SAN FRANCISCO
Sam edged down lower in the seat of
his rental car as Molly Butler looked both ways before jogging across the
street to her Porsche.
It was another insufferably sunny
day. He’d discarded his overcoat and had gone so far as removing his jacket and
rolling up his sleeves. There were unsightly patches of sweat in each armpit.
Molly didn’t look hot in the least: tight yellow tank top that exposed her
delicate wrists and slender arms; short skirt, heels that accentuated her calf
muscles. Sam edged up in his seat for a complete view as she got into her car
and slammed the door. She pulled out into traffic and he followed, keeping a
car between him and his target.
The baseball bat was gone: disposed
of. The blood from the old man had got into the grain and wouldn’t come clean.
It didn’t matter. There were any number of common household items he could use
instead. And she was a lot lighter than he was. If he needed to he could use
his hands.
He started to plan it, running
possible scenarios through his mind.
Following her home; walking up the path behind her to her front door. She
turns and sees him. He puts his hand over her mouth, pushing her inside. She
keeps struggling. He has to hit her to keep her subdued; there’s no other
option. He strikes her hard. She falls down. Then she’s on a couch; looking up
at him, moist lips parted. She won’t tell him where Jack is. He’s asking her
but she won’t say a word. He climbs over the arm of the couch and straddles
her. She tries to hit him. He has to grab her wrists and pin her down. If he
doesn’t she might hurt him. The flesh of her wrists is soft and yielding. His
face is close to hers. She still won’t tell him where Jack is. He asks her over
and over again. She won’t tell him. Her chest is heaving. He can see the upper
curve of her breasts. Her lips are moist. He leans closer.
A horn blared from a car to his
right. Sam cursed and gathered his wits.
Molly’s car was directly in front
now. Traffic was heavier. He didn’t know exactly where he was anymore but was
confident he could find his way back to his motel. That didn’t matter for now.
He started to pull back to put more distance between the cars but paused before
he did. This close he could see the back of her shoulders and neck clearly: the
tiny blond hairs, the smooth shiny skin reflecting the sunshine. He pulled his
car a little forward. The closer he got the more detail he could see.
He started to imagine a new scenario.
Pushing her face down. Holding her hands behind her back. Whispering
threats in her ear. Touching those shoulders as he did so with his lips.
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