Page 13 of Factory Thief

“Fine. Two things will happen though, and you won’t like either of them. One, I’m going to piss my pants, which is going to stink, and two, we’re about to run out of gas.”

“What?” I send a sharp glower at the gas gauge as if it’s betrayed me. “Fuck. Fine. Look for a place to pull over, and don’t pull any bullshit.”

He passes a gas station, and I snarl. “What was wrong with that place?”

“Have you ever been in one of their bathrooms? I’d rather not get pink eye just walking in the door.”

Good point. I have to pee, too.

“All right, fine. What about this place?”

“Guess we don’t have any choice, unless we want to walk.”

“Hey, fucko.” I jab him in the ribs with the gun. “There is no ‘we.’ There’s me, and there’s you, the grandma killer. We’re not a damned tag team.”

“Point taken.” He licks his lips, then speaks in a rush. “I really didn’t kill that woman. I didn’t, I swear to God.”

“Why does it matter so much to you what I think?”

He flinches. “No reason.”

We pull into the gas station, and he settles in at the pump. I use a prepaid gas card, which I purchased with cash, and hold the gun on him in the pocket of my hoodie as he fuels up.

“Can I go pee, now? My bladder is about to burst.”

“We’ll go together.” I walk him into the gas station, where the clerk looks barely looks up from his phone. Ah, the disinterest of the bored employees, he doesn’t even seem to notice we look like we went swimming fully clothed.

We head back to the bathroom.

“Are you coming in with me?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am.”

“It’s the men’s room.”

“No shit? Huh. Imagine that. Move.”

He moves up to a urinal in the reasonably clean restroom. Jack gives me an anxious look. “I can’t go with you watching.”

“You’re going to have to learn.”

It takes him some effort, but he finally achieves his goal. The sound of him relieving himself only drives home how full my own bladder is.

Relieving myself is trickier. It involves sitting in a stall with an open door while Jack faces away from me.

We head back out to the sales floor, and he gestures at the candy rack. “I’m starving.”

“Tough shit. We’re leaving.”

I grind to a halt when I see the television mounted above the coffee station. My face is on the screen. Well, it’s pretty grainy, but it’s definitely a shot from when we were on the prison grounds. The banner with my name splashed across it at the bottom helps clue me in as well.

“Holy shit,” I gasp in a hoarse whisper. “How? How did they…”

“Are you sure the Factory didn’t set you up?”

“They…They wouldn’t do that.”

“Then how did they get your name off that photo? You can barely even tell it’s a woman from that shot.”

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