Bronwen O’Connor
 

The ride back to the house was a silent one as Bronwen stared out the window of the Challenger quietly, musing through the events of London and the suspicious plane at the airport.

"What's up?" Shane asked quietly.

"Nothing," she murmured.

"Thinking about Rachel Pitt?" He asked.

She snorted in disdain. "What's there to think about? She's all vapour, gaseous pretension."

"So, what happened in Tokyo and your weird detour to London? Is there something you wanna tell me?"

"What?" She snapped.

"Well I mean, is there something going on ....or someone?"

Bronwen felt heat rise in her cheeks.

"Yeah dude, me and Annika, we totally got it on..."

"I knew it," he said, laughing and smacking his palm on the dash.

She laughed a little, despite her fowling mood, and caught a glimpse of a Monte Carlo switching lanes a few hundred yards back with a dangerous little lean.

"Are we being followed?" She asked suddenly, sitting up and looking behind them.

"Yep," Shane affirmed. "That's why I asked you what the hell was going on. This piece of shit has been behind us for the last half an hour."

She told him what happened in London, and he listened in silence for the next ten minutes as they both silently watched the Monte Carlo rumble along like a shark, windows tinted black.

"I think he wants me ..." Bronwen finally concluded, "til death."

"Jeez baby, you're sure a hot commodity lately," Shane replied, sucking air through his teeth as the black car followed them down the interstate.

"Want burgers?'

She flipped open the glove compartment and pulled the Colt .45 out, popping eight rounds in before she jammed it into the back of her pants.

"Yeah sure baby, that would hit the spot."

"Just don't want this sick fuck to know where we live, you know?"

"Best to address these problems before they get more explosive, yeah," she agreed, as Shane pulled the car into the parking lot of a Burger Boy. The large statue was rust and acid rain stained, looming over the parking lot with a menacing shadowed expression in the late day.

They ordered two burgers and two small shakes and sat down quietly, watching the Monte Carlo pull into the parking lot. It smoothly pulled perpendicular to the rear of the challenger.

 "Aw shit....is he going to bomb my car?" Shane groaned. "I just JUST got that thing back into shape baby..."

They watched as Jagger stepped out of the vehicle and leaned impressively on the door, staring into the restaurant  icily towards them and their seat nearest the front window.

Bronwen got up, but Shane reached up and pushed her back down.

“Let him come to us,” he said calmly.

You have truly arrived Rachel. And came, cleaned up, and left. Oh wait, you’re still here, but …. You’ve got nothing left. It is plain to see that you’ve fizzled out like some ex-patriot bunking down in Mexico hiding his head in shame like a pedophile at a play ground.

Again with the condescending “young one” talk.  What a fall back stunt. Ooh, those young people and their piercings, tats and other clichéd bits of attraction. It shows your limited perception, your absolute underestimation. Your fearfulness of the new. You need a rocking chair and a porch apparently, maybe a shotgun to replace the rather pathetic scalpel.

It is true, I definitely wasn’t around to see you in your prime, but lucky me, I get sloppy seconds, the old  ratty coated cougar of F1X, behaving just as badly as those you say you eviscerate with all your lollygagging over the past and your “cred” and your history. Go ahead, masturbate yourself, put out your false aloofness for all to see. Truth is, you’re scared shitless, and you think you’re covering it up, but….I see through that. I see through you completely, and I can show you that here, in the ring, anywhere. Between you and me….no one likes to watch old ladies masturbate, so you might want to use more discretion about the shit you choose to put out on the laundry line.

In summation…eat a dick. You’ve got some serious white noise going on from my perspective. Good luck with that.