A duel fought between an old homeless woman and a vicious young serial killer, in a remote Florida wilderness. Sometimes in the swamp it is hard to tell the hunter from the prey. If you like the story then take a moment and give me a vote and maybe even a comment. I hope that you enjoy it.
The cop looked hard at the old woman as he plundered through her things on the hood of his cruiser. There wasn't much in the way of money, a few coins and two one-dollar bills. The thing that the cop was hassling her over was the razor blades; the old girl had half a dozen single edge blades still with the cardboard wrapped to protect the blade and the person carrying them.
"You use these to chop your coke with?" The cop glared hard at the old woman hoping to frighten her into saying she did.
She was too smart for that though as she answered him, "No, I use them for scrapping glass when I clean cars." She knew why the guy was in her shit so bad. They didn't want people hitting up the folks going in the Wal-Mart store. They would let the churches in town set up tables and ask for money, but they refused to allow an old woman like herself to ask people for help on their property.
"OK," the cop said as he pushed her stuff back into the sack she had been carrying when they stopped her, "I'll going to let you go this time, but don't let me catch you again or I'll see that you get locked up for a few days." He handed her the bag and pointed to the highway. "I want to see you out of here right now."
As Rita turned to leave she thought that she saw a guy that she had met once before, maybe he could give her a ride. She started to trot toward where his car was moving slowly down the line of parked cars. She looked back once to be sure that the cops had gone on about their business, and was happy to see that they were driving away in the other direction. Fucking pigs, she thought to herself as she closed in on her next mark.
The killer had seen the old woman before, once in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart and once over at the Winn-Dixie, panhandling for change. She was about fifty or so, her hair, once blonde was now something less than blonde more of an off-white sort of color. Her body was trim, probably as much from hunger as from exercise. She was almost running as she came toward his car, like she was afraid that he might leave before she got to him.
Rita had hit on this guy before, she couldn't remember how much she had gotten but he was an easy mark, she just needed to get him to stop and let her talk to him for a minute or so. If she could get him to give her a ride she would most likely get a fiver or maybe even a ten spot before it was over. Hell, maybe he would want a blow job and she could hit him for twenty-five bucks, enough to buy a crack-rock. She just needed to get him to stop.
He studied her as she approached him. You could still see traces of the beauty that she once possessed in her younger days; there was still a physical fire burning inside the old girl, you could see it in the way she was exerting herself as she ran toward his car. He had only heard her talk on one occasion and that was when she hit him up for money as he was getting into his car. She had seemed sharp with a nimble mind when she spoke to him. He had given her two dollars, not as aid, rather more as a salute to her spirit.
"Sir." She called out to him again as her outstretched hand came into contact with his car's front fender. "Sir, could you help me out? I need a ride down to the Palm Grove Motel, are you heading that direction?" As she spoke she sort of caressed his car's fender letting her hands trail along the warm smooth surface until she faced the man with her hands on the roof of his car.
Having placed herself like she had, she now offered a view that was quite enticing to the man. He looked up into her face and saw the pretend pleading in her eyes. He liked the scene, her hands reaching above her head, the pleading expression, even if faked, sold him. She had called him Sir, he always made his victims call him that, it seemed like a sign. He decided that he wanted her.
"Sure, jump in." He reached across the car to open the passenger door as she ran around the front of the car, moving like she was in pretty good shape for her age. His eyes did a quick scan of the parking area, nobody seemed to be giving them any attention as the old woman slid into his car. The door closing behind her sounded solid but muted, as it shut her into his world, separating her from the rest of the world outside his car. He drove toward the parking lot exit, merging into the lines of cars waiting to blend into the highway traffic.
The cold eyes of the killer ran over her body as she settled into her seat. She was dressed in white shorts and a pink T-shirt. She must've been out working the parking lot for a while because her shirt was soaked through with sweat in several dark patches. The AC vent blowing on her sweaty T-shirt was making her nipples get hard, becoming clearly visible even though she wore a bra. He reached out to turn the blower on the air to the highest setting.
"It's awfully hot out there today, this will cool you down in a hurry." He directed the vent so that the chilled air was aimed right at her chest.
He moved his eyes back to the road but not before he saw that her eyes were green. Green like the color of shallow river water when the sun hits it just right. She still had young eyes though she must be close to sixty.
Brushing sweaty hair from her face, she caught him studying her. Rita had seen the interest in the man's eyes as he let them slide over her body. She was a creature of the streets and knew how to play an opening, hell; she had been playing this game all her life.
"You are right about that, it's been so hot today, I thought that I was going to melt." Her eyes tried to find his as she shook out a cigarette. "Do you mind if I smoke?" she asked.
"Yes, I do mind, please don't." The man had spoke but his face had remained facing forward, watching the road and his mirrors. He continued, "I've seen you before, asking for money in the parking lots, is that all you do?"
She recognized that he knew how the game was played too, and the ball was back in her court. "I used to detail cars for the Ford place but they let me go when I flunked a piss test. I was real good at detailing cars, and I liked doing it too. But nowadays I just look for anything to pick up a few coins." She waited for his mind to pick up on the 'anything', that always meant the same thing to men, sex.
The killer turned to her and openly let his eyes stroke her body from head to toe. "Anything takes in a lot of territory. How much do you make on an average day of begging in the parking lots?"
Rita did not like his use of the word 'begging'; somehow she didn't think of herself as a beggar, she felt that she was just an older woman doing what she had to do to get by. She felt the weight of his gaze as his eyes slowly scanned her body, making her feel as though she were on display. Both of them knew what they were talking about, now she had to fix a price.
"On a good day I can pick up fifty dollars."
The man gave her a chilly smile as he answered. "I bet that is a very good day when you make fifty dollars, but I will believe you if you say it is so. So if I wanted you to work for me I would need to pay you fifty dollars a day?"
"It would depend on what you wanted me to do. What did you have in mind?" Rita asked the question as she watched the motel coming into view ahead.
The killer watched the woman's hands as they fingered the forbidden cigarette, he saw the alarm in her eyes as they drove past the driveway for the motel.
"I have to run some errands and then if you want to, I'll buy us some lunch at the diner. You don't mind do you?" He let his eyes focus on her tits, the cold air had done its job, the nipples were hard and clearly visible as they tried to crash through the thin fabric of her shirt. "So what's your name and how did you wind up like this at this time of your life?"
"Rita," she heard herself reply. She did not like the way he was taking charge of things, she felt like a prisoner, trapped in this car as it sped out of town and into the swampy Florida wilderness. "I had a few bad breaks, went with some bad choices, and this is where it landed me."
She tried to hide her fear as she looked at the man beside her. He was about thirty-five or so and had kept himself in shape. He had dark hair that he wore short, his face was clean-shaven with no visible adornments like chains or other types of jewelry. His eyes were gray like the sky on a winery day, but they seemed colder. He turned to her and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the seat between them.