Ruthless

Chapter 7

The adrenaline wore off somewhere between the east bridge and Centro. Feeling dizzy and faint Ruth ventured out from her hiding place on the floor between the front passenger and back seat to sneak a peek out of the rear windscreen.

“Are they f-f-following us?” Ruth managed to stammer.

“No,” Vince replied.

“Then pull over, I’m going to vomit.”

Before Vince could bring the car to a complete stop in the emergency lane of the Bayshore Freeway, Ruth opened the back door and vomited onto the moving ground.

Vince parked the car, got out and lit a cigarette.

“What the hell was that?” Ruth said sorely when she had finished emptying her stomach contents onto the bitumen. “I almost died back there. A few times actually, and O’Malley–” She breathed deeply to stop herself from vomiting again, “–O’Malley threw himself out of a window. I watched him die.”

Vince inhaled a lungful of smoke and looked wistfully up at the sky. “The first day is always the worst,” he said, exhaling as he spoke.

Ruth looked at him in disbelief. “I don’t understand. Did GlobalCore know O’Malley was smuggling drugs? Did they know they were sending me into that – situation? ”

“There’s not much GlobalCore doesn’t know.”

Ruth sat back and processed this ominous statement. She wiped the trickle of sweat from her brow. “But why? Why me? I don’t have any training for this kind of thing. What the hell is GlobalCore exactly? Is this some kind of special ops outfit? A cover for FBI? CIA?”

“Not for me to say,” Vince said, stubbing out his cigarette and opening the driver’s side door.

“Well maybe it’s best I don’t know anyway. I’m out. I don’t want any part in this. I won’t go to the police or tell anyone about this if you just take me home. Just please let me go home.”

“As you wish Ms Wroth,” Vince said, closing the door behind him.

Ruth grudgingly closed her door and fastened her seatbelt. As they pulled away from the shoulder, she recalled the last few minutes of their escape. “Thank you for saving me back there. But weren’t you shot? Are you okay?”

“How is your ankle?” Vince replied.

Ruth paused and waited for the pain to tell her how her ankle was, but it never came. She examined her ankle and then her entire leg and then the other ankle, in case somehow she had forgotten which ankle she’d hurt, but there was no pain, no bruising and no swelling.

“Um fine,” she replied sheepishly.

“Well I’m fine too,” Vince said, “it’s a perk of the job.”

What the hell does that mean?

When the bullet-dented Lincoln pulled up in front of Ruth’s apartment block, she collected her bag, opened the door and swung her bare feet onto the pavement. It felt good to be back in familiar territory. She felt a rush of relief that Vince had actually brought her home instead of driving her out to the nearest forest and making her dig her own grave. 

“I promise, I won’t tell a soul,” she said leaning through the open car door.

Vince merely smirked at her in the rear view mirror and said nothing. Ruth closed the door and hobbled jelly-legged into the apartment lobby, clutching her shoes to her chest.

“Everything all right, Ms Wroth?” Shane called from behind the reception desk, a concerned look on his face.

“Yes fine, thank you Shane,” Ruth lied as she padded up the stairs. Her hands were trembling badly as she struggled to get her key in her apartment door. The bitter taste of vomit still covered her tongue and an incredible tiredness overcame her. All she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep.