Stirred

It took everything she had to stand.

Donaldson was already climbing into the truck bed.

She wiped the tears out of her eye and followed.

• • •

Lucy huddled under the tarp in the bed of the truck, gritting her remaining teeth together as it began to move. She felt every bump, every jolt, in every nerve of her body. It was worse than being lowered by the rope. She heard a keening sound above the roar of the motor, realized it was Donaldson, sobbing in pain.

They reached the guard post at the prison’s exit, and Lucy held her breath. It could all fall apart here if the guard checked under the tarp.

“Good evening, Henry.”

“Hey, Ron.”

“Got anything under the tarp back there?”

“Nope. Go check if you want.”

Lucy heard footsteps coming around to the tailgate.

Her bladder spasmed as the tarp lifted.

“Okay, man,” Ron said, looking right at her. “You can go.”

Henry’s bribe had obviously worked. The gate opened, and they drove off the prison grounds, to freedom. But it wasn’t over yet. Lucy knew that if Henry wanted to double-cross them, this was the time to do it. He was supposed to have bought them a car with the money Donaldson had transferred from his bank account. But he could have kept it all, and was now pla

If it had been Lucy, she’d kill them both.

The truck stopped, and she heard the driver’s-side door open.

This is it. The execution of a flawless plan, or a double murder.

In either case, she would be relieved.

The tarp lifted, and Henry scowled at them. “Ride’s over. Get out.”

Lucy painfully scooted across the truck bed, pushing herself onto her feet. They were in a wooded area. Looked like a forest preserve. The only other vehicle was a beat-to-shit Monte Carlo. Black, at least a decade old, missing hubcaps and a right fender.

“This is the car you bought me?”

In the moonlight, Lucy glimpsed tears glistening on the scar tissue of Donaldson’s face.

“This is it, man.”

“I gave you over fifty thousand dollars, you son of a bitch.”

Henry puffed out his chest. “It runs, and the title is clean. If this ain’t acceptable, I can take you back to the institution.”

“It’s fine,” Lucy said, grabbing D’s hand. “We’re fine, aren’t we, D?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Donaldson asked.

“What?”

“You were supposed to get us a gun? And some cash?”

“Glove box,” Henry said. “Beretta. Serial numbers filed off. Even threw in a full magazine.”

“Does it even shoot?”

“Guess you’ll find out, right? Keys are under the floor mat.”

“How about money?”

“Yeah. About that. I forgot to make a trip to the ATM this morning.” Henry teased out his wallet, handed Donaldson some bills.

“Twenty-six dollars?” Donaldson began to shake with rage. “How far are we supposed to get on twenty-six bucks?”

“We’ll manage,” Lucy said. She was feeling just as betrayed, but there was nothing they could do about it. At least they still had the Norco.

“You won’t be reported missing until lights out, in an hour and a half,” Henry said. “You get caught, and mention me, I’ll track you down and end both of you.”

“You think it’s easy, killing someone?” Lucy said. “Looking them in the eyes as they fade away? Listening to that last bit of air hiss out of their lungs? You know what that air tastes like?” She smiled, knowing it made her look like a skull when she did. “It tastes like cotton candy.”

“Screw both of you,” Henry said. Then he hurried back to his truck, hopped in, and sped away.

“I need some Norco,” Donaldson said.

Lucy did, too. They should ration it, especially since that prick took their vike stash, but right now the pain was so intense it was impairing her ability to think. She carefully unrolled the ball of toilet paper. It was the Norco, thank Christ. It had been a bad piece of luck to lose the Ativan, but losing the Norco would have been far worse. She gave Donaldson two pills.

“Three,” he demanded.

Lucy noted a flare of anger, but it immediately subsided. She gave him one more and then took three for herself, chewing hers so they’d take effect faster.

The powder tasted like battery acid, coating her throat with pointy little bits.

“Will you look at this piece of shit?” Donaldson gestured to the car. “That asshole.”

“It’s okay, D. We’re free.”

He grunted and then opened the driver’s door and located the keys. There was a small plastic frog attached to the ring, and when its belly was pressed, a tiny flashlight beam came out of its mouth. With a moan, Donaldson heaved himself into the seat. Feeling playful, Lucy stuck out her thumb.

“Give me a ride, mister?”

Donaldson’s face softened. “As long as you promise not to sing any show tunes.”

Lucy limped around to the door, climbed in.

“Take the gun out of the glove box,” Donaldson said.

Lucy pulled it open, had to dig under the owner’s manual to find it.

She held the Beretta up under the globe light. “This ain’t its first rodeo. It looks older than shit.”

“Give it here,” Donaldson said.

There was a moment’s hesitation, but Lucy handed it over.

Donaldson ejected the magazine.

“Seven damn bullets. That cheap-ass son of a bitch. At least it’s a forty-five.” He tugged back the slide. “Okay, here’s one more.”

“All we need is one,” Lucy said.

He popped the magazine back in. It took a considerable effort, but Donaldson opened the door and aimed the Beretta at the nearest tree. The noise of the report filled the car, set Lucy’s ears ringing. It had been ages since she’d heard a firearm discharge. She’d never been a fan of guns. Her beauty, her wits, and sadistic creativity had comprised her arsenal.

She said, “You just wasted a bullet, dumbass.”

“No, I’m making sure this piece of shit will actually fire when we need it to.”

He gave Lucy the gun and cranked the engine.

Phase one of their revenge plot now complete, it was time for phase two.

The pain Lucy felt would be nothing compared to the pain they were going to dish out.

She gri

March 16, Fifteen Days Ago

Two Days After the Bus Incident

“Take a few deep breaths, Amena. That’s good. That’s much better. What’s your last name?”

“My maiden name is Haman. My current name is Haman-Bowers.”

“Current? How many names have you had?”

She smiles a smile that twenty years ago would have launched ships. “Always on the lookout for another one, cutie.”

“That’s a beautiful ring you have on your finger.”

“Which one?”

He points to it. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, it’s just a four-carat diamond.”

“Your husband gave that to you, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t come on the trip with you though.”

“No, we’re divorced.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Another smile. “It’s quite all right.”

“How about this one. The green stone.”

“Oh, that’s my emerald. Platinum band. Surrounded by twenty-nine diamonds.”

“It’s lovely.”

“My second husband, Peter, gave this to me for our first a

“What about that necklace? Those real?”