Maxima!!

TRACK 02: NICE GIRL

2:02 PM

"Aw, c'mon!" Rosie cried as she hurried down the street -- with every single cruiser in pursuit, and ten times more bullets hammering her. "I said I was sorry!"

"Save your apologies! You've got a rap sheet longer than you are tall!" The cop pulled out a notebook while his partner drove, and his comrades pumped lead into Rosie's calves. "Executive Order 20BB-6: we of the Santa Infierno Police Department are authorized to use any force needed to contain, dissuade, and remove you from whatever premises you may approach!"

"I haven't committed that many crimes today, have I?"

Another cop poked his head out. "Evading the police is also a crime!"

"Oh. Then should I --?" Rosie snapped her head away as a bullet whizzed past her ear. "Should I stop, then?"

"Keep running, moron!"

"But I gotta go pick up my dress from --!" The blare from a fresh line of sirens drowned her out. "Yeah, 'kay," she said as she drooped her head. "Y'all just -- corral me wherever. Don't want any more trouble. Or any more o' this high-speed chase."

She said as much. The fact that they hadn't gone faster than a one-wheeled baby stroller said otherwise.

***

2:46 PM

Rosie saw the police off with a wave. While they zoomed toward the concrete horizon, she let out a sigh and leaned against the movie theater. Or what remained of it; decades of acid rain and negligence left its pastels drained and stained, while the parking lot she sat in would have cracked even without her bunker-busting bum. "That was -- fun," she said with a weary smile. No matter how much the theater groaned from the stress, she shifted to get a better look around. Downtown Santa-In looked further away than ever, and the familiar locales of Midtown proved far too distant for comfort. Better let the cops get a bigger head start. Don't need any more crimes to my name. She let her head go slack. Did I really do somethin' that bad this time around?

On a whim, her eyes glided toward her right hand -- still clamped shut, to her surprise. She let it open like a blooming flower. No nectar or petals greeted her. Just the hostage she'd saved, curled up, shivering, and gasping for air. "Oh. Guess I'm a kidnapper now."

The hostage tumbled out of her hand, then shambled onto his feet. Every panicked motion he made left more of his outfit askew. Glasses, crooked. Tie, loosened. Collar, uneven, and sweat-soaked to boot; the same went for a suite of ragged bandages. He stumbled around to readjust, and ruffled his hair -- red like a dirty beet, and tidy as a tumbleweed -- all the while. "Oh, man. Oh, jeez. Oh, man."

"You okay, sweetie?"

That got the hostage to look up at her with eyes better suited for a mouse -- and all at once, it looked like he had two seconds before a breakdown. "Ah! No! Don't kill me! Or crush me! Or eat me!"

"I'm not gonna do any o' that," said Rosie. That didn't stop the hostage from curling into a ball. "Plus, I'm the one who should say sorry. Wasn't plannin' on the whole kidnappin' thing, so --"

"Just leave me be! I -- I've got nothing worth giving you! Except my life, maybe! But I promise, I don't taste very good!"

"I'm not gonna eat ya. You're not even cooked." Rosie flipped the hostage onto his back with a nudge of her finger, then offered a warm smile to keep his brain from imploding. "I'm Rosemary. Rosemary Haywood. Call me Rosie."

"I'm -- Henry. Henry McDougal, ma'am." He managed the most rigid nod she'd ever seen, but even that was too much for him to handle; he leapt back a yard at the sight of her, dropped to his knees, then curled into a different ball. "Sorry! I didn't mean to -- oh, jeez! I'm so dead!"