Free Whirlwind by Joseph Garber

rim. Was it some sort of prize an award for athletic prowess?
    No wedding ring, he eyed her with the gaze of a proud man used to women’s admiration.
    An athlete he could be nothing else. He broke his leg in an accident, and was invalided for months. Whatever his sport rodeo, I think he was injured so badly that he can play no more. His recuperation was long and expensive. Now he has little money and no work. He wears new slacks and shirt because his old clothes no longer fit, because they are as flamboyant as his boots, because this morning he wishes to make a good impression. He is a man who is who has been interviewing for a store clerk’s job.
    The phrase “target of opportunity” came to mind.
    “Lady, listen up. I’m talkin’ to you.”
    Irina’s English was too perfect. Its unaccented precision proclaimed her a foreigner, although none who heard her could guess her nationality. Slurring her words drunkenly would disguise that. “”S not your truck. “S my truck. You think I dunno my truck when I shee it.”
    “Ma’am, I’m tellin’ you that one ain’t yours.” The hardness in his bearing loosened, and his voice edged toward courtliness an almost imperceptible change in tone revealing a vulnerability, telling her how to exploit it.
    She tossed her head, let her hair fall over her face, giving him a peek-a-boo look. “”S too. I got my keys right here… oops-a-daisy.” Her purse tumbled to the pavement, its contents scattering. The man glanced down. Irina slid her shim into her hip pocket. “Aw, now look what you’ve gone and made me do.” She fell to her knees. He, chivalry in his warm brown eyes, squatted on his hams, helping her pick up wallet, coin purse, nail clippers, hair brush, and (with some embarrassment) a paper-wrapped Tampax.
    “Shee. Shee right here. My keys. My truck. Jus’ like I said.”
    “Ma’am, with respect, them ain’t Dodge keys. That there is a Ford logo.” Politely spoken a cowboy gentleman who was always courteous to the ladies.
    She held the keys up, closed one eye, focused the other a little beyond where it should have been. “Awww, you’re right.” She stood, as did he. “Usin’
    my sister’s car today. Awww, I’m sorryyy.” With that she fell forward, her arms around his neck. “Forgive me?” She let herself slump, her breasts rubbing against his chest. “I jus’ got a little confused. We had us a party las’ night. All us waitresses. Boss man’s gonna be sore when he opens the wine cellar. Whoops! I bet I gotta go on unemployment again.”
    His smile said he was on her side. “Must a-been some fine party.”
    “Didn’t end ‘til the wine was all ll gone. Now everyone’s gone. All gone home. An’ I gotta find my car an’ go home too.” She forced herself to burp. “”Scuse me.”
    He reacted to her intentionally foolish proposal as she’d hoped. “Ma’am, I’d say you ain’t in any condition to drive. “Sides which the local law takes DUI pretty serious.”
    “Aw, that’s nothin’ to worry about. I just give ‘em my phone number an’ they tear up the ticket. I got nothin’ against datin’ big guys, y’know guys with muscles jus’ like you.”
    Drunkenly seductive, she smiled sweetly. He seemed at a loss for words, although clearly his thoughts were turning in the direction she wanted. “My car, sister’s car actshully, oooo… now where could it be? Big blue whatchy-macallit Ford thingy. I’ll just get in an drive out to the inner state an’ ever’ thing be just fine.”
    “I’d reckon that to be really one seriously poor idea.”
    Irina smiled inwardly. His face told her that the seed was well planted. “You gotta better one? What? You wanna drive me home instead? Okay. Thass an okay idea.” She leaned against him again, watching his cheeks flush. In a moment or two, he’d be hers.
    He pursed his lips. “I suppose. Problem is, if I drove your car, then once I got you home I’d have to call me a taxicab to get