“Fuck, man!”
Roy slammed down the hood of the truck. Okay, so it was a beat up, 1997 Ford F150, held together by Bondo and spit, but dammit, he bought the thing new, and it was NOT going to die on him, not today.
The house screen door slammed open. “Whatsematter?”
Roy refrained from banging his head on the hood of the truck. The bitch had to hear him. It’s why he left for work at five a.m. – he really didn’t want to hear her whiny voice this early in the morning. It’s why he hung out at the Coffee Cup and watched the three waitresses with their swinging asses while his roofing buddies showed up, being released from their balls and chains for eight hours.
“Nothin’.” He looked at up at her, standing there on the porch. She hadn’t been pretty when he moved in with her a couple of months ago, and she sure as hell wasn’t much prettier now. But she was a good lay, and kept the four brats out of his way. Supposedly she was divorced. He didn’t care – he was a big guy and could take any ex-husband down.
“It won’t start?”
“No,” he said. He contemplated walking the four miles into town.
“Oh,” she replied and went back into the house.
“Cunt,” Roy hissed, and yanked open his phone. Too early to call Al or Danny. It was also dark, so he wouldn’t be able to see what was wrong inside the truck.
He smoked a few cigarettes, avoiding going into the house. Finally it was light enough and he opened the hood. He blinked at the culprit – a disconnected battery cable. With a shrug, he put it back on, and jumped into the truck. She started right up, Roy thanked Jesus, and he tore out of the driveway.
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Roy tipped the beer at the topless chick holding onto the pole and waving her ass in his face. He shoved a five between her legs, in appreciation for the view. It was nearing five, and Lynda would probably start wondering where he was in an hour. He held the beer to his lips –
The explosion rocked the tiny bar, blowing a hole out of the side wall and tearing through a booth, sending debris and a couch skidding across the floor. Luckily, no one was in the way, as it was still early, Roy turned around to see a smoldering hulk of a truck just beyond the wall.
“Hey, Roy, isn’t that—“
“MY TRUCK!” With a look of horror on his face he stumbled across the dance floor of the bar, heading to the gaping hole in the wall. He couldn’t get very close because of the fire, but he thought he could see something sticking out of the battery. It was a melting red plastic handle.
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Lynda put out the cigarette before answering the doorbell. “Whatever it is, I don’ wannit,” she muttered, going down the hall from the kitchen to the front door. She opened the wood door, and looked out the screen door at the well-dressed man standing in front of her.
“Good afternoon,” he said with what sounded like a northern accent, “Are you Mrs. Bruce Michaelaine?”
“We’re divorced. Who’re you?”
He motioned to the mailbox. “Yet you still keep the name?”
“It’s a pain in th’ ass t’ change it in this state, an’ I’m sure he don’t wanna go to court t’ gimme an order so I c’n do it.”
The man took off his hat and wiped his brow. Obviously not from Arizona, and not used to the heat. “I was wondering if I could come in.”
“Whachuwan’?”
“I have some money from your husband’s estate. Ex-husband.”
She blinked at him. “Money?”
The man looked up at her calmly, his eyes seemingly empty of emotion. “Yes, ma’am.”
The lack of emotion didn’t bother her. She saw money. “ C’mon in.”
He walked in. “I understood you had children.”
“Edlin an’ Jayden ‘r at th’r friend’s house, Dunnin is at—“ Her sentenced ended in a gurgle, and she meant to turn her head around, but the last thing she saw was her body above her, a fountain of blood spurting from her neck. She couldn’t register why she was seeing that.
Lorenco danced back from the fountain as he completed his swing, avoiding the spurt of blood that covered the wall and the head that rolled on the floor. He wiped the blade on the couch in the other room. He made himself disappear, and went back to the screen door, opening it with a thrust of his hip.
He walked away from the scene, shaking his head. Whatever his lover saw in her, he didn’t understand. Maybe Bomber, with his big heart, felt sorry for her.
Lorenco really didn’t want to know, and frankly didn’t care. He didn’t need to anymore.
Words: 816
Inspiration: RP Monday night; Breaking Bad, Episode 7 – how Mr. White blows up a car.
Music: Bawitdaba – Kid Rock