I didn't tell her this. I might be a killer, but I'm not mean.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
She sighed, scratching her neck, posture changing from demure seductress to one of the guys.
“Anywhere. Nowhere. I don't have a clue. This was a spur of the moment thing. One of my girlfriends just called, said my former pimp was coming after me.”
“How former?”
“I left him yesterday. He was a selfish bastard.”
She was quiet for a while. I fumbled to crank the air higher, forgetting where the knob was. It was already up all the way. I glanced over at Thor, watched her shoulders quiver in time with her sobs.
“You love him,” I said.
She sniffled, lifted up her chin.
“He didn't care about me. He just cared that I took his shit.”
This got my attention.
“You holding?” I asked. Codeine didn't do as good a job as coke or heroin.
“No. Never so much as smoked a joint, if you can believe it.”
I would have raised an eyebrow, but they hadn't grown back yet. Maybe I'd be dead before they did.
“It's true, handsome. Every perverted little thing I've ever done I've done stone cold sober. Lots of men think girls like me are all messed up in the head. I'm not. I have zero identity issues, and my self esteem is fine, thank you.”
“I've never met a hooker with any self esteem,” I said.
“And I've never met a car thief on chemotherapy.”
I glanced at her again. Waited for the explanation.
“You couldn't find the climate control,” Thor said. “And you're so stoned on something you never bothered to adjust the seat or the mirrors. Vicodin?”
I nodded, yawned.
“You okay to drive?”
“I managed to pick you up without running you over.”
Thor clicked open a silver-sequined clutch purse and produced a compact. She fussed with her make-up as she spoke, dabbing at her tears with a foundation sponge.
“So why did you pick me up?” she asked. “You're not the type who's into transgender.”
“You're smart. Figure it out.”
She studied me, staring for almost a full minute. I shifted in my seat. Being scrutinized was a lot of work.
“You stole the car in Chicago, so you've been on the road for about six hours. You're zonked out on painkillers, probably sick from chemotherapy, but you're still driving at two in the morning. I'd say you just robbed a bank, but you don't seem jumpy or paranoid like you're running from something. That means you're running to something. How am I doing so far?”
“If I had any gold stars, you'd get one.”
She stared a bit longer, then asked.
“What's your name?”
“Phineas Troutt. People call me Phin.”
“Sort of a strange name.”
“This from a girl named Thor.”
“My father loved comic books. Wanted a tough, macho, manly son, thought the name would make me strong.”
I glanced at her. “It did.”
Thor smiled. A real smile, not a hooker smile.
“Are you going to Rice Lake to commit some sort of crime, Phin?”
“That isn't the question. The question is why I picked you up.”
“Fair enough. If I still believed in knights in shining armor, I'd say you picked me up because you felt bad for me and wanted to help. But I think your reason was purely selfish.”
“And that reason is?”
“You were falling asleep behind the wheel, and needed something to keep you awake.”
I smiled, and it morphed into a yawn.
“That's a damn good guess.”
“But is it true?”
“I'm definitely enjoying the company.”
She kept watching me, but it was more comfortable this time.
“So who are you going to kill in Rice Lake, Phin?”
I stayed quiet.
“No whore ever gets into a car without checking the back seat,” Thor said. “A forty dollar trick can turn into a gang rape freebie, a girl's not careful.”
I wondered what she meant, then remembered what was lying on the back seat. What I hadn't bothered to put away. “You saw the gun.”
“People normally keep those things hidden. You should try to be inconspicuous.”
“I'm not big on inconspicuous.”
“That box of baby wipes. Are you a proud papa, or are they for something else?”
“Sometimes things get messy.” Which was an understatement. “So if you saw the gun, why did you get in?”
Thor laughed, throaty and seductive. She could shrug the whore act on and off like it was a pair of shoes.
“The streets are dangerous, Phin. A working girl has to carry more protection than condoms.”
She reached into the top of her knee high black vinyl boot, showed me the butt of a revolver.
“Mine's bigger,” I said.
“Mine's closer.”
I nodded. The road stretched onward, no end in sight.
“So how much do you charge, for your services?” Thor asked.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“The job. How much I need the money.”
“Does it matter who the person is?”
“No.”
“Don't you think that's cold?”
“Everyone has to die sometime,” I said. “Some of us sooner than others.”
Another stretch of silence. Another stretch of road.
“I've got eight hundred bucks,” Thor said. “Is that enough?”
“For your pimp. The selfish bastard.”
“He is. I earned this money. Earned every cent. But in this area, every whore, from the trailer girls to the high class escorts, has to pay Jordan a cut.”
“And you didn't pay.”
“He knows how important my transformation is. One more operation, and I'm all woman. Holding out was the only way I could make it.”
“I thought you loved him.”
“Just like he says, love and business are two separate things.”
Her breathing sped up. Over the hum of the engine, I thought I heard her heart beating. Or maybe it was mine.
“Why don't you kill him yourself, with your little boot revolver.” I said.
“Jordan has the cops in his pocket. They'd catch me.”
“Unless you had an alibi when it happened.”
Thor nodded. “Exactly. You drop me off at a diner. I spend three hours with a cup of coffee. We both get something we need.”
I considered it. Eight hundred was twice as much as I was making on this job. Years ago, if someone told me that one day I'd drive twelve hours both ways to kill a man for a lousy four hundred bucks, I would have laughed it off.
Things change.
The pinch in my side, growing bit by bit as the minutes passed, would eventually blossom into a raw explosion of pain. I was down to my last three Vicodin, and only had twenty-eight cents left to my name. I needed more pills, along with a bottle of tequila and a few grams of coke.
Codeine for the physical. Cocaine and booze for the mental. Dying isn't easy.
“So what do you say?” Thor asked.
“What kind of man is Jordan?”
“You said it doesn't matter. Does it?”
“No.”
I waited. The car ate more road. The gas gage hovered over the E.
“He's a jerk. A charming jerk, but one just the same. I thought I loved him, once. Maybe I did. Or maybe I just loved to have a good looking man pay attention to me, make me feel special.”
“Murder will pretty much ruin any chance of you two getting back together.”
“I'll try to carry on,” she said, reapplying her lipstick.
Gas station, next exit. I made up my mind. A starving dog doesn't question why his belly is empty. His only thought is filling it.
“I'll do it,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Thor smiled big, then gave me a hug.
“Thanks, Phin. You're my knight in shining armor after all.”