FORTY-THREE

MURDER WAS THE CASE THAT THEY GAVE ME

Gun in her lap. Foot on the pedal.

She tried to give Dave the Florida Man a couple hundred bucks from her stash, but he didn’t want it.

So she took the money, hid it under the motel bed, and hit the road.

Now she’s out on the highway.

She tastes blood. Her trigger finger aches.

In the seat next to her, the thug with the blown scalp covers up a laugh with his hand. “You gonna kill the right motherfucker this time?”

“I am,” she says.

And she is.