The car tyres screeched onto the highway. The engine growled in pain and smoke spilled from the exhaust, as Heather demanded more from her vehicle. 'Move, you bastard, move,' she screamed, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Whilst Rondel was still breathing, Heather knew her life was in danger. For now, distance was her only saviour. The only way she could hide from Rondel and his goons, who were probably already sniffing her trail like a pack of dogs. After all, the car was his, as well as the suitcase.
She noticed a cut to her lip, which explained the metallic taste in her mouth. Heather opened the side window and spat out the blood. She felt a twinge of anger for not finishing Rondel off. She had the chance. While Rondel was lying there, unconscious, she could have grabbed a vase or the champagne bucket and rammed it into his skull. She could have waited to listen to the gurgle of blood and spit. Each hit would have silenced him further, condemned him to his grave. He was a dog. He deserved it.
For the last few weeks she had let Rondel touch her. Do all sorts to her. She now shuddered at the thought of his mouth next to hers. Those rough hands. That rancid smell oozing from his body. His lust feeding on her like a hungry wolf. To allay her disgust, she had to cast her marble stare on the ceiling and keep telling herself it was only a means to an end.
And now the end was nigh. She looked at the rear-view mirror and saw the town buildings fade into the distance. Rondel: a mere stain on her past. Up ahead, the road markings pointed to a new destiny. Her eyes were fixed on the night horizon as neon lights slid languid and liquid over the bonnet. With a suitcase load of greens, life was hers for the taking. As long as she played it nice and cool now. Like a movie star.
Suddenly, a police vehicle flashed behind her. Sirens wailed. Her white knuckles turned whiter. She had no choice but to pull over on to the hard shoulder. She brought the car to a halt. Heather rubbed the blood off her lips and reorganised her wig. 'Play it like a movie star,' she repeated to herself, as the officer drew nearer.