Bryan Smith: The Killing Kind

“I’m sort of horny.”

The out-of-nowhere comment startled Rob. He didn’t know what to say, but knew she’d expect some sort of response. “Um…yeah?”

“Ever fuck a murderer?”

“Well…no.”

She laughed. “Ever fuck anybody at all?”

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good. Turn left.”

They’d reached the end of the exit ramp, which intersected with a stretch of faded two-lane blacktop. To the right, maybe a quarter mile distant, lay an array of fast-food joints, gas stations, and a motel. To the left was a stretch of open road curling into a thickening expanse of wilderness. The only business establishment in that direction was a Shell station. It looked kind of grubby compared to the gleaming, gigantic convenience stores to the right, with their dozens of pumps and huge, brightly lit signs. The station to the left had just two double-sided pumps, and the towering old Shell sign in a corner of its nearly vacant parking lot looked like it had been there maybe half a century-and probably had been.

Rob cranked the wheel to the left and started in that direction.

“Pull in at the gas station.”

Rob turned in at the Shell’s lot, angling the Galaxie toward one of the pumps.

Roxie slugged his shoulder. “Not here. Side of the building, toward the rear.”

Rob steered the car away from the pumps and parked where Roxie indicated, in the last slot on the side toward the rear of the building. A metal door marked men stood opposite the front of the car. Roxie took the keys from the ignition and the Galaxie’s engine ground to a rumbling halt. She dropped the keys in her tote bag, pulled the bag up on her lap, and began searching through its contents. She’d slid her sunglasses up over her forehead and her face had a pinched look of concentration. She made little noises of frustration. Whatever she was looking for, she was having a hard time finding it.

The sound of an approaching engine drew Rob’s attention back the way they’d come. An old lime green Fiat turned into the Shell’s parking lot and pulled up alongside the pump closest to the front of the store. An overweight guy of about forty heaved himself out of the car, took out his wallet, and inserted a debit or credit card in the pump’s card slot. He punched in some numbers. His PIN, probably. So, a debit card. He stood there watching the digital display until the sale was approved. He then removed the pump handle from its cradle and inserted the nozzle in the Fiat’s gas tank. He held the pump handle as he watched the digital numbers tick by.

“Not worth robbing.”

Rob looked at Roxie, face drawing down into a frown. “Do we really need to rob anybody? I mean…I’ve got money. A couple hundred in my wallet. A few thousand more in my bank account. You don’t even have to shoot anybody to get it.”

“Oh, I’ll be taking all that. Count on it. I’m just saying, this fucking schmuck wouldn’t be worth the bother anyway.”

Despite himself, Rob was curious. “Yeah? Why?”

Roxie nodded in his direction. “Look at him. The way he’s holding the pump handle and watching the numbers. This is a guy with overdraft concerns. A sad sack of shit just scraping by on a daily basis. Only reason I’d shoot that poor bastard would be to put him out of his misery.”

Rob looked at the guy again, noting saggy, grime-encrusted jeans and a faded, raggedy T-shirt that looked like something retrieved from the reject bin at a Goodwill outlet. His face was unshaven and doughy. There was a wide, shiny bald circle at the crown of his skull, but the hair he did have was long and scraggly.

“Huh.”

She was right. He wouldn’t be worth robbing. He tucked this fact away in his mental file of Information I’ll Fucking Never Need. Still, it was sort of interesting. She had a sharp eye for things an experienced criminal would know at a glance. Which made sense, what with her being exactly that.

“Aha!”

The exclamation drew his attention away from Mr. Downward Spiral. His brow knitted as he studied the slim, silver object pinched between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes.”

She unlocked the cuff attached to the steering wheel.

“You’re letting me go?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Right. That was stupid. What is happening?”

She nodded at the bathroom door. “We’re going in there.” She hoisted the tote bag. “I have to change into regular girl clothes. I can’t very well go around dressed like this when I’m off on a spree, now can I?”

Rob shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of experience in that area. I am not a ‘spree’ person. But that sounds…smart?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

Another shrug. “Like I said…”

“Yeah, yeah, lack of experience, et cetera. Look. Here’s what’s happening. Obviously I can’t leave you out here while I’m changing. You’re gonna get out. Do it nice and easy. Calmly. Like any regular dude getting out of his car to take a piss. Keep the open cuff tucked in your palm and don’t look at the fat fuck at the pump. Walk straight to the bathroom with me. Got it?”

She was pointing the gun at him again.

Yeah, he got it.

He nodded.

“Good. Let’s go.”

She got out and stood at the side of the car, waiting for him, the gun tucked away in the tote bag, which she held in front of her. Rob got out and carefully kept his head turned away from the gas pumps as he followed her toward the bathroom. And though he was aware of how obscenely inappropriate it was in light of the monstrous thing she’d done not even an hour earlier, the prurient part of him couldn’t help noting that she looked just as good from behind. The backs of her thighs and calves were shapely and toned, and her high-rise ass looked amazing framed by that little black skirt. Her walk was the effortless, seductive strut of a born sex kitten. The swivel of her hips made him think about things he had no business thinking of in light of the horrible thing she had done. When they reached the bathroom door, she glanced at him, a corner of her mouth quirking in a way that made it clear she knew exactly where his attention had been and exactly what he had been thinking. That smug surety made him at once angry and ashamed. This was an awful woman. A heartless killer. The knowledge of that alone should kill any flicker of lust looking at her might inspire.

But it didn’t. Not quite.

And knowing that deepened the shame.

She opened the door and pushed him into a dark space. She followed him inside and flicked a switch, summoning light to swallow the darkness. Rob heard her push the door shut behind him and turn the lock. It hit him. He was alone in a closed space with a murderer. No one could see them. She could kill him now and no one could stop her. Hell, it would be the perfect time to do it. He heard something hit the floor and realized she’d dropped the tote bag.

Leaving just the gun in her hand.

He tensed, expecting to feel the press of a gun barrel against the back of his head any moment. He tried not to whimper. Tried to be brave.

He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

Then he felt something small and hard hammer the small of his back. He cried out and pitched forward, his knees painfully smacking the hard and filthy floor tiles. His eyes came open a moment before something-her open palm, he realized an instant later-struck the side of his head and drove him the rest of the way to the floor.

“Get under the sink.”

Rob rolled onto his side and stared up at her through eyes misted with tears. “Jesus. You didn’t have to hit me.”

She kicked him in the shin and he cried out again.

“Do what I fucking told you before I lose my patience.”