His hungry gaze slid from the bottom of her wrap-around legs to her impressive knockers. He might even consider forking out the price of a hotel room for this babe. Lifting his eyes to her face, he took in the bleached blonde hair framing a face full of tears. A broad on a crying jag wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Dames were trouble enough when they were smiling their way into your wallet.
"You looking to get dead, lady? Why don't you move that fine ass of yours out of the road so I can be on my way," The Polack shouted at her. That’s when he noticed her fingers were curled around a nasty looking .38.
She took one hand off the gun and flipped him the bird.
"Or we can get comfortable with that," he grinned.
“Not now, not ever, you stupid bastard. You smashed my sister with that fancy car of yours, then took off. You killed her, now I’m gonna kill you.”
“I didn’t kill nobody. I just snatched this car off the street half an hour ago.”
“Do you think I'm stupid? Nobody steals a pink car. The damn thing stands out like a whore in a convent. The cops would be all over you as soon as it was reported stolen.”
“Well, I stole it for picking up dames. You need a lift?”
"Fucking men," she screamed, pulling the trigger. "You should all be dead."
The windshield shattered around him as his foot slid off the brake and hit the gas.
The cops found the pink Cadillac wedged between some parked cars. The driver was dead and so was the blond who was draped through the broken windshield, her head resting in the driver’s lap.
“Tough way to get a blow job,” snickered one of the cops.
“Trust the Polack to do things the hard way,” said his partner.
Sandra’s newest stories can be found in The EX Factor, a new anthology released this month. her work can also be found over at Flashing In The Gutters, and Flashes of Speculation, among other places.