Her chest heaved as she leaned back against the wood door. Bang! She choked down her fear, mascara running down her porcelain cheeks.
“What do you Wah-huh-hant?”
Bang! The door splintered, chunks catching in her auburn curls. She grabbed little Ricky’s baseball bat.
“I’M ARMED Mister!”
The door gaped, and she saw a man shaped thing shuffle in. Oh no. The tacky leisure suit, the composer, that permanent snarl.
She dropped the bat. No. She paid those boys to bury him deep. There went her first 800$.
“Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do!” Ricky croaked.