Page 42 of Double Obsession

3. Get gas.

4. Water the creature in the trunk.

She grabbed her backpack and exited the vehicle. She hadn’t taken two steps when a shiny pickup truck pulled in beside her. Two rednecks, dropping the f-bomb like it was a perfectly acceptable adjective, exited the cab, followed by a cloud of smoke and a renegade beer can. The tree-sized driver towered over her by at least an inch. He watched the can roll across the parking lot and pinched the end of something in his hand.

Since marijuana cigarettes were illegal and the men were hideous, she put her hands on her hips and glowered.

One of them noticed her, pointed at her car, and smirked. “What happened to your ride?”

“None of your beeswax,” she said.

The guy scratched his head like a stupid ape. “Shit. This isn’t the nineteen fifties.”

“Who do you work for?” she shot back.

His buddy’s greasy mop of scraggly hair flopped as he shook his head. “Ignore her, dude. Her face is as fugly as that ‘96 Taurus.” He pointed at her grandmother’s automobile.

The hick was insane; the car was beautiful. A couple of years ago, someone had sideswiped it, taking off a coat of paint and a side mirror. Arkansas had reaffixed the mirror with duct tape and painted over the scaped door with craft paint in the closet shade of blue she could find. It wasn’t her fault the repair job hadn’t held up. It was the chemicals the government scientists put into paints. She’d been careful not to get any of the gunk on her skin since the stuff was hazardous and had probably caused her grandmother’s demise.

The men entered the store, leaving her alone in the parking lot. She tip-toed to the truck and ran her hand over the warm metal. It was so clean she could see her reflection. She held her key like a pencil and scratched a message on the driver’s side door. Then she chased down their trash and deposited it in the correct receptacle.

Once inside the store, she did her best to avoid her newest enemies while they chatted with the clerk and ordered burgers and fries. She counted out the exact cash for a pre-made egg salad sandwich, water, and a bottle of iced tea, left the money on the counter, then headed outside to a picnic table. Ignoring splotches of bird poo, she chose a spot beneath a shady tree. She set out her pens and map and unwrapped her lunch. While she dined, she checked her route. She was only about ninety minutes away. She tingled with excitement. This would soon be the greatest day of her life. Taking her time, she jotted a couple of notes.

After folding the map, she packed her bag and walked her trash to the receptacle. She moved her car to the gas pump and had just started to fill the tank when the monsters exited the store.

The driver stopped short. “You fucking cunt,” he yelled.

His furry buddy came around beside him to read the message.

She placed the nozzle back into its cradle and frowned. Grandmommy would roll over in her grave if she saw how expensive gas had become.

The men slinked toward her as if she were their prey. She opened the car door and rummaged in her backpack.

“You’re paying for the damage, bitch,” the driver said.

“What the hell do you mean,the devil fucks with fuckers?” the passenger with filthy hair asked.

It was best to fool the enemy into thinking you were weak. Arkansas moved in slow motion as she faced them. Pretending the air was solid butter, she lifted her weapon and snarled. “Back up.”

The driver must have been the smarter of the pair because he held up his hands and took a step back. The passenger growled and stepped toward her.

Without her meds, she was as fast as a ninja. She lunged, and her knife sliced his cheek.

“Fuck!” He grabbed his face and then held up and studied his blood-covered hand. “I need to go to the goddamn hospital.”

While he stood there boohooing like a baby, she leaped and slashed the mullet-head again. The tall one ran toward the truck. The fool with the silly hair turned tail and sprinted after his buddy.

Arkansas chortled at their retreating backs. “Ha, ha, ha. Tee, hee, hee.”Since the numskulls were high on marijuana, they wouldn’t dare call the police.

Once he reached his vehicle, the hairy dummy screeched, “You motherfucking cunt!”

“Bitch,” the driver hollered.

She turned her back to the duo and read the numbers on the gas pump. She mentally calculated what she owed minus the current inflation rate, dug around in her wallet, and carried a ten-dollar bill and her bloody knife into the convenience store. She handed the clerk the money.

He stared at the knife. “You owe thirty-three dollars.”

“You should not smoke marijuana from your friends.” She pointed at the little white stick emitting smoke behind the counter and then indicated the aluminum can sitting beside it. “And beer is bad for you.”