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At the next traffic light, the engine rattles hard enough to vibrate the steering wheel. Lillian smiles.
She won’t be driving this shitbox much longer.
In fact, her whole life is about to change.
Thanks to Brea Cooke.
She can hardly believe how it just fell into her lap. After all these years of tending bar, it’s easy to sense what people are looking for, what they really need. And Brea Cooke was no different. Lillian knew the kind of stuff she wanted to hear. And she gave it to her, all tied up in a pretty bow.
This has been a long time coming. Her payback.
The facts don’t matter anymore. All she has to do is make the accusation. Brea will put it in a bestselling book. Fox and social media will take care of the rest.
When she calls Brea tomorrow, she’ll give her some grisly details. Juicy stuff. And then…boom.
Cole Wright will sweat and protest and plead his innocence, but in the end, his fancy lawyers will suggest an out-of-court settlement, just to keep things quiet. Even if they never get him for Suzanne, even if Cole never goes to jail, Lillian figures she’ll be set for life.
The weird thing is, she doesn’t feel guilty about it, not at all. Is it her fault that NFL cheerleaders were, and are, paid crap and treated like sex objects? Is it her fault that work in Virginiadried up? Is it her fault that her asshole ex-husband is months behind with child-support payments?
No, damn it. She’s been struggling for years. And the struggle is about to end. For her. And for her kids.
“We’re here!” Susan shouts from the back.
Lillian pulls into the nearly empty parking lot. She unfastens her seat belt, turns around, and points first to one kid, then the other. “I’ll be right back. You two behave, hear me?”
The kids start chanting, “We want Hoodsies! We want Hoodsies!”
Lillian can still hear them after she closes the door and clicks the lock. She walks to the front door and pulls it open. A little bell chimes.
She heads for the cooler in the corner and slides the cover open. It’s filled with Nutty Buddies, Creamsicles, and Snickers Ice Cream Bars. One whole section is stacked with Hoodsies. She grabs two cups and heads for the counter.
Usually, Lillian spends a few dollars on a scratch ticket, but not tonight. Tonight she’s already hit the jackpot.
“Hey, Larry, how’s it going? Your dad got you working nights again?”
Larry is a pimply teenager who’s here almost every time Lillian comes in. Friendly kid.
But now he’s not saying a word.
Lillian puts the ice cream on the counter and starts fishing for cash in her purse. When she comes up with a ten, Larry keeps his hands flat on the counter. He still hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t made a move to ring her up.
Lillian notices that Larry’s lower lip is trembling and that his face is pale under the fluorescents. He looks like he’s about to throw up.
“You okay there, Larry?”
Two masked men in black stand up from behind the counter. They’re both holding pistols, so small they almost look like toys.
“Hi, Lillian,” one says.
“Hi, Amber,” says the other.
She feels a quick stab of fear. Then a powerful blow.
Then nothing.
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