Free (2005) 'Whispers In the Wind' by Michael A Diaz Page B

gibberish talk of a drunk as the woman grabbed his ass and squeezed him hard. The man stopped next to a car, fumbling in his pocket for the door key before finding it. After several attempts and more laughs from the woman, he was able to open the door, the woman falling into the seat hard. The man walked around, fumbling with his door, getting in. Several seconds later the car started and slowly the driver moved out, brake lights shining brightly in the night.
    She settled into her seat again, willing to wait as long as it was necessary for Moore when suddenly she caught movement with the corner of her eyes again and she swiveled her head like a hunting leopard searching for prey. A man was coming and seconds later the figure took form. She recognized his shape immediately and her heart started beating a painful, wild crescendo against her ribs, adrenalin surging through her, her loins hot and wet with the intensity of her emotions. It was Moore, walking slowly and not too straight toward the back of the lot.
    Next to her, on the passenger seat, rested the axe, clean and shiny and her hand reached for it, knowing the moment to kill another one of the bad people was close at hand. Her eyes followed the figure of the man without blinking, all her attention centered on the man staggering slowly toward the back of the bar…and death. She glanced at the clear light on the post, wishing she had the presence of mind to have taken it out earlier, as she had done with the one by Dunbar’s house. Now it was too late to worry about that, she thought fiercely. In the future she had to do better, she told herself, her hand gripping the axe tightly, her heart in her throat at the prospect of killing the ‘other’ man that had fucked up her life. Moore came abreast of her car and she slid down swiftly, almost contemptuously. The man was drunk, that was obvious and he was probably cold and worried about getting in his car, not looking around for anybody. The man stopped a few feet from her car and suddenly a lighter flared in the semidarkness of the parking lot, illuminating the face. The man brought the lighter to his face, cupping his hand to shelter the flame from the wind, blowing a plume of smoke seconds later. The man resumed his stumbling gait, almost reaching his car, hesitating briefly and almost turning around, like a man that had suddenly remembered something important. The next second the man was doubling up, retching, almost falling in his desire to keep vomit from getting on his shoes, stumbling and cursing. A grin flickered briefly on the beautiful face at the man’s predicament and her eyes followed him. She saw him wiping his mouth and then fumbling with the keys, much like the other drunk had, body swaying in the cold wind. She opened the door to the SUV quietly, her hand bringing the axe close to her side. Another foul man was about to die and she could hardly restrain herself. Deep blue eyes, cold and hard, took in her surroundings with a quick glance. Everything was quiet, deserted, just the cold and the whispering wind and a killer. The black clad figure started walking, her long legs closing the distance between her and the man swiftly.
    * * * *
    Officer Pete Moore walked slowly toward his car, his alcohol soaked brain almost incapacitated. He burped noisily, tasting the sourness in his mouth and a grin flickered briefly on the weathered face, remembering the whore inside the bar. She had tried her best to get him to buy her drinks, tried to get him to take her home with him. Like he needed a stupid whore to go anywhere with him. Besides, Gloria was all fucked up with the damn cocaine and he had just about enough of her. He had slapped the hell out of her and then some Joe in the bar had taken her out and away from him. ‘Good riddance…bitch”, he mumbled, as his hand reached for a cigarette and the lighter, his feet going sideways when he wanted to go straight. ‘Damn, but I’m drunk”, he thought sourly,