Fury versus Fury

That's not the best beginning

Stars. How beautiful they are on this cloudless night. Perhaps this is the only plus that could be found in a situation where your mortal body is dragged along the road, and blood flows from a broken nose over and over again, mixing with rare, but such bitter tears of defeat.

"Jeepers Creepers, where did you those peepers?
Jeepers Creepers, where did you get those eyes?"

The tune of the jamming song came from the open cab of an old truck. How funny it is to end the moment of your existence on such stupid lines. Isn't it? "But the day didn't start so shitty." the only rational thought slipped into the head of the owner of the facial injury. It sounded like a verdict, a fact - dividing all the moments "before" and a single "after". And it's true. The day promised to be completely ordinary, almost the same as all the previous ones in Bryant's life.

A roaring musclecar was rushing along the winding road serpentine. Away from the coming dawn. At first, the sun playfully stepped on his heels, and then, after a while, it completely overtook him, reflecting bright highlights in the chrome details. It is especially hot in the Poho county in spring. Sometimes the mark of the thermometer column rose as high as +23 ° Celsius, so it was necessary to move out before dark, and at noon, it was simply dangerous to go outside with your head open. Bryant knew this perfectly well, so the already daring image was completed with a beige hat. Under the hat, roughly cropped hair was visible, spoiled by repeated oxide lightening, which made it resemble straw in appearance and structure. The rearview mirror periodically reflected eyes covered with fuchsia color lenses of aviator sunglasses. But even they could not hide the marks of a week's lack of sleep: burst capillaries and dark circles. She was used to doing her job quickly, so she considered stopping for a banal dream unnecessary. A normal person would never do that, because with as many as 305 horses under the hood and a disturbed sleep rhythm, it was easy to say goodbye to life. But she wasn't normal, far from normal. Gang members preferred not to cross paths with her once again, even Uncle Jim, the boss of their scum team, was slightly afraid of the girl, especially when she was messing with her car: disturbing her during repairs was the same as disturbing a couple who were passionate sex. At such moments, she could even throw a wrench at someone.

The speedometer needle was confidently held at 70 mph. A stream of warm air blew pleasantly through the open window. Bryant was still gnawing at the memories of a long time ago. Her hands tightened on the thin steering wheel, and an awkward grimace appeared on her face - as if she was ready to burst into tears right now. Music helped to relieve the attack of impending hysteria. As if by magic, the radio turned on and Robert and Johnny started playing:

"You're mine!
And we belong together
Yes! We belong together
For all eternity"

"You're right, you're right. I need to smoke." the driver said and smoothly braked on the side of the road. Getting out of the car and leaning on the body, she raised her head and inhaled the May air. Then, from the pocket of an old yellow racing jacket, she took out matches and a slightly crumpled pack of strong cigarettes. As soon as the girl lit a match, the wind blew, extinguished the flame, carrying the hat right into the middle of the highway. Cursing, Bryant walked to the middle of the road and picked up her headdress, began to shake it off the road dust. Putting it on, the girl looked back at the horizon of the road, trembling in the haze of sunlight. This time she managed to light a cigarette. With the first puff, hers eyes closed, and mind dissolved into a nicotine high. But the act of such an unusual meditation was interrupted by the totally disgusting, ear-splitting horn of a truck that literally appeared out of nowhere. The girl recoiled. Just a little more, and her body would have been dangling from the ram of this monster. The swamp-green machine raced far ahead, signaling several more times.

"BEATNGU" (beating you) - was the inscription of the license plate.

"Idiot!" the Plymouth driver shouted after him and went back to her "finned" comrade, "Beating you". Well of course. Just try it. So, what do we have here?" - after opening the trunk, she began to carry out an extraordinary audit of the contents: five bags of dry garden fertilizer, several packs of soap with floral fragrance and a box of liquid detergent - an ideal disguise for transporting dope and counterfeit alcohol. Even the most trained dog will not bother.