Natalie looked toward the face of the fourth passenger, the man with his head in her lap. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but the weight of his head on her thighs, the rumbling vibration as he struggled to breathe and the sticky moist effects of the oozing wound under the diaper gave more than a casual witness to his presence. She wondered what kind of life choices it took to become someone like Hank. She knew nothing of his short lived rock-n-roll fame, but as she reasoned, she imagined that some trial or combination of misfortunes had turned him into this tortured soul. That despondency would have imprinted an ugly scar on his psyche and driven him to find ways to compensate for the deficiencies. More than one road would have opened to him, yet it was apparent Hank headed down the path of least resistance, one often travelled by men of such mind. He sold his soul to abuse, without any respect for himself and with little for others. Then, in the course of time, this led him to become an abuser and he vented his recompense on her. Now it would most likely cost him his life.
As they waited, the only constant was the wheezing, gurgle coming from Hank’s lungs as he labored for breath. To put her hands around his neck and cut off the blood supply to his brain wasn’t a malicious thought. He was going to die anyway and probably soon; it would have been an act of mercy in some ways. However, whether she believed in it or not, since childhood she had been taught that if she killed him now, she would send him to Hell. She didn’t want that responsibility despite his assault. She may have started his descent, but let God take His own course and finish it on His timetable.
Tony had made it clear that her security was inherently tied to Hank’s. Of course, he didn’t have to die, but Tony wouldn’t raise a finger to save him because that might threaten his safety. So with a death sentence, she needed to keep him alive as long as possible.
Unless there was a way to escape.
A few silent minutes passed broken only by the swish of an occasional car on the highway and the low wheeze in Hank’s lungs. When he coughed again, Natalie used the distraction of the sound to find the purse she had placed at her feet. She began to search the outside pockets for the long steel fingernail file she had found while she had been imprisoned in the trunk. She leaned forward a little to reach inside and the seat spring creaked.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tony’s shout sent a chill down Natalie’s spine.
“Just adjusting Hank a little,” she claimed, and slipped her fingers into the first pocket. The file wasn’t there. “His head is heavy and my leg is falling asleep.” She reached for the pocket on the other side, which meant she had to bend forward just a bit further.
“You damn well better get used to it,” Tony scoffed. “Once we get going, you’re likely to have him in your snatch for a long time.”
Natalie bristled at first but then let the objective slur go. Her fingertips slipped over steel. She braced it against the inside of the pocket and slipped it slowly out. Satisfied, she relaxed back into the seat again.
“That’s better,” she said with conversational tone. She needed Tony to think she had resigned herself to her fate.
Next, she felt the inside door panel with her left hand until she located the door handle. Now she just had to wait, something she had become quite practiced at over the last twenty hours. She breathed deep and fixed—in through the nose out through the mouth—to steady her nerves and slow her racing pulse.
After they settled into the almond orchard, Tony had pulled the revolver out of his waist band and laid it on the seat between his legs. It had been more than a day and half since he had seen a bed for longer than a couple of hours and, except for some not-long-enough naps, he had very little sleep. He had hoped for a night’s rest at the motel, but that had been sabotaged by Natalie’s escape attempt. Coupled with the endless driving, the drunk he killed and now with Hank shot, wound him as tight as one of Hank’s old snare drums. He just wanted to close his eyes. Fatigued beyond anyone’s recognition and his head too heavy to hold up, he slid down until his head rested against the back of the seat. The gun fell to the floor without his notice, and his eyelids sagged and went shut.
It had been no more than twenty minutes since the two sheriff’s cruisers had first passed by the concealed car. Natalie thought she knew what Tony had had in mind, and if she was right, she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer. She had studied the grove as best she could in the filtered moonlight and occasional headlamps, and thought she had found a way out.
She had the door handle in her left hand and the fingernail file in her right. Poised to stab like a knife, she placed her thumb tight over the blunt end. She knew it wouldn’t do much damage, but it might disorient Tony long enough to get a few steps ahead. He had scooted down in the seat and she hoped he’d fallen asleep. That too would improve her odds.
Within five minutes she heard the whine of the first siren. She had to act now or give up like she had done twice before while imprisoned in the trunk. She felt buoyant due to her successful assault on Hank.
At the same moment she pulled the handle of her door, she reached up to thrust the fingernail file toward Tony’s right ear canal. She missed the opening and connected only with cartilage. It fell right out, but she hoped it was enough to pull his attention away from her for the few seconds she needed. She forced the door open with her left shoulder. The dry hinge gave a loud squawk, but she leapt from the car and headed in a diagonal path between the trees toward the pavement.
_____
©
Jearl Rugh 2012
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