Villains Don't Get Backstories

Chapter 3

I don't run. I carry a gun; the bullets run for me. But as I pushed out the door, I saw a sight that made me want to hightail it to the horizon. There, sitting cross-legged on the hood of my car, was the girl.

"You missed one," she noted as she leaned back on her hands.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I told you, I'm a grateful fucking citizen, and I need your help."

"I'm not a hitman," I growled as I flung open my car door.

My car roared to life beneath her, but she just twisted to look at me through the window.

"I know which way he went. I can show you," it was almost a tease.

"Just fucking point the direction and get off my car."

"Look, you can let me in, or I can smash your window and invite myself in," she provided a wince of a smile that let me know her insanity was sincere. She read my hesitation and added, "smashy smashy it is," as she swung her legs around and braced herself to stomp in my window.

"Stop," I raised a hand in case her excitement at inflicting physical damage to my car had drowned out my voice.

A childlike smile of true pleasure crossed her face as she slid from the hood and joined me in the car. "He went left," she offered.

"He went left," I griped as I pulled out.

I drove slowly down the deserted road looking for a hint of George. 

"Hey Grandpa, you want to try to catch up with the man on foot?" My company spoke from my peripheral, forcing my knuckles to gleam white on the steering wheel and a heavy intake of breath to fight the urge to knock her from my car.

"This guy isn't a runner," I growled.

"Well, the recent running would beg to differ," she shot back.

"He is a survivor; that is different from a runner. A survivor is like a rat; they will scurry to get away but won't go far. He's here lurking in the shadows."

"Mmhmm, and so we are..."

"Not a we," came out with the rush of an incoming tidal wave. I slammed on the accelerator, hoping that snapping her into her seat would shut her up for a moment. Unfortunately, the increased speed seemed to make her more engaged.

"I'm Belle, by the way."

"I didn't ask," I reminded her as I jerked into a stiff left, flinging her into the car door.

"And you are?"

"Wishing that door let go," I smiled to myself.

"Try again; if it lets go, you're in luck; if it doesn't, then you tell me your name."

"I'm going fifty; you would die."

"Life is a series of split-second decisions between life and death; the only difference is if your heart is beating or not." The words spilled casually like a summer saunter. The lack of urgency confirmed I was sitting next to a suicidal psychotic maniac. "Come on then," she prodded.

Her poking bore into me until I gave into the whim and banked another hard left, flinging her back into her door, but it held.

"Ah, the fine people at Ford seem to know what they are doing," she pleasantly smiled as she settled herself back in the seat. There were no dilating pupils or even uptick in breaths to show any regard for the peril she could have been in moments prior.

"You are insane."

"Aren't the best of us?"

"There is no us," I corrected again.

"Mmhmm, and your name?" Her words washed over me with a false tenderness like a child playing with inanimate dolls.

"Leland," I muttered between gritted teeth as I made a mental note to 'repair' my passenger side door.

"Leland," slipped from her lips on a laugh.

"Yeah, Leland," I growled. "You have a problem with that?"

She let out another peel of laughter before managing, "I just expected something less..."

My fingers gripped the wheel harder as the bones in my hands threatened to burst through my thin skin. "This from a cracked Disney princess... What do you want?"

"I need your help. You take care of things when the law doesn't."

"No, I take care of things when technicalities cause a wrong."

"Isn't that what I said?"

"No, the laws work," I demanded, unwilling to waver on the difference.

"Whatever," she shrugged. "I need your help with my father."

"I don't settle family disputes. My resolutions end with a bullet in someone's head."

"It's not a family dispute," her words came on a whisper that crashed into my ears like the scream of a dying child. Belle's hands twitched before she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to soothe the thoughts running like acid from her mind. Her face dipped, causing a curtain of her black hair to obscure her face.

"Not a family dispute," I reiterated to cement in my mind before spinning the car around to return to the motel. George would still be scurrying around when I got back.