46 Chapter Forty Six / American Muscle

The kidnapper stood in his bathroom naked drinking an ice cold can of Coke. He had turned the shower on and was waiting for the water to get just warm enough to be tolerable. He stared into the bathroom mirror for a full minute almost as if he was examining a stranger looking through a window at him. He placed the can on the edge of the sink and then flexed like how he had seen Lou Ferrigno flex as the Incredible Hulk on the TV show and growled at the reflection in the mirror as if he was attempting to scare it. Then satisfied with his frightening visage he smiled and slicked back his filthy hair as if he was trying to be smooth in front of a woman. “Yeah that’s my vintage American muscle you just heard roll up into the parking lot.” He was answering to the adoring group of young ladies in his head that were impressed with his now primered grey Plymouth Duster.
“Have any of you ladies ever gone 200 miles an hour?” He stepped back and made a surprised look into the mirror.

“You haven’t? Well then you really haven’t lived yet then have you?” stepping back thoroughly impressed with himself he took another long drink from the Coke can, gulping it down and making a noise reminiscent of a pig in a trough and then once again setting it down on the sink……..and then just staring at the can like he needed to remember something and then picturing the soda can that Grace had been drinking out of the night before while eating HIS pizza.

“That little sneaky slut!” He hit the can knocking it into the shower stall and walked toward the living room grabbing a pair of jeans that were laying over an old recliner and an old pair of white off brand tennis shoes pulling the jeans on at the same time while shoving his feet into the shoes making his way out the front door just in time to see Jay Branch and his daughter running over the large dirt hill at the edge of his property. He screamed an incoherent word into the sky and then turned quickly and went back into the house; first grabbing a t-shirt and pulling it over his head and then removing the Dusters keys from the hook by the front door. Stumbling and almost falling from the porch out onto the dirt yard he headed straight for the old Plymouth and opened the driver side door, sliding behind the steering wheel while checking the passenger seat to make sure that the sawed off pistol grip shotgun he had left there was still comfortably resting in its place. He stepped on the gas and sprayed dirt, rocks and other debris across the front of the house and then headed down the long winding dirt driveway towards Royal Road.

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