It was as he as he pulled up to a stop light at the outskirts of town that Morgan felt something sharp against his neck and felt the lady pirate’s hot breath against his ear. She rasped a request for her hat, which he’d quite forgotten was still on his head. How did the wind not blow it away? he wondered, before the sharp something dug deeper into his neck. A drop of blood trickled toward his nape as he handed back the tricorne and wondered what it was she’d stuck him with. In his head, he ran an inventory of the things he’d left in the backseat, but got lost while enumerating the various bags of fast food trash he was suddenly mortified to have hoarded there.
“Pull over,” she told him, and he did as he was told.
In an otherwise empty lot, she demanded his clothes, which he gave to her with very little fuss, still hoping to get out of this alive. Only when he was stripped to his underpants did she drag jagged edge of his broken ice scraper across his neck. Only then did she pull him out of the driver’s seat and kick him to the curb. Only as she burned rubber away from his helpless form—only then did Morgan die.
To be continued…