Consequences by R. C. Bridgestock Page B

passenger door and tried the handle. She screamed. He ran to the driver’s side, brandishing a weapon in the air. Without warning, there was a loud crash and her window came smashing through. She turned away and ducked instinctively as the tiny glass particles showered her.
    ‘No, please no,’ she screamed, hiding her face in her hands, ‘take the money.’ The man pulled at the handle and opening the door, yanked her crumpled body by the neck, from her seat to the gravel floor. Repeatedly he kicked her.
    ‘I told you to leave the fucking doors unlocked,’ he yelled, panting aggressively.
    Liz was only semi-conscious as she lay motionless. She could feel warm urine run between her legs. She heard the man retrieve the case from within car and she saw its wheels bounce on the floor beside her. ’Please Larry, please help me,’ came the gasp from her lips. ’Where was he?’ She thought. ’The police, where were they?’ She caught sight of the case springing open.
    ‘You stupid bitch, you’ve tried to trick me,’ the hooded man shrieked at her as he tipped the contents over her prone body. Books rained on her from above and she cried out. He lashed out at her foetus like, postured frame with the empty case.
    ‘What? No, no please,’ she cried through her sobs. The taste of blood filled her mouth and she spat it out with saliva.
    Suddenly there was silence. Then Liz heard the scrunch of his shoes on gravel which made a crunching sound. He was walking away. What was happening? Was he leaving her like this? She opened her eyes and could faintly see his outline by her car, through a fuzzy haze. Her boot ‘popped’ open, her senses were heightened. Hearing his footsteps marching towards her, she curled up as tight as she could, sensing him standing over her. All she could see clearly was his white training shoes. Again, silence. Was he opening a bottle? She dare hardly breathe, but gasped involuntarily as cold liquid trickled over the trunk of her body. Petrol fumes engulfed her lungs. Coughs ravaged her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath ’Quick.’ She shouted. Her mind raced. ’Stop him.’
    ‘Your husband won’t think you’re beautiful now will he Lizzie?’ he sniggered. ‘Banging on about you day after day he did. I looked after him you know, and for what? Nothing.’ He jumped. The gravel sprayed. There was a flash, made by the ignition of the petrol. Both Liz and her car almost instantly became a fireball. Flames rushed towards him, lapping at his feet and he jumped backwards.
     
    Frankie Miller was no stranger to murder. Money was his priority, money and drugs. He owed it, he owed lots of it and his supplier wouldn’t wait any longer. Liz had been his ticket but she’d failed him. He’d warned her what would happen, the stupid bitch.
     
    Liz’s murderer ran out of the park and through the woods, to the main road, discarding his headgear to the bushes. The scorched sole of his trainer flapped annoyingly, catching on each step up the snicket. Sweat ran off him. Reaching his stolen car, he was met with pandemonium, as emergency vehicle sirens alerted his fellow road users of their presence. Moving vehicles stopped and pulled over in front of him to let them pass.
    ‘Fucking hell.’ He punched the car’s console and revved the engine wildly. Yanking the steering wheel to the right, he put his foot to the floor and flew around the stationary cars, clipping the wing mirror of one. Without stopping, he glanced at the blonde woman within and flashed one angry finger.
     
    Dazed, but with disregard for the glass that had shot into the car along with the wing mirror, Jen stared frantically at the number plate G470 RSR.
    ‘G470 RSR. Oh, God...what was it?’ she rhythmically repeated the registration number over and over in her mind, and pulling a receipt and a pen out of her bag, with shaking hands she scribbled it down. Her heart beat frantically. She scrawled over the letters to make them as