Climbing up into his cab with his purchases, he sat watching the cop car out his
windshield. For a while, he nipped through his magazine, pausing at the really big
stories. There were many of them, and he tried not to think about his wife or make
comparisons as he calculated the best method of attack.
He had packed light tonight, just a Colt . 380 caliber seven-shot pistol in an ankle
holster, which would not have been his first choice had he known he might have a
standoff with the cops. It was a good thing he had aback up between the seats, a Quality
Parts Shorty E-2 Carbine,223 caliber, with thirty-shot magazine, adjustable sights,
chrome-lined barrel finished in manganese phosphate that didn’t shine at night. For all
practical purposes, this was an M-16, and with it, Bubba could riddle West’s car Bonnie
and Clyde style. He turned a page, and massaged more big ideas as he enjoyed the dark.
Vy West had never really been called upon to comfort a member of the male gender.
Rarely was such a thing needed or requested, and having no precedent to follow, she used
common sense. Brazil was hiding his face in his hands. She felt terribly sorry for him.
What an unfortunate state of affairs.
“It’s not that bad, really,” she kept saying.
“Okay?” She patted his shoulder.
“We’ll find a way out of this. Okay?”
She patted him again, and when this did not make a dent, she finally broke down.
“Come here,” she said.
West put an arm around him, and pulled him close. Suddenly, he was in her lap, his arms
clamped around her, as he held her like a child, which he was not. West’s hot flashes
seemed worse as she thought fast and hormones spiked. He nuzzled her, holding tight,
and her insides woke up, startling her. Brazil was suffering from a similar response, and
moved up her body, to her neck, until he found her mouth. For moments, at least, they
were completely out of control and out of orbit. Their traumatized brains went into
shock, allowing other instincts to have their way, for Mother Nature worked in this
fashion to trick couples into procreating.
West and Brazil had not gotten to the point of worrying about what sort of birth control
was best suited to their anatomies, needs, tastes, belief systems, personal choices,
fantasies, secret pleasures, or faith in consumer reports. This way of communicating with
each other was new, so they took the time to linger in places they had always wondered
about. Then reality asserted itself with alacrity, and West suddenly sat up and looked out
the windows of her police car, remembering she was on duty with a man in her lap.
“Andy,” she said.
He was busy.
“Andy,” she tried again.
“Andy, get up. You’re on my … gun.”
She tried to move him, with no energy or enthusiasm, not wanting him to go anywhere
ever again. Hell was here and she was finished.
“Sit up,” she said, wiping her face again. Her life was ruined.
“This is incest, pedophilia,” she muttered, taking a deep breath as he went on with what he was doing.
“You’re right, you’re right,” he mumbled with absolutely no conviction,
as he explored the wonders of her existence in a way that was unknown and
overwhelming to her.
It was difficult to predict exactly where this might have gone had Bubba not intervened.
There was a Holiday Inn Express not too far away on 1-77, and it had an indoor pool, 42-
channel cable TV, and free local calls and newspaper, and complimentary continental
breakfasts.
Possibly, West and Brazil would have made their way to one of those rooms before
morning, and gotten into even more trouble at a bargain price. They possibly would have
slept together, and that was where West always drew the line. Sex was one thing, but she
did not sleep with someone she was not in love with, meaning she slept with no living
soul except Niles.
Again, such contemplations are moot when there is a sharp rap on the window and one
peers into the barrel of a carbine rifle reminiscent of Bosnia, or perhaps Miami. West did