Deviation (24 page)

“Shit beetles,” she
hissed. They would do whatever they could to further ruin her life,
she knew. She couldn't take the chance of allowing them to see her
getting into the Honda. As she turned the corner, she looked back at
them; it appeared their leader was a fat young man with a crew cut
and a Colorado Avalanche jersey. She raised the pistol as he
crouched behind a row of hedges, and, pausing for just a second,
fired two rounds at him.

There were several screams as
the pistol shots shattered the afternoon. As she watched, the fat
man fell onto his back on the lawn, rolling around and holding his
hands over his stomach. Both hands were bright red.

Dianne felt only the slightest
tinge of guilt. Deep down, she felt none at all. God, she knew, in
all his infinite wisdom, didn't care.

She continued on, breaking into
a run. It was unlikely anyone would follow her now. She made it to
the end of the next block without incident and picked up even more
speed, jogging down the sidewalk with the pistol still gripped in her
hand. By the time she made it to the car, she was almost out of
breath.

There was a menu for a Chinese
restaurant tucked under the windshield wiper. She left it where it
was, quickly setting her gun on the roof and pulling out her keys.
There didn't appear to be anyone watching as she unlocked the door
and hurriedly threw the gun and her bag on the floor of the passenger
side. She thought if she could only get out of the area, her chances
of getting away were very good. No one really knew who she was, or
where she'd come from. She wasn't even sure herself anymore. She
had become a rogue, and a dangerous one at that. When had this
happened? And how? It was almost a blur in her mind.

She climbed into the car and
shut the door. She experienced a moment of panic when it seemed that
the car wouldn't start, but on her second attempt the engine came to
life and she sat back, checking her mirrors. She was about to back
out of the parking spot when something occurred to her. Twisting in
her seat, she glanced around behind her, in the back seat area. Her
and Frank had left some of their booze stashed back there. There was
a paper bag on the floor which contained two bottles of wine, one of
gin and her Jim Beam. She grabbed the Jim Beam and pulled it into
her lap. The pain in her shattered hand was once again threatening
to overwhelm her. It felt as though there were an army of vicious
mice chewing up her hand and arm from the inside out. With the
bottle wedged between her legs, she twisted off the cap and tossed it
aside. Then she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a mouthful of
bourbon, swallowing it slowly and fighting to keep it down.

As she slipped the bottle
between her legs again, she glanced at the empty passenger seat.
Frank should have been there. Everything felt wrong without Frank.
A staggering flood of remorse burned through her like acid, almost
crippling her. She couldn't afford to think about Frank now. She
had to move. She took a deep breath and backed out of her spot.

“Goodbye, Frank,”
she whispered.

She put the car in drive. As
soon as she was rolling, the war cry of another police siren erupted
in the distance.

They were coming.

It was time to run again.

As she made her way through the
city streets, she promised herself that she wouldn't be deterred.
Nothing Frank had taught her would be in vain.

Up ahead was a sign for the
freeway entrance. She took another gulp of bourbon and stepped down
on the gas, putting more distance between herself and everything that
had once seemed so promising.

- end -