It was almost midnight by the time I got to the outskirts of Las Vegas. The entire city was before me as I turned a corner, the lights laid out beautifully like a gigantic spider web. How could a city that was so beautiful be so filthy and sinful? Even its suburbs like Boulder City housed an evil liar, a man low enough to betray my trust. Such evil deserved to be punished.
I pulled over at a small unmanned gas station without a supermarket. The car's empty gas symbol had been flashing for the last ten miles. I inserted Oily Hair's credit card in the slot, pressed the button for the lowest grade of gas, and refilled the tank. The total came up to sixty dollars, all charged to Oily Hair's account.
I lowered my head to make sure the overhead security camera did not capture my face. I was wearing Oily Hair's leather jacket, which reached down to my thighs. My hair was about the same length as Oily Hair, so the low resolution monochrome camera should confirm that it was him at the gas station, corroborating the evidence from the credit card swipe.
After closing the lid to the gas tank, I fired up the engine and drove to the back of the gas station, where the only toilet was located. There was another car in front, so I killed the engine and sat in the car, patiently waiting. I looked around to make sure there were no cameras at the back of the gas station. Oily hair had an old-fashioned revolver in glove compartment, which I held between my legs.
It had only been a few hours since Arizona, but the shock of his near-hanging ordeal must have loosened his bladder muscles. I did not want the naked Oily Hair, bound and gagged in the trunk of his own Ford Taurus, to mess up the car. It would distract law enforcement from coming to the easy conclusion that Oily Hair, an obvious criminal figure, had murdered Don.
A tall skinny man, wearing torn jeans and a sleeveless shirt, emerged from the bathroom. He had his keys in his hands, and was about to enter his car when he saw me from the corner of his eye. He walked to the side of the Taurus, tapping the window, rotating his arm, simulating what he thought was necessary to wind down the window. I pushed the button on the side of the driver's window.
"Yes?" I hid the gun under the leather jacket, pointing sideways at him.
"Lady, the bathroom is blocked. I could not flush after I did my business." He leaned over to look inside. He did not have a weapon, and the one inch gap did not allow him to reach inside. The doors were locked.
"Thank you for telling me."
"If you're heading into the city, the next gas station is just ten miles away."
"Okay. Thanks for letting me know."
"Or you could come to my place, which is only one mile away, in the foothills of the Mount Wilson Wilderness area." He winked as he spoke, his eyebrows moving up when he completed the sentence. He had seen my face and I was trying to decide whether to squeeze the trigger. There were no witnesses except Oily Hair in the trunk. He would not see what happened, and would make a bad witness in court.
"How bad is the blockage in there?" I decided to give him a chance. It was against my personal code to kill innocent bystanders. I did not believe in collateral damage.
"Come out here and let me show you." He turned his back and started walking to the bathroom.
I placed the revolver back in the glove box, took the keys, and followed at a safe distance. The winds in the desert were surprisingly strong, slicing into my bare legs. I walked barefoot on the sand, avoiding the sharp stones.
He was inside the one-person stall. "Look, there's too much paper stuck inside." His voice echoed off the concrete walls.
