The Bank Robber by Robert Broomall

Author:Robert Broomall [Broomall, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blue Stone Media
Published: 2013-12-03T05:00:00+00:00

16

They were both walking now. Rosie swung her arms manfully as she strode alongside Swede. She could not see how he found the trail through the rocks, the tufts of coarse grass and withered bushes. This arid wilderness all looked the same to her—one hill after another. The thick brush tore her skirt, and her legs were bleeding. She wished she had leather leggings, or whatever they called them, like Swede’s.

The trail took a steep dip. They half crawled, half slid down, with Dancer following in a shower of stones and pebbles. They reached the bottom at a run. Rosie twisted her ankle on a rock and stumbled.

“Ow!”

Swede did not stop. Rosie hobbled along after him, grimacing. “Goddamned high-heeled shoes. Why didn’t somebody tell me I’d be walking to Arizona? Hell, I ain’t even going to Arizona. No, I gotta meet some bank robber must have all of a hundred dollars reward on him—”

“Five hundred and fifty,” Swede said, turning indignantly.

“—and he’s dragging me off to Mexico. What the hell am I going to do in Mexico?” She shrugged. “Do the same thing I always done, I guess. I just hope Mexican money’s easy to work with—I ain’t much for making change.”

Swede grinned at that. As she caught up with him, he said, “What does it feel like?”

“What does what feel like?”

“You know. Whorin’.”

“Don’t feel like much of nothing. You try not to think about it. It’s a job. ’Course if they turn rough or . . . well, unusual . . . things can liven up a bit.”

They kept walking. Their path was up and down; there were no level spots. The sun hung over them like an angry god, beating down on them with hammer blows.

“Stop and take a drink,” Swede said.

Rosie limped to a halt. She removed her tom straw hat and wiped off the sweat that was pouring down her forehead. “I tell you. I can’t take no more of this. Women’s clothes are too damn hot.”

With that, she lifted her gray skirt. She paused. "Mind turning?”

“Huh?” Swede said. Then he realized what she was doing. “Oh,” he said and looked away.

“All right,” she said after a moment. “You can look now.”

Rosie’s silk pantaloons lay on the ground beside her, as did her chemise. Her torn skirt was lowered; she was rebuttoning her blouse. Swede saw her flat stomach and the pale half-moons of her breasts. “What’s that?” he said, flinching.

Rosie looked down at a jagged scar that ran from just beneath her breastbone to her navel. She lifted the edge of her blouse to show the scar’s full length. “You mean this? Fella tried to murder me one time. Dragged me into an alley, beat me, and ripped off my clothes. Then he brought out a doctor’s scalpel. Said he was gonna cut out my heart; said he’d already killed five girls the same way.”

“What did you do?”

“I screamed so loud it rattled the windows. Scared the poor devil out of his wits, and he ran away.

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