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I promised this to somebody. It is long overdue.....


Suranna skipped down the sidewalk, arms swinging. She hummed "If You Could Hie to Kolob" as she fingered the .45 Long Colt she had strapped under her jacket. It had been quite a trip into the heart of Arkansas, but she was doing the Lord's work, and she was so close to her goal. She put a strike anywhere match between her teeth to look "hardcore" and walked on.

Soon, she saw the den of evil. The sanctum of debauchery where people of all kinds came to do sinful things like drink caffeine. It was... the Flying J Truck Stop. She stopped walking right at the edge of the parking lot. The sun was just beginning to set, but the parking lot was busy and active.

She smiled, rolled her shoulders back and strode right through the front door with her head high. She turned toward the counter as she thrust her hand beneath her jacket and saw two women at the cash registers. She slowly withdrew her hand and walked toward the closest one.

"Excuse me. I have a question."

The woman smiled politely. "What's that?"

"I'm looking for someone who works here. He's a colored kid. Occasionally aggressive? Thinks he's funny?"

"Ah, you mean Petros. I'll let him know someone's looking for him."

Suranna raised her hands to stop the woman, but it was too late. She reached up to her ear and pushed the button on her headset.

"Petros, there's someone here to talk to you."

She held her hand to her ear and listened for a moment. Suddenly her smile fell and she rolled her eyes.

"He said he doesn't care. Anyway, he's outside changing the trash cans on the fuel lanes. I suppose you could go talk to him out there if you felt comfortable."

Suranna looked toward the door. Semi after semi pulled up to the pumps spilling greasy truckers who swarmed about like so many oversized rats. Suddenly, her eyes detected movement, she watched a distant figure hop out of a golf cart, grab a bag of trash out of a trash can and throw the bag in the cart. That was him. She knew it.

Suranna clenched her jaw and marched out the door with a purpose that must have confused the cashier. She didn't even flinch when, on the way out the door, a large trucker in a dirty wife beater smiled a black smile through a nicotine stained beard and said, "Slow down little lady. Stay a while. Might be fun for both of us."

She did flinch, however, when his smell hit her nose. Feces and cigarette smoke were the strongest notes, and she refused to think further than that on the subject. She stormed past and out to the first semi pump. Luckily, that's exactly where Petros was at the moment.

As Suranna approached, she caught aloud conversation he was having with a trucker in an orange turban.

"You can't park there. The truck behind you has to fuel reefer."

"I will only be few minutes," came the choppy, heavily accented reply.

"That's a few minutes too long. He is trying to fuel now. You can park in a parking spot."

"It's not my problem. He fuel too fast. I just need to buy a few things."

"It's about to be your problem, now go move the truck. Until then, I and everyone inside will refuse you service."

At this, the man threw a bottle at Petros and walked away. Suranna quickly caught up to him while he was getting into the trash laden golf cart and slip into the passenger seat. Petros looked at her confused, but Suranna spoke first, overwhelmed by a sudden stench.

"Why does it smell like piss."

He jerked his thumb back toward the bags of trash. "Why are you in the golf cart? And why do you smell like shrimp!?"

Suranna thought for an excuse. "I'm conducting an interview for the company."

Petros looked at her in confusion, and at that moment Suranna caught a whiff of gasoline.

"Did you get gas on you?" she asked.

"Yeah. I was trying to fix one of the hoses. Why?"

"Because this way, it'll look like an accident."

Suranna struck the match on the bottom of her boot and flicked it onto Petros who immediately burst into flames flailing, screaming, and falling out of the cart. Suranna slid over to the driver's seat and drew the revolver. In the sobbing shrieks and screams, she heard the word "Suranna!?"

"The very same," she said. A staccato roar erupted from the revolver as she splattered his medium rare brains against the pavement. After a beat, she looked down at the gun.

"Oh, yeah. An accident. Right." She floored the gas pedal of the golf cart.

Beautiful thing to see someone uphold their commitments.

One down, how many to go?

Lol. I have no intention to keep my word on that scale