Her feet go down to death; her steps lead straight to the grave.

Jones turned the music up and focused on driving.

“I’m talking to you!” the skank shouted and turned it down.

Jones turned it up. She reached for the stereo, and Jones grabbed her hand.

“Let go!”

She broke free and reached for the stereo. Jones pulled his gun and pointed it her head.

“Stop.”

She crossed her arms and pouted. He put the gun in the holster and slowed for a speed camera. The odour from her clothes was nauseating, and he regretted letting her into the car without hosing her down first. The music stopped, and he rolled down the window.

“Where are you taking me?”

“From point A to point B,” he muttered.

“You could stop and let me out.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my job.”

Irritated he put the music on again. The women Boss attracted were so stupid it hurt to think of it.

“I didn’t do nothing!”

He ignored her and turned from the highway. The old road had potholes, and he slowed down to zigzag past them. She suddenly tried to open the door, and when that failed she tried to open the window.

“Let me out!”

Jones considered drawing the gun again but decided against it.

“I’ll be good to you.” She smiled and reached for him.

Her bad teeth and filthy hands disgusted him, and he wanted to kill her. Duty came first though. He turned up the driveway and stopped by the barn.

“Get out!”

Two men came out of the barn. He nodded at them, and then he backed away. The last he saw of her, she was kicking one of the men. Turning the volume up, he sang along with Marilyn Manson as he sped down the highway.

“Hold S because I am an Aint.”