Karli, using Mr. Doyle as a shield, slowly backed toward the exit.
Pamela pulled one of the pink poof flowers off the waistband of her skirt. She stuffed it in her mouth to staunch the bleeding of her gums.
Shep didn’t move as they fled.
•••••••••
Karli, Mr. Doyle in tow, and Pamela burst through the warehouse door and scrambled toward Erwin’s car. Mr. Doyle fought to retain his dignity even while being dragged along at gun point, but the lapel of his suit was being severely crushed by Karli and the loose gravel scuffed his custom Italian leather shoes.
“Pamela, the trunk,” Karli said.
Pamela ran ahead, fumbling open the unlocked driver’s door and pulling the latch to pop the trunk. Karli followed with the gun still pressed to Mr. Doyle’s temple. She gave him a shove toward the trunk, but he balked.
“Get in,” Karli growled.“I will not,” Mr. Doyle emphatically answered.
“You will get in or I will shoot off your dick.” Karli shifted the gun from Mr. Doyle’s temple to his groin. “I know you like to watch freaky shit. How do you think you’d like that show?”
Mr. Doyle inhaled, lifted his chin as if to make some retort, and then, having weighed the choices, climbed in.
Karli slammed the trunk closed and saw Pamela still standing there, just staring. “Pamela!? Get in the damn car!”
Pamela scrambled to the passenger-side door as Karli dove for the driver’s side.
•••••••••
As she climbed in, Pamela tossed the laptop in the back seat, then hauled the remainder of her dress inside the vehicle. Karli scrambled into the driver’s seat and reached for the keys. They weren’t in the ignition.
“The keys! The keys!”
“Erwin must have … must have had them,” Pamela answered, dazed and obviously in a lot of pain.
“Does he have them or not?”
“Maybe in his dead mob pockets. In the bottom of some river.”
Karli, mouth agape, stopped to stare at Pamela as if she was stuck in the process of realizing just how damaged her best friend might be.
“Is that inappropriate?” Pamela continued. “You know, river, sleeps with the fishes. Is that racist? Is that disrespectful of the dead?”
Karli shook her head as if to clear it, then began fiddling with the steering column. “Why, why didn’t I drive? I’ll have to hot-wire it.”
The door to the warehouse slammed open and Shep exited. He was sharpening his hunting knife as he walked toward the car and the women.
“Fuck, fuck,” Karli said, slamming her palms into the steering wheel twice. “I can’t do it that fast.” She opened her car door and turned to Pamela, “Run.”
Pamela didn’t move. Shep was about halfway to the car now.
“RUN!” Karli screamed at Pamela one final time before she twisted out of the car and stood up to confront Shep.
•••••••••
Despite her unsteady footwear, Karli calmly spread her legs and raised her gun in a classic shooting stance. She aimed her tiny gun at Shep, who continued to steadily close the gap between himself and the car. She breathed and then pulled the trigger. She missed.
“You know that’s strictly a short-range, minimum-performance weapon.” Shep tossed his whetstone over his shoulder and readjusted his hold on the hunting knife. He was left-handed. Either that or he preferred to grab with his right and knife with his left. According to his agency file, which Karli had memorized back to front, he’d had a lot of practice. Supposedly, it takes ten thousand hours to become an expert at something. Shep had probably banked that by his mid-twenties.
Without pause, Karli shot at him again.
She winged Shep’s right shoulder.
He stopped to peer down at the wound and its slight amount of seeping blood. He laughed in his typical hyena bark, then kept coming.
“Karli!?”
Karli turned to see that Pamela was struggling to free her dress from the car. Pamela’s eyes widened and she frantically gestured over
Pamela pulled one of the pink poof flowers off the waistband of her skirt. She stuffed it in her mouth to staunch the bleeding of her gums.
Shep didn’t move as they fled.
•••••••••
Karli, Mr. Doyle in tow, and Pamela burst through the warehouse door and scrambled toward Erwin’s car. Mr. Doyle fought to retain his dignity even while being dragged along at gun point, but the lapel of his suit was being severely crushed by Karli and the loose gravel scuffed his custom Italian leather shoes.
“Pamela, the trunk,” Karli said.
Pamela ran ahead, fumbling open the unlocked driver’s door and pulling the latch to pop the trunk. Karli followed with the gun still pressed to Mr. Doyle’s temple. She gave him a shove toward the trunk, but he balked.
“Get in,” Karli growled.“I will not,” Mr. Doyle emphatically answered.
“You will get in or I will shoot off your dick.” Karli shifted the gun from Mr. Doyle’s temple to his groin. “I know you like to watch freaky shit. How do you think you’d like that show?”
Mr. Doyle inhaled, lifted his chin as if to make some retort, and then, having weighed the choices, climbed in.
Karli slammed the trunk closed and saw Pamela still standing there, just staring. “Pamela!? Get in the damn car!”
Pamela scrambled to the passenger-side door as Karli dove for the driver’s side.
•••••••••
As she climbed in, Pamela tossed the laptop in the back seat, then hauled the remainder of her dress inside the vehicle. Karli scrambled into the driver’s seat and reached for the keys. They weren’t in the ignition.
“The keys! The keys!”
“Erwin must have … must have had them,” Pamela answered, dazed and obviously in a lot of pain.
“Does he have them or not?”
“Maybe in his dead mob pockets. In the bottom of some river.”
Karli, mouth agape, stopped to stare at Pamela as if she was stuck in the process of realizing just how damaged her best friend might be.
“Is that inappropriate?” Pamela continued. “You know, river, sleeps with the fishes. Is that racist? Is that disrespectful of the dead?”
Karli shook her head as if to clear it, then began fiddling with the steering column. “Why, why didn’t I drive? I’ll have to hot-wire it.”
The door to the warehouse slammed open and Shep exited. He was sharpening his hunting knife as he walked toward the car and the women.
“Fuck, fuck,” Karli said, slamming her palms into the steering wheel twice. “I can’t do it that fast.” She opened her car door and turned to Pamela, “Run.”
Pamela didn’t move. Shep was about halfway to the car now.
“RUN!” Karli screamed at Pamela one final time before she twisted out of the car and stood up to confront Shep.
•••••••••
Despite her unsteady footwear, Karli calmly spread her legs and raised her gun in a classic shooting stance. She aimed her tiny gun at Shep, who continued to steadily close the gap between himself and the car. She breathed and then pulled the trigger. She missed.
“You know that’s strictly a short-range, minimum-performance weapon.” Shep tossed his whetstone over his shoulder and readjusted his hold on the hunting knife. He was left-handed. Either that or he preferred to grab with his right and knife with his left. According to his agency file, which Karli had memorized back to front, he’d had a lot of practice. Supposedly, it takes ten thousand hours to become an expert at something. Shep had probably banked that by his mid-twenties.
Without pause, Karli shot at him again.
She winged Shep’s right shoulder.
He stopped to peer down at the wound and its slight amount of seeping blood. He laughed in his typical hyena bark, then kept coming.
“Karli!?”
Karli turned to see that Pamela was struggling to free her dress from the car. Pamela’s eyes widened and she frantically gestured over
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