Rob felt like crying, but his eyes remained dry. Actual tears would only deepen his shame. The voice of his conscience was right. There was no way to absolve himself of his complicity in this heinous act. This was wrong. Flat-out fucking wrong. So that made him a bad guy. Okay, yeah, he wasn’t the one pulling the trigger, but big deal. He was letting it happen, which made him just as bad as Roxie.
The man was out of the trunk now. He stood up straight and blinked against the bright sunlight. He was a pudgy guy in his thirties. He wore dirty jeans and a wrinkled old Star Wars T-shirt. The guy looked at the gun and whined. He was pathetic. The aging nerd had probably been getting his ass handed to him since grammar school. Why should the last day of his miserable life be any different?
He had been a ridiculously easy mark. An hour of cruising the tawdrier parts of Starkweather, North Carolina, had led them to an apartment complex called the Shire, a name that elicited predictable giggles from Roxie. The complex was not a hive of activity that early on a working day. Most of the parking spaces were empty. Just one car had been parked outside of building G, the beat-up old Tercel belonging to Mr. Lucky here. He’d come out of his apartment and approached his car at just the wrong time (for him). It was stunning how fast it happened. The fat moron just gaped stupidly at Roxie as she leaped out of the Galaxie and brandished the gun at him. She whipped the gun across his face, snapping teeth and drawing blood. Then she snatched his keys from his hand, got the Tercel’s trunk open, and shoved him inside. It had all happened in just over a minute, and no one had seen a thing. No one inclined to do anything about it anyway. Roxie took the Tercel and Rob followed her to a nearby gas station, where Roxie purchased the atlas and outlined her plans. So now they had their new car.
And one last loose end to tie up.
Roxie waved the gun toward the line of trees on her right. “That way, fucker.”
The man glanced at the woods, licked his lips, and looked at Roxie again. “You’re about to kill me. Aren’t you?”
Roxie snickered. “Fatty wins the prize.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere. And the name’s Greg, not Fatty.”
Roxie glowered at him. “I care why?”
Greg sucked up his courage and sneered at her. “Don’t you think you should know the name of the person you’re killing? Maybe it makes it a little less impersonal, right? Like you’re killing an actual human being instead of a thing.” He shook his head. “I’m not a thing. You can’t kill me with no more thought than you’d give to squashing a bug.” His bottom lip began to tremble again. “It isn’t right. So you can just shoot me here, bitch. I’m not doing a death march for you.”
Roxie whipped the gun across his face, staggering him, then swung it back around for another blow. He fell back against the trunk and Roxie shoved the.38’s barrel deep inside his open mouth. She leaned close to him, spraying his sweat-sheened face with spittle as she pushed out a string of tightly enunciated words: “You fuck. You fat fucking fuck. You’re less than a bug. You’re nothing. Think I can’t make this hard, you fucking geek? Think I can’t make you beg? Start walking or you’ll find out just how low I can take you, bitch.”
She stepped away from him and grabbed him by the neck, shoved him toward the woods. He staggered in that direction, cried out, glanced once over his shoulder, and kept walking. He was broken. It was painfully easy to see. He would do whatever Roxie said from this point on, despite knowing there was no way to alter the final outcome of his desperate plight.
Rob followed them into the woods. This patch of wilderness was thick with wildly growing vegetation. There were leafy vines, plants, and bushes everywhere. He was thankful for his jeans and long sleeves. He couldn’t identify poison oak or ivy by sight, but there were enough prickly, strangely shaped leaves about to worry him. As always, Roxie just barged ahead, completely heedless of the potential dangers of nature. Rob hung back several feet, watching Roxie and the condemned man with a wary eye. He kept expecting Greg to bolt, maybe catch them by surprise and hope to get far enough away to seek cover in the woods. It was what Rob would do in his position. What other option was there? It would be futile, of course. The guy was fat and slow. Roxie was young and fit. She would pursue him, eventually take him down. Maybe she was hoping Greg would make a break for it. Hell, she would probably enjoy chasing her quarry through the woods, safe in the knowledge there was no way he could successfully elude her for long.
Roxie glanced over her shoulder at Rob. “Look at this fuck, Rob. All that fucking blubber. It’s disgusting, right?”
“I…guess.”
Roxie snorted and turned her attention back to Greg, whose already plodding pace was slowing by the minute. “Damn right it is. We should call Sea World, let them know one of their whales escaped. Hey, Greg. How did you get so far inland? You some kind of amphibian mutant humpback piece of shit?”
Greg didn’t say anything, just kept shuffling forward.
Roxie laughed.
The mocking cruelty disturbed Rob, but it didn’t surprise him. This was an absolutely unrepentant, cold-blooded killer. Cruelty was deeply ingrained in her nature. Greg was going to die. No doubt about it. Still, he should be allowed some small measure of dignity. Rob briefly considered voicing this opinion and immediately thought better of it. It wouldn’t help Greg. And it might earn him a world of grief in the bargain. So he kept his mouth shut and kept walking, did his best to tune out her relentless barrage of belittling insults.
Sweat dampened the fabric of his shirt beneath the armpits. Rob wasn’t sure how long they’d been out here or how far they’d come. Long enough to work up a sweat, anyway. A glance over his shoulder confirmed they’d come far enough to lose all sight of the road and the cars. They were surrounded by wilderness. It made him feel claustrophobic, which was an odd thing to feel in the “great outdoors.” They kept trudging forward. Another sweat stain spread across the back of his shirt, causing the fabric to adhere to his flesh. Then, just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, they arrived at a place where there was a bit more space between the tightly bunched trees, a sort of miniclearing.
“You can stop now, whale boy.”
Greg was barely moving by this point. Coming to a halt required minimal effort. He stopped in his tracks and stared up at a tree directly ahead of him. Dim, unintelligible words emerged from his mouth.
Roxie giggled. “He’s praying.“
Rob thought, Who wouldn’t?
Roxie had been holding the gun down by her side. She lifted it now and aimed it squarely at the man’s back. Rob hoped she’d just pull the trigger and be done with it rather than draw it out any longer.
He should have known better.
“Turn around, fucker.” Roxie wasn’t giggling now. Her voice was hard and cold again. “Now, bitch! I don’t mean later today or tomorrow. TURN THE FUCK AROUND RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”
Greg turned around and stared at the ground. His mouth was still moving, rapidly, as he hurried to share his last conscious thoughts with God.
“Knock that shit off and look at me, Greg.”
The use of his actual name in place of an epithet apparently got his attention. Greg opened his eyes and stared right at her. His eyes were wet. A snot bubble swelled from one nostril and popped.
Roxie smiled. “Good boy. Now get on your knees.”
There was no fight at all left in this man. He dropped slowly to his knees with a pained grunt and stared up at her.
Roxie stepped toward him and placed the barrel of the gun against his forehead. “Keep your eyes open, Greg. Do it or I’ll make this worse, I promise. You believe me, don’t you?”
Greg kept his eyes open and replied with a very slight nod.
Roxie smiled again. “Good. I’ve got a question for you, Greg. You don’t really want to die today, do you?”