[Home]

[The Library]

[The Office]

[The Gallery]

[The Alley]

Picture it: three people in a car driving down an empty country road talking about what they intend to do that night. Sounds sort of nice, doesn't it? Not exactly. Take the car, and replace it with a rented limousine with a big sword-related gash in the roof. Take the three people and break them into three categories: the upset mastermind behind the wheel, a totally clueless passenger, and a dead guy. Now imagine that what they're talking about is how to ditch said dead guy.

The evening had not turned out at all like I had planned it.

I had asked Amanda some questions. Namely, who was a certain sword-wielding individual back at the restaurant at which we had just eaten, and why had he chose us in particular to brandish his sword.

For a long time, she was silent. We left the city limits, and, as if the traffic was the thing keeping her from speaking, she opened up when we were the solitary vehicle on the road.

"Okay," she began. She took a deep breath, and then promptly launched into her story. "His name is Richard Young, and I owe him money."

"That doesn't really explain why he's chasing us with a sword."

"I owe him a lot of money," she corrected, "and I've owed it to him for quite a while."

"If someone wants their money back, they send goons to break your kneecaps. They don't go after you themselves with a sword."

She could sense that her story was taking on water, and fast. She tried to cover it up with a "I was a special case. We've known each other for a long time," but I didn't take the bait.

I flat-out demanded that she tell me the truth. After that, we drove in silence. Minutes stretched to hours, and I was wondering when we were going to stop. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but I wanted it to hurry up and happen quickly. I don't know exactly when it happened, but I started to nod off, and then fell asleep completely.

I came to when the car stopped. Amanda got out and entered the backseat, where she began to examine the body. After about a minute of checking, she determined that his neck had been broken. I couldn't say for sure what his fatal injury was, but I've seen every episode of ER. Twice. So I consented with her diagnosis and left it at that. "Help me get him back into the front seat," she commanded. I got out to help her.

It was then that I noticed where we were. It was a dark dirt road, with plenty of high grass along the shoulders. In the distance, I could see the lights of a town. I couldn't be sure which town specifically, but it was definitely there.

I helped Amanda to position the body behind the wheel. His skin was cold and clammy, and his limbs had grown stiff with rigor mortis. It was like trying to get a square peg through a round hole. Eventually, we had gotten him in in such a way that met Amanda's approval. She put the limousine into neutral and began to steer it off the road.

I took a sniff of the air as I stood off the side of the road. It was heavy, dank. The buzzing of mosquitoes was the final proof that I needed. We were near a still body of water. As soon as I realized it, I heard the sound of water splashing as the limo tipped over the bank and ran into the center of the pond. It sank quickly, but not entirely. There were visible marks where the tires had rolled over the high grass and crushed it flat to the ground. I looked, and the tail lights shimmered eerily at me from their submerged resting place. A cloud of silt that the car had kicked up was settling back down, enabling the lights to glow even brighter.

I felt a queasy feeling in my stomach. "Come on," Amanda said, and I suppressed the urge to vomit. We started walking.

We continued on the dirt road for about a mile, and then we turned into a wooded area and crossed through it. I wondered how Amanda knew where to go, or even if she knew exactly where we were going. I saw through the trees those same city lights, and, after emerging from the woods and crossing a small field, we had arrived.

It was morning, and only one place seemed to be open: the International House of Pancakes. We were both getting hungry, so we went in and found a booth.

It was over our double-order of funny face pancakes with lots and lots of maple syrup and butter that Amanda finally opened up and told me the truth. She spoke in a low tone of voice, and whenever the waitress came near, she would change the topic.

"His name is really Sherman Halloway, and we have some bad blood," she explained. I listened intently. "I do owe him money, but not because of a loan."

"How then?"

"I sort of stole his life savings." My eyes opened wide and I sucked a full breath of air in through my teeth.

"Oh, you shouldn't have done that. Explains why he came at you with a sword, though."

"That's not all."

"No."

"Yes. There's more."

"Go on."

"I didn't just take his life savings. I also took every dime in his only son's trust fund."

"Ouch." I was seriously wondering what kind of person Amanda had to be: Evil, or Satan Incarnate.

Almost as if she could read my thoughts, she interjected, "There was a perfectly good reason why I did what I did. I don't have time right now to explain it to you, but there is."

"Man," I mused. "His son must be pissed." We had finished our breakfasts and left the House of Pancakes. We then proceeded, courtesy of an advert in the local yellow pages, to the nearest car rental agency. Amanda picked out a stylish cherry-red convertible, and within the hour we were on our way back to the city.

"Amanda, what are we going to do about the chauffeur?" I asked. I wasn't exactly an old hand at ditching bodies.

"Don't worry. I have it taken care of," she soothed. I didn't believe her.

"I take it we aren't going to tell the police?"

"No," she informed me. "We can't have police. Not yet." She looked deep into my eyes. "This isn't over."

[Home]

[The Library]

[The Office]

[The Gallery]

[The Alley]