing if she would blow my brains out for being a pervert but found myself shifting my eyes in that direction anway.
“It’s okay,” she said as she tossed her shorts into the sink. “You can look if you’d like. I don’t mind. Flesh is flesh.” She snickered.
I sat up and looked at her…at her face. Or at least I tried to. “Are you crazy or something?”
Her eyes became stone cold. Her stare had the effect of a spear, piercing through the very fiber of my being, leaving me sore and vulnerable. My heart was like an open wound, and her eyes like salt. “Madness is divinest sense to a discerning eye.” Her voice was cool, and suddenly she seemed less sarcastic than she had led me to believe.
“Dickinson… you read Emily Dickinson?” I was shocked at this revelation.
“I despise the single-minded, you know.” She set my gun and her keys on the toilet-seat. Her hands then made their way to the faucet and started the water. She leaned back in the tub and closed her eyes.
“And is that what you think I am… single minded?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet. But what I am sure of is your ignorance. You may not be single-minded, but you lack the gift of acuity.”
She did have a point. I have a reputation for being dumb-*** sometimes.
I know I probably should have feared for my life, but I was somewhat intrigued by her. I could try to run, but at this point, there really wasn’t anything for me to lose. Technically there wasn’t anything for me to gain either, but I figured I might as well ride this one to shore.
After thoroughly contemplating the situation, I found myself drifting into darkness, lulled by the swooshing sounds of the water, and the thought of her body in it.
* * *
My internal clock never aloud me to sleep for more than eight hours, especially since rays of sunlight flowing in through the cracks of the curtains were distractingly bright. For a moment, I was in disarray, not knowing where I was or why I was there. But then recollections of the bar, the girl, the gunfire, and the hotel room came back.
Drowsily, I sat up and looked around. There was no sign of her. The bathroom door was closed. Possibly she was getting ready in there. Girls spend a lot of time in the bathroom. My mother always had, and so did every girl I’d ever dated. Supposedly it is necessary for vanity purposes, but it still seems pointless as hell to me. Women are beautiful without intricate hair styles and over-done make-up.
I really had to pee. I couldn’t hear anything going on in the bathroom. Annoyed, I got up and knocked on the bathroom door. “Dakota? I really gotta piss. How long are you gonna take?”
There was no answer.
I walked to the window to see if she had taken off in my car, but it was still there at the far end of the parking lot.
I trudged over to the bathroom. “I’m coming in.” I twisted the door knob and opened the door. She was still in the tub, curled up in a ball. All of the water had since been drained. She was naked. I walked over to her and poked her shoulder, but she didn’t move.
It was then that I noticed she wasn’t sleeping at all. Underneath her body was a pool of blood, dripping from her slit wrist. Her knife was hanging loosely from her other hand. I fell backward, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. On the toilet seat were my keys and her gun. Nearly hyperventilating, I grabbed the keys and stumbled toward the hotel door. I began to undo the lock, but stopped. This would catch up with me. People saw us go into this room, and the old lady in the lobby commented on my car. This would screw up everything that my brother and I had strived for. I had to clean things up. Anyhow, it wouldn’t have been the first time I had to clean up somebody else’s mess.
Covering my mouth and nose with my sleeve, I eased myself into the bathroom. I stood over her lifeless body, pitying her for whatever might have driven her to suicide. It took me five minutes to gather the courage to do anything.
I turned on the faucet. Carefully, I leaned her body forward and washed away the blood using a washcloth. When all traces of the blood had gone down the drain, I turned the faucet off.
Taking a deep breath, I lifted her lifeless body out of the tub and over to the bed. I took one of the thin towels and shredded it, and bandaged her injured wrist.
I took her clothes out of the sink, and dressed her. She really did have a magnificent body. It was a shame that she had to go and kill herself. I couldn’t help but to wonder why she might have done it. Although somewhat insane, she was uninhibited and seemingly content with her lifestyle.
Putting her sports bra on was the hardest part. I had to maneuver her arms and head and inevitably grazed her breasts. It felt freakishly wrong seeing as how she was dead and all. I finally got it on her. And I also decided that I respected women for the daily trouble they must go through putting on bras.
Reveling in my success, I did a ridiculous thing. I hugged her corpse.
To my surprise, I heard a heart beat. It was subtle, but I definitely heard it.
It freaked me out to say the least. The hairs in the back of my neck stood on edge. Reluctantly, I put my fingers to her neck and felt for her pulse. Sure enough, she had one, all be it slow.
“You crazy *****.”