Tom Simpson - Sink

“Well, Stretch. It looks like you covered all the bases. If I think of anything else, we will still have time to hatch it out when we meet in Florida. Sounds like a real winner to me.”

The single tear oozed painfully over the purple tinted swollen lower eyelid of Connie Littlefield’s left cheek and landed soundlessly on the cold metal floor of the stolen van. Her unkempt long black hair, revealing her Indian heritage, was entwined in trembling fingers as she sobbed quietly. The gentle swaying motion of the vehicle reminded her of almost forgotten memories of a full bloodied Sioux mother, who would gently rock her to sleep while softly chanting ancient tribal songs the white men were never blessed to hear. The happy parts of her childhood were soon over washed with torrid waves of hate, as the bitter flashes of abuse from her white-man father surrounded her like multicolored spotlights on an aspiring actress. The deep throbbing in her bruised arms highlighted the infectious needle marks decorating both appendages and she wished she was somewhere very far away. Frank Medford, still going by his adolescent nickname, Frankie, leaned over the short back of the driver’s seat and yelled much louder than was necessary in the confined space “Quit your whimpering bitch or I’ll let ol’ Carrie boy have a shot at you. You’d really like this freaky albino straddling your legs, wouldn’t you? If you two had a kid with your dark and his pasty white skin it would come out looking like a damn shadow. Hell, I bet I could sell it to a sideshow and make a million bucks.”

Carrie Petringelo, with the thought of climbing on the Indian, started squirming in the passenger seat and picking at the soiled crotch of his baggy denims.

“Oh come on Frankie, let me do her up right. I’ve wanted a piece of that since we picked her up last week.”

“Shut up you moron. You know I don’t share anything, especially my women. Now get out that map and find the closest way to the interstate. We have to be at the resort by Saturday morning if we’re going to pull this off, right? I’m not going to miss out on my share of two million dollars just so you can get your rocks off.”

Carrie, the disappointment from his failed sexual tryst evident in his voice, told Frankie to make the next right and drive straight until it ran into 264. Then take another right onto the highway and it would run into Sixth Street which would then run into Interstate 75.

“Just remember, numb nuts, we have to make at least one, possibly two more heists before we have enough up-front money to pull this off.” Frankie hissed.

“Don’t worry boss. We’ve got plenty of time to get to central Florida. It’ll only take us twenty hours to get there, even if we do the speed limit. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Connie Littlefield, sobbing even more quietly than before, began wondering what these two maniacs were going to do to her after this so called heist was over. She, over the last few years of what she wouldn’t even call a life, had run into a few crazies like Frank Medford. They seemed really nice at first. Buying a few drinks for the lovely lady, this lovely lady being down her last twenty six cents, giving her money for the juke box, in reality a cd player, and really coming off as a guy that was just looking for a little fun while he was passing through town.

The first hint of trouble and that weird albino, Carrie had arrived at the same time. The first glimpse of the real Frankie had momentarily surfaced when Carrie entered the bar and came over to the table where they sat and whispered something in Frankie’s ear. It was almost as if a dark wave had passed over Frankie’s face but, it was gone as soon as it had started.

She had shaken her head, trying to clear some of the fogginess from too many bourbon and sevens and finally dismissed it as her imagination. Nobody could change their personality that fast, she decided and had then preceded to drain the last drink the very nice Frankie baby had bought her. The mean streak in him had not come back until later that night when, after telling her she should go to Florida with him and his friend Carrie on a little mini vacation combined with a little business deal they had to transact while they were down there. She could lay out by the pool while they conducted their business at the new resort they were going to. It would be a real party time he had promised and he might buy her a new outfit or two if the deal went over as planned. She had decided, what the hell. She was real tired of this stupid town anyway and she owed too many people, too much money.

Frank Medford had rented a shabby motel room with sagging stained mattresses on twin beds, one for her and Frankie, and one for his geeky pal, Whitey or Carrie or whatever. She had been so blitzed by then, she didn’t really care if the freak watched her and Frankie making it on the bed next to him. She had been there, done that, so that type of thing would not have mattered. It was when Frankie started acting really weird that she had begun to worry. She had quickly sobered up when, he had taken off his belt and instead of laying it on the dresser or even throwing it on the floor next to the bed, he snapped it like a bull whip and told her to get out of her clothes and get on all fours on the floor and crawl around like a dog.

She had just started pleading with him to climb onto the bed and make it really nice for her when, he let loose with the first of many stinging cracks of the tip of the belt on her naked skin. Carrie had crackled with laughter and had started yelling. June 14 Sat“Head em up rawhide.”

She didn’t think it could have gotten any worse when, all of a sudden he had tired of the belt and began slapping her with his open palm. The pain engulfed her like waves and she began to lose consciousness when, he started with his closed fists.

The next afternoon, around four o’clock as close as she could figure out, she had awakened, hurting in places she didn’t even have places. The only thing she was thankful for, was that she was alone in the seedy room and she prayed aloud that, they would not come back. Just when she had decided that, there might really be a God after all, the door had burst open and her new, so-called friends came barging in.

“Come on. Get up sweetheart.” Frankie had whispered bending down to her left ear. “It’s time to get on the road. We’re on our way to the sunshine state.”

He had acted like nothing had happened the night before, and that is what scared her the most. How could anyone be so changeable? Be as nice as could be one minute and beat the living crap out of her for no reason, the next minute. This was one strange dude, she had thought, and she had figured he probably could kill her and not bat an eye. Whatever they were planning to do in Florida sounded very much against the law and the last thing they would need was a witness that could testify against them if they got caught. She had to plan some way of getting the hell away from them as soon as she could figure out exactly what to do without getting her brains smashed out

“Oh look. There’s Six Flags. Let’s stop for a while. I love all those sideshows and the gambling booths. Come on Frankie. Just for a little while.” Carrie whined as he craned his neck looking past Frank Medford out the driver’s window.

The stolen van cruised past the exit off the interstate leading to the famous amusement park. They had been heading west on Interstate 20 out of Atlanta looking for a small town where they could replenish their almost empty pockets with a quick burglary of a small convenience store.