Chapter 35

 

When Herbert limped back to his car, he found a girl stretched out on the back seat. "Well, well, well," he said. "The Lord helps those who help themselves."

He rapped on the glass with his pistol.

The girl opened her eyes.

Herbert waggled his fingers.

She blinked.

He saw no green around her mouth. He saw no weapons. He saw neither fear nor rage. What he did see was abandonment. This one looked like she’d clocked out and left the office, and somehow she’d ended up crawling into his back seat.

It was too perfect.

Herbert slid into the driver’s seat, growling with the pain as his burned leg bent, and hit the auto-lock, sealing all four doors. He looked into the rear view. Behind the screen separating the back seat from the front, the girl sat up and stared blankly ahead.

"Just out for a stroll, darling?" Herbert asked.

"Fuck," the girl said. It was flat, uninflected.

"I like the way you think," Herbert said. He turned the key, and the Crown Vic roared.