Cereal
-B.J. Leopold
The Sandwich: Episode III
The small man loaded his gun with his left hand while steering with his right. The car made no sound except the grinding crunch of the tires over gravel as he pulled off the highway. He had made good time from the mansion, and he knew -- the moment he looked towards the rest-stop's low building -- that his quarry would still be here, inside making phone calls or waiting for a ride home that would never come.
The Lieutenant watched the front doors of the low building, waiting patiently for his suspects to reemerge. He watched carefully as the gray woolen topcoat and black sunglasses slithered out of a nearby car and glided into the building. A second later, as the burst of the gunshot registered in his good ear, the Lieutenant discovered himself running top speed towards the doors, gun and badge in hands, his stomach churning at the thought of what he knew he would find there.
Sandy stepped out of the bathroom just as the sound of the explosion reached her, and she followed as in slow motion the cloud of blood raced out from her plaything boy and pockmarked the candy machine her chocolate bar had come from. She did not look at the body lying in front of the machine, she did not look at the grey-coated man standing silently in the middle of the room, she looked only at the now sanguine glass plate of the sugar dispenser.
And then suddenly everything was chaos. The grey man was at the glass doors going out. The cop came out of nowhere, badge waving wildly. He was at the doors, coming in. Sandy's hand went to her purse. The badge flew as the cop was ejected through the door. The shards of glass that settled over the cop didn't slow down the grey man, but Sandy's bullet in the shoulder did. She couldn't see his face, nor would she have remembered anything she saw except the bright candy-wrapper colors showing through the bloody glass. The grey man disappeared around the corner, and Sandy discovered that she couldn't move to follow him. She had collapsed in shock, and was sitting in the bathroom doorway. Her plans were utterly ruined.
The radio was shrieking, loud enough to drown out the whining engine and the shouting driver. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of her bloodshot eyes in the stolen rearview mirror and smiled broadly as she remembered her last few days. Living on little food and less sleep, she had walked, hitched and hijacked her way across three states. Now she could add grand theft auto to the list that the imaginary police that were following her would be carrying with them: checking off each offense as they tried to track her down. She smiled again at this thought, as she always did. She could picture the slow realization creep over the stupid hick faces of the cute little couple she had relieved of their car; the way they would get confused and then finally decide their car was gone, and then get confused again. She was starting to get angry again.
"Whoa, girl, take a deep breath, they're just average assholes with sub-average minds," she remembered suddenly what her father told her on his last day: "You could take 'em all on in a battle of wits with one brain tied behind your back, Jan. Yuh know that, don'tcha?"
"Yeah, Daddy, I know that. That's why I gotta go to the city, I gotta make a name for myself and teach this world a lesson," Jan smoothed out her forehead creases, took a deep breath, and decided to search through the car for anything interesting. With her free hand, she dug around in their personal junk. When her probing uncovered something cold and slimy under the seat, she jerked her hand back. Shivering and screwing up her face, she cautiously sniffed at the substance on her fingertips, and discovering only mayonnaise, she grinned. Her stomach rumbling lightly in anticipation, she sent her hand flying back around the edge of the seat and snatched the bag containing the fresh, cold Sandwich.
To be continued...
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