Helen lies unconscious at the rear of the car.
“Baby, I’m out,” he says, then runs to Helen and checks her pulse, he shakes her, “Honey, you alright?”
“Get away from me!” she replies, pushing him back.
“I’m sorry this happened sweetheart.”
Helen stands up and slaps him across the face, “No real man wants to show off his woman to another man.”
“I never said show off your pussy to him… that must’ve set’m off.”
“You wanted me, it’s your fault you bastard,” she covers her face and cries.
“Yea, but it looked like you were enjoying it.”
“I did it for you,” she says between sniffs.
“I got to admit, it did turn me on watch’in you, guess I owe you that gold necklace.”
“I don’t want your fucking gold necklace...I want nothing to do with you anymore,” she says.
“Don’t worry… nothing a little therapy can’t fix,” Troy says, looking toward the truck parked 50 yards away, “I’m gonna make this up to you honey, just call the police.” He grabs a tire iron from the trunk and walks toward the culprit.
The Trucker’s in the cab of his 18 wheeler looking in the rearview mirror tending to the scratch marks on his face. The image of Helen with her legs spread wide open hanging out the car window for him, keeps replaying in his head. “I got to put those two out of their misery; they know what I look like… I’m not going to jail for this shit… it was her fault anyway… she’s the one who should be in jail… fuck, where’s my pistol?” he reaches down, grabs his pistol, and then checks it’s loaded.
Troy manages to sneak up on the Trucker and is outside the cab hanging on to the door handle getting ready to surprise him. He grips the iron tighter and slowly pushes on the door button, then suddenly, the door swings open knocking him to the ground. The Trucker steps out and raises his gun. Troy throws the iron at him, then quickly gets up and charges him. He knocks the gun loose and kicks it away; they grab each other around the shoulders trying to throw each other to the ground. The Trucker gets an arm free and punches Troy in the stomach, bringing him to his knees, and then kicks him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Troy’s barely able to breathe.
The Trucker picks up the tire iron, stands over Troy, and raises it over his head.
“Don’t do it!” says a voice from behind. Helen stands poised, with her legs spread slightly apart, and her two hands on the gun pointing it at the Trucker.
“Honey, shoot the mother fucker!” Troy says between breathes.
The Trucker turns to face her, “Hey, look who it is, the whore bitch.”
“Drop the iron,” she says.
“How’d ya like it, baby, probably the best sex you had in a long time,” he says, smiling.
A police siren is heard in the distance.
“Drop the iron, or I‘ll put a bullet through your head.”
“Com’on baby, you don’t know how to shoot that thing, come here, let’s do it again.”
Helen turns her head and shoots, but misses.
“Hey, hold on baby. “ He drops the tire iron. “Why don’t we let the police take care of this?”
“Just turn around.”
Troy chimes in, “Alright baby… now shoot the mother fucker.”
Helen walks slowly toward the trucker, picks up the tire iron, then winds up like a major league pitcher and delivers a blow to the back of his head, splitting his skull. He drops instantly, blood draining.
“Awesome baby… he got what he deserved,” a confident Troy says.
The police siren is getting louder.
Without hesitation, Helen places the gun in the trucker’s hand, and with her hand directing his, points it at Troy.
“Hey honey, what are you do’in?” his eyes open wide.
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” Helen squeezes the trigger, BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
Troy can only gurgle noises that sound almost like words.
She picks up the tire iron and steps back from the scene.
The police car screeches to a halt.
And she screams, “Help me!”
Michael Charles is an Electrical Engineer living in Connecticut and has a
passion for writing flash fiction.