art by Sandy DeLuca
“Where’d you get this sweet ride?” Brad asked me, running his hands over the leather interior. “You’ve got a CD player!” His attention was diverted by the multitude of buttons, and then he saw the moon roof, and he wanted to know all about the engine and the performance, and could he drive it for a while?
“Sure,” I said, pulling over to the shoulder.
We were on a two-lane highway near Nothing, Arizona. We switched sides, and I settled back in the BMW’s comfortable passenger seat, adjusting the climate controls. He fiddled with all the little seat adjustment knobs, and then the mirrors, and then the windows. Buttons. Give a guy enough buttons and he’ll be happy for hours.
“God, this thing’s smooth!” he purred, accelerating hard, coasting at a hundred. He looked happy, genuinely excited, for the first time in a while. I knew it would cheer him up, my brand new toy. “So where’d you get this thing, Tania? You sure as hell can’t afford a Beemer on your salary.”
He glanced over at me, grinning. I just looked out the front window at the desert landscape stretched before us and smiled my mysterious smile.
“I stole it,” I said, turning to face him. I wanted to see his reaction.
He laughed. “That’s a good one, babe. You always make me laugh.” He reached over to caress my cheek. I grabbed his hand and held it tight.
“No, seriously. I stole this car.” I was staring at him now, willing him to understand.
“You mean... you can’t be... you’re joking, right? Tania? Tell me you’re just fucking with me.” He looked a bit panicked now. He kept glancing at me, and then at the road, and then at the steering wheel where the BMW logo was imprinted in the leather. He checked the rearview mirror and then stepped on the brakes. He slowed and pulled over to the side of the road where he put the car in park and turned in his seat to look at me. “Tania...” he began.
I looked at him, curious, wondering what he’d say. But his mouth was just opening and closing. He was floundering. He didn’t know how to respond to this.
“Yes?” I prompted him. “You... I... this car is hot?” He looked as if he were counting all the surfaces he’d touched so he would know where to rub off the fingerprints.
“Uh huh.” I nodded, smiling. He was beginning to get it.
“Tania... who does this car belong to?”
“Hmm... let me think.” I put my finger on my chin, pretending that I was racking my brain. “I got it from a parking lot... with a lot of other expensive cars...” He was going white. “And... there was a Jaguar right next to it...” He looked like he might throw up. “Oh, yeah!” I said, brightly, as though suddenly remembering. “I took it from your company’s lot. I think it might belong to your boss, A.J. Do you think he’ll be mad?”
“You took... A.J.’s Beemer?!?” He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me like a doll.
“I was just going to take it for a spin,” I protested. “I’ll take it back.”
“You stupid bitch! You stole my boss’s car! Do you know what kind of SHIT I am in right now?”
He was screaming now. I was calm. “But honey, he won’t mind. We’ve been sleeping together for the past month. He gave me the keys.”
Brad's jaw dropped and he wavered between anger and shock. Then he decided on fury and lunged for my throat. I had anticipated this move and conveniently plunged the seat backwards, avoiding his murderous grip. I then produced a very large knife, which I pointed in his direction. “Hold it right there,” I whispered.
He froze, looking at the knife, and then at me. “Tania... Tania, honey, just calm down—”
“Don’t ‘Tania’ me, asshole,” I hissed, pressing the knife against his throat. He backed off, looking truly horrified. I poked the knife into his throat just enough to produce a drop of blood. He gurgled slightly. “Shh,” I whispered. “Just hold still and you won’t get hurt. Make a move and I’ll have to kill you.”
He looked like he might wet himself. “Brad, baby, why do you always have to make things so hard?” I fingered his crotch. He was limp, scared cockless. But he stiffened unavoidably as I rubbed his penis through his khakis.
“Tania... what do you want from me?” he whimpered, his voice cracking as though he were about to cry.
“Brad, baby, I just want to get you out of my hair so that A.J. and I can be together.”
“But... but... how...? Are you going to kill me?”
“Only if you make me, Brad, sweetie.” I poked the knife into his throat again to illustrate my point.
“Then... what should I do?” he asked, scared and confused.
“Take off all your clothes, Brad,” I said, popping a button off his white shirt with my big, bad knife. He looked puzzled, but he did as he was told. When he was naked, I took his clothes from him and tossed them into the back seat.
“Now, get out of the car. Slowly.” He grabbed the door handle and tumbled out onto the pavement. I got out of the car, still carrying my knife, and walked around to the driver’s side. “Now walk over there about three feet,” I said, pointing in front of the car. He did, looking alarmed, like maybe I was going to gun the engine and reduce him to a puddle of blood and tissue on the pavement.
“Now, Brad – and this is important – see the hood ornament there? That cute little BMW logo? Smile at that, honey, cus you’re on Candid Camera.” I honked the horn twice for emphasis. He looked completely bewildered, torn between relief and the desire to throttle me again.
“Yes, Braddums?” I smiled sweetly, shoving the knife onto the dashboard and placing my hands on my hips.
“You’re a fucking cunt.” He broke into a twisted grin and walked towards me with an erection the size of Texas.
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