The passing cop’s cherries go up and Domenic hits the gas. The 5-0 does a quick doughy, slides in behind us, and seconds later we’re rippin’ down Hennepin Ave doin’ 80.
Tara shoots me an icy glance. “You bitch! What did you do!?”
I respond with a self-satisfied grin.
A hard left on 6th and our silver Caddie takes out a garbage can and barely misses some college kids on a night out. No matter. Me and Tara are wrestling. Her for the gun, me for my knife.
Our legs wriggle, fighting for leverage, as we both try to sink the other into the back-seat nook and remove their arms from the equation.
“Get that backstabbing cunt!” her father yells, watching his daughter’s hand get slammed against the glass. My perfect kick lands next and knocks her ankle-holstered 9mm free. Krav Maga classes 4x a week come in handy.
But not against your sparring partner.
A glob of spit in my eye gives her space to drive an elbow uppercut that frees her right hand. Out comes the shiv from her baby pocket.
Now it’s 2-v-1.
Domenic cranks the hand brake and drifts us onto Washington. The slide flips leverage in the back seat in my favor but Tara’s quick and uses the momentum to slam me over the top of the hard leather passenger seat, following up with a crushing headbutt into my lower cheek. Two teeth pop and my nose cracks but I keep her balance left so her right-hand shiv lunge hits the seatback. I fill her face with some bloody spit of my own and can’t believe she’s still beautiful. That’s love.
We trade side-swipes with the cop and get flung again but I hook the seat while Tara slams into the back. It’s the perfect setup for my foot-smash to her face.
It would have knocked most people out but she’s a tough cunt and my money shot only drops her shiv.
Under the seat, the flash of the gun twinkles her remaining good eye but I’m on it before she can line it up.
Her old man’s not havin’ it. A rough snatch at my hair yanks me back as the cop slams us hard in the back corner, forcing her pops to free me and right the wheel.
Face forward, Tara’s grinning. How come? Then the flash of white announces the slug comin’ at me red hot and I feel it streak through my shoulder.
A through-and-through. My eyes blaze with spots but instinct and anger override it. I fling my body at her, biting, clawing, scratching, anything to keep the gun on my opposite side.
Crossing Hennepin again, the cruiser gives us a hard jack in the back corner and Dom struggles to keep us from spinning out.
“Finish her, damnit!” he yells.
Thanks, piggie. That bump puts me on top of her and the playing field’s even. I drive my shoulder hard into her neck, shoving her head into the door, while her right hand tries to beat both of mine and keep hold of the 9mm. Her free left claws at my neck, ripping away flesh, but I could give a fuck.
Dom glances back, worried, seeing his daughter faltering, and calculates. Ahead, two waiting muscle cars are on the far side of the Mississippi bridge.
“Just hold her, baby! Almost there!”
Her eyes go steely. Like I said, she’s a tough bitch. She knows she can hold this stalemate long enough. We both do.
Looking in my eyes—my friend, my sister, my lover—sees my anger eat all that’s left of us. I stop pushing the gun towards her and start pulling it towards her father.
Her face contorts. She knows what I’m trying to do and, as strong as she is, her muscles can’t beat basic physics. For this angle, I have the leverage.
“You’ll kill us all…” she strains.
A glow of love peaks its way through and for a moment I’m betrayed. But I destroy it.
We both scream and fight for a single inch until I push her finger into the hammer. Click. I win.
The bullet blasts through the driver’s seat and blows Domenic’s spleen across the dash. The wheel wrenches to the right and sends us careening towards the river embankment. We smash through the on-ramp sign, Dom’s dead foot hard on the gas. The ’07 Caddie demolishes a final, petty barrier then we’re airborne, hurtling towards the muddy Mississippi 120 feet below.
The engine whirls and I’m smiling. Tara’s face; shocked. Her grip loosens. Falling, she pleads,
“Why?!”
I answer her with prideful and absurd vindication as our wet death rushes towards us. “You just had to fuck her, didn’t you?”