car in the employee parking section. Hopefully, the owner had just started his or her shift, giving the boys more time to get far away before the vehicle was reported stolen.
Boyd pointed to it. “That one. You get it, Otis, and meet me down the road. I want to ditch this one away from here.”
Stealthily, Otis made his way to the car. As far as Boyd saw, no one noticed. The camera on the building faced the customer parking section, not the employee parking.
Boyd pulled out of the lot, followed by Otis. They drove around some neighborhoods until Boyd found a nice home on one of the streets. The yard was maintained; the house sported a fresh coat of paint. No one would suspect this owner of stealing a car. Maybe the cops won’t find it for days , he hoped.
Ditching the car, they continued their journey to Loveland. They had three days until their deadline. Three days to save their family members—and themselves.
***
Francis pulled into a gas station four hours after they left Ohio. His arm was throbbing, although for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. It was just a flesh wound.
In the bathroom, he removed the bandage and checked that the injury wasn’t infected. It didn’t appear to be. So why in the heck is it hurting so much? Getting old wasn’t for sissies.
Back in the car, he popped the top off an Advil bottle and chased the pills down with stale coffee he had purchased in the station. Its bitterness made his entire face pucker. No amount of sugar would fix the drink, so he dumped the contents out the window, leaned back in the driver’s seat, and sighed.
“Why don’t you let me drive,” Claudia said. “You look like you need a rest, and don’t lie. I know your arm hurts.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. After getting out of the car, she marched over to the driver’s side, yanked the door open, and thrust her hand out for the keys.
Francis knew she was right, even if he didn’t trust her completely. They were behind schedule due to Parker’s mental breakdown. He hated being behind schedule.
Without a word, he dropped the keys into Claudia’s hand and made his way to the passenger side.
Claudia sat down and started to laugh. “How tall are you?” She reached for the gas pedal with her foot, but couldn’t touch it. Deftly, she adjusted the chair and steering wheel, the side mirrors and the rearview mirror.
Francis stayed mute. His body language suggested that he didn’t like her messing with his car, even if it wasn’t really his car.
“Sorry, but I have to reach the pedals or we aren’t going anywhere,” she apologized.
Francis grunted.
He had never allowed any woman to drive a car he was in—not even Ida, except for when he had taught her how to drive. Anyway, Ida was different; she wasn’t your typical woman. Even as a child, Ida had appreciated power and control.
From what Francis knew of Claudia, she didn’t understand those concepts. Why else would the woman marry the type of man she had married?
In contrast, Ida’s need for control had ensured that anyone she allowed close to her kept their wits about them as well. He wondered what Ida would have thought of Parker’s earlier escapade. Yes, Parker had lost control, yet she still maintained some sense of power. His cousin may have appreciated Parker’s passion and her commitment to Ida. If the situation was reversed, Francis knew for damn sure that Ida would have hunted her girlfriend’s killer down. Nothing would have stopped Ida.
What would Ida think of Claudia? From the moment Francis had heard Claudia’s story, he felt pity, but he didn’t think Ida would feel the same. She had always hated those who played the victim card. Ida wasn’t a total cold-hearted bitch, but she was damn close to one.
Both cousins had watched their mothers play the victim card throughout their lives. Their moms refused to take responsibility for their own mistakes: mainly marrying assholes. Nothing was their
Boyd pointed to it. “That one. You get it, Otis, and meet me down the road. I want to ditch this one away from here.”
Stealthily, Otis made his way to the car. As far as Boyd saw, no one noticed. The camera on the building faced the customer parking section, not the employee parking.
Boyd pulled out of the lot, followed by Otis. They drove around some neighborhoods until Boyd found a nice home on one of the streets. The yard was maintained; the house sported a fresh coat of paint. No one would suspect this owner of stealing a car. Maybe the cops won’t find it for days , he hoped.
Ditching the car, they continued their journey to Loveland. They had three days until their deadline. Three days to save their family members—and themselves.
***
Francis pulled into a gas station four hours after they left Ohio. His arm was throbbing, although for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. It was just a flesh wound.
In the bathroom, he removed the bandage and checked that the injury wasn’t infected. It didn’t appear to be. So why in the heck is it hurting so much? Getting old wasn’t for sissies.
Back in the car, he popped the top off an Advil bottle and chased the pills down with stale coffee he had purchased in the station. Its bitterness made his entire face pucker. No amount of sugar would fix the drink, so he dumped the contents out the window, leaned back in the driver’s seat, and sighed.
“Why don’t you let me drive,” Claudia said. “You look like you need a rest, and don’t lie. I know your arm hurts.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. After getting out of the car, she marched over to the driver’s side, yanked the door open, and thrust her hand out for the keys.
Francis knew she was right, even if he didn’t trust her completely. They were behind schedule due to Parker’s mental breakdown. He hated being behind schedule.
Without a word, he dropped the keys into Claudia’s hand and made his way to the passenger side.
Claudia sat down and started to laugh. “How tall are you?” She reached for the gas pedal with her foot, but couldn’t touch it. Deftly, she adjusted the chair and steering wheel, the side mirrors and the rearview mirror.
Francis stayed mute. His body language suggested that he didn’t like her messing with his car, even if it wasn’t really his car.
“Sorry, but I have to reach the pedals or we aren’t going anywhere,” she apologized.
Francis grunted.
He had never allowed any woman to drive a car he was in—not even Ida, except for when he had taught her how to drive. Anyway, Ida was different; she wasn’t your typical woman. Even as a child, Ida had appreciated power and control.
From what Francis knew of Claudia, she didn’t understand those concepts. Why else would the woman marry the type of man she had married?
In contrast, Ida’s need for control had ensured that anyone she allowed close to her kept their wits about them as well. He wondered what Ida would have thought of Parker’s earlier escapade. Yes, Parker had lost control, yet she still maintained some sense of power. His cousin may have appreciated Parker’s passion and her commitment to Ida. If the situation was reversed, Francis knew for damn sure that Ida would have hunted her girlfriend’s killer down. Nothing would have stopped Ida.
What would Ida think of Claudia? From the moment Francis had heard Claudia’s story, he felt pity, but he didn’t think Ida would feel the same. She had always hated those who played the victim card. Ida wasn’t a total cold-hearted bitch, but she was damn close to one.
Both cousins had watched their mothers play the victim card throughout their lives. Their moms refused to take responsibility for their own mistakes: mainly marrying assholes. Nothing was their
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