Bryan Smith: The Killing Kind

“Say what?”

Rob coughed and waved away smoke. He’d ignored the Neon while listening to Roxie talk, but now he focused on it again and saw that its driver’s impairment appeared to be worsening. The little car swerved yet again as Rob stared at the profusion of faded stickers advertising the owner’s politics and taste in music. Left-leaning and into punk. Though there were also Grateful Dead and Phish stickers, which seemed kind of strange. In Rob’s experience, punks and stoners rarely intermingled.

“Ugh.” Roxie made a sound of disgust. “Check that shit out. A fucking ‘Coexist’ sticker. That shit makes me wanna puke.”

Rob nodded. “Yeah. I actually agree with you on something. It’s a fucking miracle.”

Roxie grunted. “Get in the left lane. Pull up beside these fuckers.”

Rob put the blinker on and glanced at her. “What are you-?”

“Just shut up and do what I say, you fuck.”

Her face was hard again, the blue eyes projecting enough malice to stop a suicide bomber in his tracks. The transformation was alarming. For a few moments there, while she was talking about herself, she’d seemed almost like a normal person. Like a person he could even like, despite the extreme circumstances of their meeting. But the psycho part of her personality had reasserted itself. By now he knew better than to defy her when she was like this.

He pulled into the left lane and drew up alongside the Neon.

Roxie leaned out the Galaxie’s open passenger-side window and made a cranking motion with her hand. Rob craned his head to look past her and saw that there were four people in the car. All youngish, maybe midtwenties. The driver had long blond hair and a bushy beard. The girl in the passenger seat looked like a young punk. Skinny. Tattoos. The two in the back-another guy and gal-were harder to peg. They almost looked sort of straitlaced. But as Rob watched them, he saw that a fat bomber joint was being passed among the car’s passengers.

The Neon’s driver grinned goofily and cranked his window down. He stuck his head out the window and tried to say something, but the words were lost in the rushing of the wind.

Roxie leaned farther out her own window and gestured frantically at the back of the Neon. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and put the full force of her lungs into her next words: “you need to pull over!”

The Neon’s driver frowned and glanced at the punk girl in the passenger seat. The girl shrugged. The driver nodded and looked at Roxie again, giving her a thumbs-up gesture even as he began to guide the Neon across multiple lanes of traffic, toward the road’s shoulder on the right.

Roxie looked at Rob. The hard mask was gone. She was smiling. “Pull up behind them.”

Rob put the blinker on again and did as instructed, easing the Galaxie to a slow, crawling stop behind the Neon. He stared at the back of the other car for a moment. Then he shot a confused look at Roxie. “Is there really something wrong with their car?”

Roxie reached across him and turned the key backward in the ignition. The Galaxie’s engine ground to a rumbling halt as she pulled the key from the ignition slot. “So you don’t go anywhere. Hang tight while I take care of these fucks.”

She opened the passenger-side door and began to get out.

Rob’s heart began to beat faster.

The gun was in her hand again.

She was out of the car now and walking toward the parked Neon. The Neon’s passengers were oblivious to the danger approaching them. And why wouldn’t they be? A glance in their mirrors would show a very pretty girl approaching them. And who would ever consider that a thing to fear? Of course, things might be different if any of them were sober. They might notice the gun pressed flat against her right thigh. She was almost to the car now, and Rob was close to hyperventilating. He felt he should warn them somehow. Maybe lean on the horn and jerk them out of their dope stupor for a few lifesaving moments. It might work. They might even get away.

But he’d still be stuck right here.

With a very pissed off Roxie to face-Roxie and her gun.

He placed the palm of his left hand flat against the horn pad.

It was the right thing to do.

He knew that.

And yet…there was the fear of that gun pointed at him instead.

So he hesitated.

Roxie was standing next to the Neon now. The gun was still pressed to her thigh. She leaned down and rapped the knuckles of her left hand against the passenger-side window. The punk girl turned toward her and rolled the window down. Rob opened his mouth to scream a warning, but it was already too late. Roxie’s gun hand was like a striking cobra. One moment it was still against her leg, the next nanosecond the barrel of the gun was pressed against the punk girl’s forehead. Rob heard the report of the gun and knew for sure Roxie had actually shot the poor girl in the face. There were screams from the Neon now. Then another shot. The driver slumped over. Roxie pushed the punk girl’s corpse aside and leaned farther into the car, twisting her body so that she could point the gun into the backseat. Rob heard more screams, only barely distinguishable from his own cries. The rear door on the driver’s side started to open as one of the backseat occupants tried to escape. Another bullet ended the attempt. Roxie’s body twisted again and she aimed her gun at the Neon’s last living passenger. There was a brief hesitation, almost as if she was savoring these last moments before the final kill.

There was one more scream. Another bullet cut it off. Rob saw an explosion of red against the Neon’s back window and felt bile rise into his throat. His gut churned. He was shaking and hot tears were spilling down his face. Any illusions he might have harbored about Roxie’s supposed vulnerability had been vanquished forever within the space of a few moments of extreme violence. She’d been right.

She wasn’t a regular girl.

She was pure fury.

And now, finally, he understood just how much trouble he was really in.

Roxie extracted herself from the Neon and strolled calmly back to the Galaxie. Rob stared at her. He couldn’t believe how cool and unconcerned she seemed. She was still holding the gun by her side but was making no real attempt to hide it. Cars were zipping by on the interstate. Lots of them. There were still several hours of broad daylight left. How could she be so fucking nonchalant?

Back inside the Galaxie, she reached across Rob and slid the key back into the ignition. She turned the key and the engine came to life.

Then she pressed the gun’s hot barrel against his crotch and said, “Drive.”

Just the one word.

It was enough.

Rob put the car in gear and eased back into the traffic.

Picking up speed, he glanced at the rearview mirror for one last look at the Neon. From this perspective and distance, it looked like just another stalled car. No big deal.

Roxie was laughing. “Now what was that you were saying about it not being too late or some shit? Something about choices?”

More insane laughter.

Rob’s hands tightened around the steering wheel again.

He was holding on for dear life.

Whatever little was left of it.

March 16

She was still asleep when he came naked out of the bathroom. She was lying on her side in the bed with her mouth hanging open. A thin stream of drool leaked from a corner of her mouth to dampen the pillow beneath her head. Loose tufts of frizzy blonde hair obscured some of her face. Tucked away there beneath the covers, she could almost be any anonymous woman. Some truck-stop floozy or roadside whore. A last-call bar pickup. Or better yet, that hot little jailbait babysitter from down the street, the one with the platinum Paris Hilton hair. Sixteen going on ninety-nine-to-life, as his buddy Franklin had said once, adding that he’d almost be willing to do a stint in jail for one night of fun with the hot little tease.