The Grid by Harry Hunsicker Read Free Book Online Page A

the rest, eyes closed, trying to control her breathing, slow her heart rate.
    Rap-rap-rap. Knocking on the glass by her head.
    Sarah jerks her eyes open, looks out the windshield.
    A man in a plaid shirt, the sleeves ripped off, stands there, staring at Sarah’s breasts, his eyes wide.
    She hurriedly closes the jacket. Grabs the handbag with the Python from the passenger’s seat, slides it onto her lap. The weight of the revolver is comforting.
    “What do you want?” Sarah says.
    “You all right?” The man’s voice is muffled by the glass.
    Sarah stares at the stranger, at the tattoos around his neck. He’s in his forties and pudgy, pear-shaped. His hair is dyed black, shaved on the sides, spiky on top.
    “I thought you were gonna roll over back there.” His voice sounds husky but vaguely feminine.
    Sarah squints at the stranger’s throat. After a moment, she realizes the man doesn’t have an Adam’s apple.
    He is a she.
    “I’m fine,” Sarah says. “Just a little shaky.”
    “I got a flat, too,” she says. “We must have hit the same patch of bad road.”
    Sarah realizes that if she’s going to get to Dallas, she needs to be nice to this person. Her other options are limited at the moment.
    She glances in the rearview mirror and sees a gray van, a Ford, maybe twenty yards back. One of the front tires is shredded. The woman with the spiky black hair had no choice but to stop where she did, right behind Sarah and the stolen Monte Carlo.
    Sarah opens the door and gets out. She slings the handbag over her shoulder. Wind from passing vehicles ripples their clothes, whips Sarah’s hair around her head.
    “My name’s Cleo,” the woman says.
    “I’m Sarah. You don’t by any chance have a jack and a spare tire for an old Monte Carlo, do you?”
    “What about the trunk?”
    “I lost the keys,” Sarah says. “All I have is the spare to the ignition.”
    The woman stares at the Monte Carlo and then at Sarah. “That’s a problem, isn’t it?”
    Sarah nods.
    “Aren’t you hot in that jacket?” Cleo says. “I’m sorry, couldn’t help but notice earlier when, well, you know.”
    “It is pretty warm today.” Sarah unzips the coat about halfway. “I didn’t pack very well for this trip.”
    Cleo stares at her cleavage.
    “Maybe you could give me a ride?” Sarah smiles. The feeling of control allows her a sliver of hope that she might make it home.
    Cleo gulps. Takes a step back.
    “I just need to get to Dallas.” Sarah wipes a trickle of sweat from her left breast. “I won’t be any problem at all.”
    Cleo closes her eyes, mumbles to herself, an expression of extreme distress on her face.
    Sarah tries to figure out what’s wrong but draws a blank. Maybe her new friend only goes for other butch types. Maybe she’s not into girlie girls.
    “Are you okay?” Sarah asks.
    Cleo opens her eyes. She hugs herself, stares off into the distance.
    Sarah wonders if the keys are in the van. That would be the easiest solution. Leave the dyke on the side of the road and hightail it in a new vehicle.
    “You are a temptation,” Cleo says.
    “Uh, look, I just need a ride to Dallas.” Sarah zips up her coat. “I won’t be doing any more tempting.”
    Cleo opens her eyes. “You are an offspring of Satan himself. I must be strong.”
    Sarah hears a loud whooshing noise, a roar that is above and beyond the traffic on the interstate. She is thirteen again, and her cousin is in town. He’s two years older, her mother’s nephew. He’s good-looking, like a Ralph Lauren ad, and Sarah is just starting to have that tickle between her legs when she’s around an attractive boy.
    They’re in the pool house when they get caught, half naked, groping on each other.
    Sarah touches her cheek. She can still feel the sting of her mother’s hand, smell the wine on her breath. Hear the hate-filled words: You are the devil’s own child. Her mother’s face inches from her own. You are as bad as your