“Goddamned son of a bitch, he’s got nothin’
on me,” pink mohawk
bobbing, Hijax twisted around in the driver’s seat. The sedan was still
following, couple blocks behind.
“You sure about that?” Cheri asked.
Hijax glared at her.
Cheri looked out the window pretending to take in the scenery.
Sometimes you had to chill around Hijax, even when they were obviously up
shit’s creek. She glanced over at Hijax; the vein in her forehead bulged, and
her lip was all chewed up.
This wasn’t gonna be good.
Hijax, used to be Jacqueline, and after years of everybody
saying ‘Hi Jax,’ that’s what stuck.
It helped that Hijax specialized in car theft and robbery.
Cheri was just along for the ride. Since hooking up with Hijax,
they’d done a few heists together, made some decent cash, and the sex was good,
so she stuck around.
Nothing better to do, she guessed.
Cheri eased a peek behind her, trying to see across traffic.
“Don’t look,” Hijax hissed. “They’ll think we’re up to somethin’.”
The noontime heist was Hijax’s idea, grab a car, and hit
small gas station. She figured there’d be enough cash from the morning rush,
and the till’d be full before the midday bank drop.
Cheri had to give it to her, sometimes Hijax was smart like
that. But now –
“Don’t look, I said,” Hijax cut across three
lanes of traffic,
and pulled a hard left onto a one-way through Chinatown. People and vehicles
everywhere. Cheri wasn’t surprised when a minute or so later, the sedan
appeared, still a couple blocks away, and keeping their distance.
“If I could find an alley – we can ditch the car.”
in the rearview mirror. “Son of a bitch.”
“But they’re right behind us.”
“I know, damnit,” Hijax pounded her fist against
wheel, then paused, thinking. “What if you bail?”
“Yeah, get out, run toward the car, start crying or something,
say I kidnapped you.”
Hijax glanced in the rearview mirror, and scanned for an alley.
Chinatown was packed – lunchtime shoppers and cars everywhere. Delivery trucks
parked blocking possible escape routes, all unloading groceries and crap.
“There’s nowhere to ditch the car – you gotta go.”
“Then what’ll happen to you?”
“I’ll take off, get rid of it.” Hijax looked
up in the rearview
mirror. “It’d give me a couple minutes’ head start.”
“What if I get arrested?”
“You’re clean, babe. No record. Just turn on the
water works –
make it a big deal. Stick with the kidnapping story.” She shrugged, “And if you
get arrested, they gotta let you go sooner or later. I’ll meet up with you.
Hijax twisted the steering wheel and eased the car in front
delivery truck, she glanced up in the mirror as the sedan closed in. “Ready
“Go – now,” Hijax slammed on the brakes. Cheri
fumbled for the
door handle, and staggered out. Hijax didn’t even wait for the door to shut,
the car lurched forward as she hit the accelerator, passenger door flapping
Cheri dashed into the middle of the street, waving her arms
blubbering, her mascara running; she stumbled, twisting her heel. Damnit,
Hijax, she thought.
The sedan pulled to a halt in front of her, doors flew open,
two officers popped out, guns already drawn.
“Don’t move, don’t move –”
Sudden crash of metal on metal, shattered glass and steady drone
of a car horn filled the air.
Oh crap. Cheri turned around. Hijax was climbing out of the
wreckage of the car, now wedged into the back end of a delivery van.
“Stop – police –”
Like a child’s toy, Hijax ducked down, grabbing something,
mouthed the words, “Go on Cher, run.”
They opened fire.
Hijax dropped to the ground.
Cheri screamed, and kept screaming as they put handcuffs on
choking into gasping sobs. Seated in the back of the unmarked cruiser, she
turned her back on the half-open duffle bag sitting in the front. Three hundred
bucks cash, and a dozen cartons of smokes.
Hardly worth it with Hijax gone now, but still, it’d been
of a ride.
-- THE END
McAdams is a short, sharp, writer
and fond of dark
things. Her work appears in the usual places, including Spelk, Near to the Knuckle, Yellow
Mama, Shotgun Honey, and
scattered around Twisted Sister lit
mag. Check Liz out at https://lizmcadams.wordpress.com/.