Chapter Two: The Locals


So this is my life now, Sonia brooded, leaning against the checkout counter, chin in her hand as she watched a few junky cars and local rednecks moving about the street and sidewalk outside the convenience store. From mafia enforcer living a rich life in Las Venturas to convenience store cashier living a dull existence in a poor, shitty town. There's gotta be more out here; better opportunities, something. Anything but this.

It had only been two days since she'd arrived in town, and already things were not working out. There was nothing engaging to do, the people she'd met were dull and witless, and it seemed nothing exciting ever happened in this town. Since it was mid-summer, the days were unbearably hot and night brought little relief. Her air conditioning unit at home was busted, so it was impossible to get any sleep, even in the nude. Her other neighbors, two guys who were either brothers or lovers or both, aggravated the situation by blaring country music in the dead of night. Her boss, whom she had just met this morning, was an absolute toad who openly ogled her tits and called her 'Sonny' despite her insistence he not do so. That's what her old boss had affectionately called her, and she could've done without being reminded of him.

The throaty roar of a motorcycle engine brought her out of her thoughts. She straightened up from the counter as the owner of the aforementioned vehicle entered the store, the bell over the door jangling. The man was tall, dressed in a black biker vest with a white t-shirt under it. Both fit against him, accentuating a strong physique. She observed a flame-shaped patch on the breast of his vest, proclaiming him a member of the Devil's Sons. He also wore a tan nylon stocking over his face, mashing up his features, and he carried a pistol in his right hand.

Sonia smiled at him. Well, it's about damn time something happened around here.

The robber cast a quick glance through the shop windows, then lurched in front of the checkout counter, pointing his gun at her face. "Gimmie all the money in the register, and don't even fuckin' think about trying anything, lady, or I'll decorate this place in your brains!"

Sonia kept her smile in place and didn't move. "Is this your first stick up?" She knew it was. He was wasting precious time with threats when none were needed, considering the gun he pointed at her was a threat in and of itself. Furthermore, no experienced thief would rob a place wearing women's nylons over their face; that had gone out of style decades ago and really didn't do much in obscuring one's identity. To top it all off, he was nervous. The hand that gripped the pistol was shaking, slight but noticeable.

Her question threw the man, or perhaps wounded his pride. "What? This ain't my first..." he started to defend, then caught himself and redirected to the robbery. "The money!" He waved the gun at her face. "Gimmie the fuckin' money! Now, bitch!"

Sonia caught movement out of her peripheral vision. The manager's office door was open, and the manager cowered there against the wall near the door jamb, out of the robber's sight. He's a toad and a pussy. That's good to know.

She hit a key on the register and the till slid open. She took out the cash, a few bills at a time, putting them on the counter in front of the robber. He pocketed it as it came. Sonia could've laughed.

Instead, she spoke, "Here's a few pointers for you, hotshot. Next time, don't rob a place with a stocking over your head; I can still see enough of you for a general description - height, weight, build, hair color - and your clothes declare your affiliation with a motorcycle club. That's enough for the deputies to go on. Also, you might wanna demand the money be put in a bag to save time. You're lucky I've found this situation amusing enough not to hit the panic button. The deputies would be all over your ass by now."

Displeased, the robber pressed his gun to her forehead. "Think you're fuckin' smart, huh?"

"I would've been in and out in a minute," Sonia went on, her tone level as if they were having a casual conversation. "Probably less. You've got the money and you're still standing here, wasting time making pointless threats. What's it been, two, three minutes already? By now my manager's called the deputies and their station is just up the street from here. But you didn't take the manager into consideration when you decided to stick up the place, did you? Now, you could kill us, but that's just more time you don't have. Tick-tock, hotshot."

"Shit," the man said, looking back out the shop window as if expecting the deputies to already be waiting for him outside, despite the lack of sirens.

He made that way too easy. Sonia shook her head as she reached behind herself while the man was distracted and grabbed a bottle of whiskey off a shelf. She swung it across the counter just as the man turned back, the glass shattering over his stockinged head. The unexpected blow made the liquor-doused biker stumble back, where he collided with a shelf full of junk food and dropped to the floor. Sonia vaulted the counter, knocking off some displayed items. She pinned the man's arm down to the floor with a foot and bent over him, prying the gun from his hand as he groaned and cursed, his free hand pawing at the soaked stocking. No doubt the whiskey was burning his eyes.

Sonia aimed the pistol at him. "Be a good boy, Mr. Biker. It'd be a real fucking inconvenience to have to shoot you. I mean, have you ever tried to mop up blood? It's a pain in the ass." Then she called out to the manager, never taking her attention or the gun away from the biker. "Hey, Jerry! You call the deputies yet?"

"No..." came a soft, apprehensive reply from the office.

"Good. Get out here."

The manager stepped out. Despite the tables having turned over on the robber, Jerry kept his distance, staring with wide eyes at the man sprawled on the floor. "That's the third time in the last week these damn bikers have robbed me," he said.

"What're you waiting for, Jerry?" Sonia prompted.

He tore his gaze away from the biker. "What?"

"You want your money back, don't you? Take it off him. It's in his pockets."

Jerry hesitated. "But he-"

"Ain't gonna do anything with a fucking gun pointed at his head." Sonia nudged the biker hard in the ribs with her foot. "Right, hotshot?"

The man groaned in reply.

"Go on, Jerry."

The manager bent down beside the biker and proceeded to search his pockets. Once all the cash was collected, he stepped behind the counter and put it back into the register, eying the armed woman as he did so.

Sonia leaned over the Devil's Son and reached out to pull the wet stocking off his head. She smiled, delighted. Perhaps in his mid-twenties, he had a handsome, sharp-featured face, pale green eyes like clouded emeralds, unkempt black hair, a light growth of beard and a small scar that cut the outside corner of his left eye. "You're kinda hot for a biker. Anyway, I think it's time you got up and left. Also, I'm keeping your gun." She always felt better with a gun around, but of course it had been forbidden for her to bring any into her new life, and she doubted she could even purchase a BB gun without setting off any federal or civil law enforcement alarms.

She stood away from the biker, lowering the pistol to her side and holding her free hand out to help him up. "Let's go."

The biker gawped at her.

"Come on. If I was gonna do anything else, I would've done it already."

The man scowled and swiped her hand away, rising to his feet on his own.

"Well, there's no need to be rude," Sonia said. She put a hand on his shoulder and walked him to the door, holding it open for him with a foot. "Hey, don't feel too bad. You never get it right the first time; stick ups take practice, so consider this a learning experience. And a second chance; we ain't gonna call the deputies on you since we got the money back. Right, Jerry?"

"Uh...sure?" the manager replied with uncertainty.

"However, if you ever try to rob this place again..." Sonia tapped the pistol's muzzle against the biker's temple, smiling. "Bang." Then she put a hand on his back and shoved him through the open door. "Now, you have a nice day, sir!"

The biker stumbled onto the sidewalk, turned and stood there, staring, likely trying to grasp at what had just happened. Then he shouted, "Who the fuck you think you are!?"

Sonia shrugged. "No one."

She stood away from the door, letting it slide shut, and watched as the biker backed up a few paces, bumping into a pedestrian passing on the sidewalk, then he got on his motorcycle and vacated the scene.

When Sonia turned around, she found the manager gaping at her. "What? Close your mouth; you look silly."

"I thought you were gonna get shot!" Jerry exclaimed. "I mean, he's one of the Devil's Sons, and those guys don't fool around. He had a gun-"

"And now I have the gun, and you ain't gonna say anything to anyone about my having this gun, are you?"

It was an unspoken threat Jerry wasn't deaf to. He shook his head, swallowing. "No. You took care of him and got the money back, after all. I ain't gonna say anything, but...look, I don't think you get how it works with those bikers. If you fuck with one of them, you fuck with all of them."

"Then I guess I fucked with all of them. If they come looking for me, I'll just remind them that their brother put a gun to my head and walked away from it with a headache and wounded pride when it could've ended much worse for him," she said. "Anyway, you're also gonna stop staring at my tits and calling me Sonny."

Jerry's face reddened. "Of course."

Since Sonia had the man where she wanted him now, she decided she may as well take an early day. "And since I just risked my life for your store while you were cowering in your office, I'd say I deserve to take the rest of the day off to, uh...recover from the experience, don't you?"

Jerry bobbed his head up and down. "I can take over the rest of your shift."

"Great." She grinned. "You and I are gonna be good co-workers, Jerry. See you tomorrow."


With the rest of the day free, Sonia used the time to do some grocery shopping, as she hadn't been able to get around to it on the weekend and she was already sick of eating the greasy shit at the local diner. She found a small food mart not far from the convenience store and spent the next hour pushing a cart with wobbly wheels among the cramped aisles, rubbing elbows with the hillbilly locals. Being new to such a small town, she stood out like a clown at a nudist colony, so a few of the locals just had to stop and gab. They shared uninteresting stories with her, such as the cute thing little Timmy did yesterday, the dead and mangled cat Rover brought into the trailer as a 'gift', the persistent rash on Randall's left butt cheek that was amusingly in the shape of Texas, and who was sleeping with whose wife. For people who were stereotypically distrustful and disdainful toward city folk, they sure were fucking chatty. However, Sonia couldn't deny that it was at least nice to be able to talk to someone, no matter how dull their conversational topics. It sure as hell beat the dead, lonely silence she would be going home to soon. Although she had never been able to form lasting close relationships, loneliness had just been one of those things she could never get used to. She had always been gregarious at heart, yearning for human contact in both a physical and emotional sense, but she was unable to connect with people on any deep emotional level, in any prolonged way. She supposed some people just weren't wired for it. The whole thing made her social and dating life annoyingly complicated.

After she paid for her groceries with her debit card and had them bagged sluggishly by an apathetic teenager, Sonia left the cool interior of the store and got socked in the face by the desert heat. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, she thought, cringing a bit as she stepped out into the street just as an open-roofed Canis Mesa swerved around a corner and hurtled down the road like greased lightning. Sonia backed with all haste toward the curb as the Mesa braked, tires screeching and kicking up dust off the road. The vehicle slid forward a few feet, inches from side-swiping the woman, then came to a halt.

"Yeah, thanks for trying to run me over, you inconsiderate asshole!" Sonia shouted at the driver.

Through the passenger window, she saw the man's face flush and twist up in anger, then he shoved his door open and stormed over to her. Sonia eyed him up and down. He was of average height, thin and crummy-looking, and going bald. A toothpick hung from the corner of his dry, chapped lips.

"What the fuck did you call me!?" he yelled, aiming that toothpick at her threateningly.

Sonia wondered why he bothered with it, considering he was losing teeth like he was losing hair. "An inconsiderate asshole," she answered. "Seeing as how I was the pedestrian with the right of way and you decided to disregard that simplistic driving rule - or maybe you thought I'd look great splattered all over your grille - you are, in fact, inconsiderate and an asshole."

The man's mouth opened and closed as he struggled for some kind of response. He looked so much like a fish, Sonia might have laughed.

Instead, she sighed at his silence and said, "You need me to speak more slowly and use smaller words?"

His face got redder, then he thrust himself into her personal space. "You got some fuckin' nerve, talkin' to me like that!" he shouted in her face. His breath was horrid, a nose-raping reek of rotten teeth and chewing tobacco. She almost gagged. "Now I ain't gonna just stand here and let some fuckin' cunt insult and sass me. You gonna learn your place!"

"You really should've taken better care of your oral hygiene," she remarked, unmoved by the threat.

The man growled and snatched at her wrist, making her drop her bags of groceries on the ground. His free hand went back, ready to 'put her in her place', but a harsh call from down the sidewalk halted the blow, not that Sonia had any intention of letting it land.

"Hey!"

A man marched up the sidewalk toward them, a tall fellow who was crummier-looking than the other guy in a stained bowling shirt, torn jeans, and scuffed up boots. He was a sight more hair-deprived as well and had a brutal, scarred face only a mother could love(and perhaps not even her). It was made all the more terrible by the peeved expression on it.

Oh, dear God. Sonia wasn't sure whether he was talking to her or the other guy, but she had a feeling things were about to get worse for one of them. This man had a homicidal look in his eyes.

Bowling Shirt thrust a finger at Mesa Driver. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Mesa Driver's mouth opened and shut again as he scrambled for a response, his eyes glazing over with fear. He still gripped Sonia's wrist; perhaps he'd forgotten his hand was there. "Look, I don't want any trouble. She-she just jumped out in front of my car, then she called me an inconsiderate asshole."

Sonia rose a brow, but said nothing.

Bowling Shirt narrowed his eyes at Mesa Driver. "You think I didn't see what happened? I really abhor liars. They make me so fuckin'..." Through clenched teeth he released a growl that sounded more animal than human. "Angry."

Mesa Driver's eyes widened, and he finally dropped Sonia's wrist. "O-Okay, look, she didn't exactly jump out in front of my car, but she did call me an inconsiderate asshole."

"Yeah, I did," agreed Sonia. "And my reasoning for that still stands."

"Oh," said Bowling Shirt. "So, she emasculated you with an insult?"

"No, I-" Mesa Driver started.

"You gotta abuse the fairer sex to feel like a man?" Bowling Shirt cut him off as he began circling around him like a predator preparing to pounce on its prey.

"That ain't-"

"Or do you just hate women?"

"I-I-" Mesa Driver struggled, his face paling.

"You-you," the tall man mocked him, his hands curling into fists as he came to stand in front of Mesa Driver again. "What!? Which is it?"

Mesa Driver blurted, "She can't just go 'round insultin' whoever she wants! She needs to learn to respect men!"

"Oh, I see," Bowling Shirt sighed, and the tension that rippled off him could almost be felt. "So you are a misogynist." He took a solid step forward and grabbed Mesa Driver by the back of the neck before the man knew it was going to happen. Then he proceeded to slam the man's head down on the hood of the Mesa, over and over. "Argh! God, I fuckin' hate misogynists!" Mesa Driver's head came down on the hood again, so hard the front of his skull shattered with a sickening crunch. The metal dribbled bright red with his blood.

After smashing the guy's limp head into the hood five more times in quick succession, Bowling Shirt released him. Mesa Driver slumped lifelessly to the ground. The tall man delivered a cruel kick to the corpse. "Come on, you pathetic turd! Let's see what kinda man you are! Get up and hit me!"

Well, Sonia thought, staring down at the body, then at the blood on the hood, mixed with little grayish-pink bits of brain. I went at least two days without getting myself involved in a homicide. That's a record for me. She cleared her throat. "Uh, he ain't getting up. He's...you know, dead."

The man kicked the body again, then pointed a finger at it. "That'll teach you some fuckin' respect!"

Sonia wondered if he was even listening. She might have just walked away, but the man had gone out of his way to intervene. The least she could do was warn him, whether he was listening or not. It was the thought that counted. "It might be a good idea to leave the scene before the pigs shows up."

The man seemed to hear her that time, for his dark eyes turned upon her and gave her a decidedly predatory once-over. Then he stepped close, too close for Sonia's comfort, and circled her, getting a look at her from every angle. "Mm, nice. Real nice," he purred with a rather lewd smile. Then he bent over and gathered her bags off the ground, handing them to her. "There you go, sweetheart." His tone was rather friendly, despite the fact he'd just beat a man's brains out on a car hood in a fit of anger. In broad daylight.

I've crossed paths with Captain Crazy. Great. "Uh, thanks. I'll be going now."

Sonia started across the street. At once she felt the man following her and glanced back, offering what she hoped was a believable, reassuring smile. "I ain't gonna say anything to anyone about that little 'incident', just so you know."

"What, you think I need your assurance?" he scoffed. "I know you're gonna keep your mouth shut."

Sonia didn't like the way he made those words sound; that was a threat if she'd ever heard one. "Well, you don't have to walk me home then."

"I'm all too happy to. No problemo."

Take a hint, creep. "Really, you don't have to."

"Really, I insist. Consider it a friendly service from the Trevor Philips Welcome Wagon!"

How could he possibly know I'm new...oh, right. Small town. Guy probably knows everybody here, by face and name. Probably related to every last one of them, too. "Are you sure you're just not trying to find out where I live?"

He shrugged. "It's a small town, sugar; I'll find out sooner or later. Besides, since I rescued you from that misogynist pile of sick, I expect you to show a little gratitude, and nothing says gratitude like sucking me off."

Sonia couldn't help a laugh. He must think I'm easily manipulated. But she would play along for the time being. "For the record, I didn't ask for your help. I could've handled that guy on my own."

"Well, to me it looked like you needed assistance. But that's beside the point. I, being the gentleman that I am, went out of my fuckin' way."

Sonia lifted up the hem of her blue halter top a bit, displaying the pistol tucked in her jeans. "And what does this look like to you? A water gun?"

The man eyed it and snorted. "Is that thing even loaded? More importantly, do you even know how to use it? I bet you don't."

"Would you like to find out first hand?"

That put a grin on his ugly mug. "Oooh, you're threatening me! That's cute."

"And you're stalking me. That happens to be creepy."

"Stalking? No, no, buttercup, if this was stalking, you wouldn't see me."

Well, he does make a good point. "Stalking, following...still creepy."

The man frowned. "Is there something wrong with me wanting to get to know the new face in town? Is it a fuckin' crime now to be friendly?"

"That depends on your definition of friendly. You did make a sexual pass at me, a perfect stranger."

"Well, in my experience, perfect strangers are the best sexual partners."

"And most people don't usually tell perfect strangers about their preferred sexual partners."

He laughed and held his arms out. "Look at me. Do I look like most people?"

He makes another good point, she thought. He doesn't even look like people.

"So, anyway, where'd you come from?"

"Vermont," Sonia answered.

The man rose a brow. "You came all that way just for some small town in the middle of a fuckin' desert? That is a steaming pile of bullshit."

Okay, so maybe he's a tad more intelligent than I thought. "I've been traveling around a lot, actually. Wandering. Looking for a place to call home."

"Left home for a place to call home?" He scowled. "Makes no fuckin' sense to me. You wouldn't be intentionally lying to me now, would you? 'Cause I'm sure you recall how I feel about liars."

She shrugged, unmoved by the hostility that ramped up his voice. "Home's the place you miss when you're gone, the place you can't wait to get back to. Vermont stopped feeling like that. So, here I am."

"Well, let's pretend like I actually believe you. There's plenty of towns out there, sugar. Why this one?"

The guy's interrogating me. Really? "It's got a certain...'charm' about it."

In the distance came the sound of sirens, likely the deputies coming to investigate the corpse left on the street. Sonia spared the man a glance and noted the lack of concern on his face. So, for the sake of curiosity and driving the conversation elsewhere at the same time, she asked, "Why aren't you worried?"

"Eh?"

"You killed a man in broad daylight. You ain't concerned about the deputies coming for you?"

"Why should I? I got a killer reputation that spans the county; it keeps mouths shut. Now, I got another question for you. And do yourself a favor this time." He thrust a finger at her face. "Don't fuckin' lie to me."

"Knock yourself out." Well, I kept him away as long as I could.

"You didn't so much as bat an eye when I cracked that turd's head open. Why? Kinda...mmm, unusual, if you ask me."

Sonia shrugged. "I've seen a lot of death and violence in my lifetime." Mostly because I was the one who caused it. "I'm not bothered by it anymore."

The man studied her for some moments(searching for a lie, Sonia knew), then asked, "What's your name?"

"Sonia Chase. And yours?"

He scowled. "I already told you."

"You did?"

"Yes, pay some fuckin' attention!"

Sonia rose a brow. Jesus, somebody needs some serious anger management. "Uh-"

He cut her off with an exasperated noise. "It's Trevor. Trevor Philips."

They finally arrived at her house. For some reason, it had felt like the longest walk of Sonia's life. She noticed the two guys from next door out in their yard, lounging in canvas chairs and drinking beer while a radio played country music at an unholy volume. Again. Well, at least it's now and not the middle of the fucking night.

"Well, this is me," she announced, juggling her grocery bags to one arm. She held a hand out to the man. "It was, uh...interesting meeting you, Trevor." She didn't dare use 'nice' to describe the encounter, but she couldn't deny that it was at least interesting, in so far as the man was; he certainly wasn't like anyone else she'd met in town.

He took her hand, but did not shake it. His grip was strong, almost too strong, and his palm was rough and hot, his fingers long and callused with a profane word tattooed across the knuckles. "Likewise, sugar."

She smirked. "And thanks for 'intervening' earlier, even though I really didn't need it."

Trevor smiled. It was not pleasant, but Sonia wasn't surprised. She doubted anything he did with that face would ever come off as appealing. "You keep telling yourself that. Speaking of which, I guess I'm not getting that blow job?"

"Good guess, but hey, don't take it personal. I just ain't the kind of girl who goes around sucking any dick that walks into her life."

"I kill a man for you and this is the thanks I get? 'I just ain't that kind of girl'? Make a fuckin' exception!"

Sonia had to laugh. "Well, it's been fun playing along, but I'm calling you out. Despite what you think, I'm not an easily manipulated idiot. You killed that guy because, to quote you, you fucking hate misogynists. It had little or nothing to do with me...until you saw the opportunity to play me for a blow job."

He put on a wounded look. "Is that the kind of man you think I am? That hurts me."

Sonia grinned, amused by his poor attempt to guilt her. "I'm more inclined to think you're disappointed, maybe even frustrated, considering I saw through your scheme. But don't take it too hard. Well, I guess I'll see you around."

Trevor stared at her for some moments, an intense stare that made Sonia rather uncomfortable. Then he leaned into her personal space, which only succeeded at increasing her discomfort. "Count on it."

She stood there as the man took his leave of her, walking back up the street they'd just come down. No, not walking. Strutting, shoulders swinging and chin in the air, like he had all the confidence in the world, despite being ugly as sin and unpleasant as hell.

What a weird guy.


Sonia tossed and turned in her bed that night, unable to sleep due to the Willie Nelson concert next door. She had been looking forward to a full night's rest, seeing as how it was a breezy night for a change and opening the bedroom window had made the hot, stuffy room more comfortable. But of course her thoughtless neighbors had to blast their annoying music again.

Sonia tossed and turned some more, then pulled a pillow over her head to drown out a chorus of Willie's singing and the two men's drunken laughter spilling in through the open window. It didn't help. She heaved a sigh and sat up in the bed, glancing over at the ticking clock sitting on the night stand. It read 2:23 AM. This is ridiculous. Las Venturas wasn't even this loud, and I lived next to a fucking casino.

She had hoped the men's lack of consideration was a temporary thing, but three nights in a row of this shit? Nope. No more Miss Tolerant Neighbor.

Sonia got up, padded barefoot into the living room and opened the front door. The Red Headed Stranger sang Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain as she swept across the stoop and descended the stairs. The two men were slouched in their camping chairs, numerous empty beer cans littered around their feet. They'd gone through two whole six packs and were halfway into a third.

"Love is like a dyin' ember," one of them sang along off-tune, slurring the words. "And only memories remain. And through the ages I'll remember, blue eyes cryin' in the rain. Oh, fuck, this song...I love this fuckin' song so much, Coy."

"I hear ya, Clint. Now shut your yap and leave the singin' to Willie. You're butcherin'..." The other guy trailed off and sat up in his chair as he took note of Sonia standing in the yard. He grinned and elbowed his brother. "Clint. Hey, Clint, look, it's that fine piece o' ass from next door. And fuck me runnin' if she ain't barely got clothes on!"

Sonia glanced down at herself and...Ah, shit, I forgot my house robe. She stood there in only a black t-shirt that reached just above her knees. She cast off the embarrassment and set the men with a stern look.

Clint sat up and saluted her with his beer can before she could say anything. "Well, howdy, perdy momma! Why don't ya come on over here and join us? Get that shirt off and dance for us; we'll get this party really started!"

Sonia ignored that. "Could you two please find the common decency to turn down that racket? Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Racket!?" Coy burst in offended objection; she may as well have insulted his mother. "The Red Headed Stranger ain't fuckin' racket! He's the soul o' country music!"

"I don't care if he's the God of country music. Turn it down; it's two in the fucking morning."

"I don't like that tone, missy," Coy said.

Clint put a hand on his arm. "Now, now, Coy. She's just on her rag, is all."

Sonia narrowed her eyes. "On my..." She took a deep breath. "Just turn the music down. Please." She turned away and started for her house. The moment she got to the stairs, one of the guys rose the volume up on the stereo as loud as it would go(and Sonia was surprised it could go any louder) and the two men began singing along to On The Road Again at the top of their lungs.

Sonia's hand gripped the stairs' wooden railing, so hard her knuckles went white and her nails tore through the railing's age-old paint. A cold rage spread through her. Okay, assholes. I tried to be civil about it...

Sonia marched back into their yard. She looked around it, locating a rusted shovel laying in the desert weeds growing in the dirt yard. Sonia scooped it up and walked toward the men, who still yelled out lyrics, having a grand old time of it. Then Clint looked at her, eyed the shovel, and burst into drunken laughter. "Gonna do some gardenin', perdy momma?"

Sonia smiled and rose the shovel over a shoulder, then axed it down on the radio sitting on the small table between the canvas chairs. Willie Nelson was toast.

"Hey! What the fuck!?" wide-eyed Clint shouted, lurching from his chair. Coy tried the same thing, but being more drunk than his brother, he only succeeded in falling out of his seat. Sonia rose the shovel again as Coy crawled off through the yard to avoid getting hit. She bashed and bashed and bashed until there was nothing left of the radio but pieces of plastic and small bits of electronic parts, most of it scattered.

"My fuckin' radio!" Clint yelled. "You bitch!"

He lunged at her unsteadily, his hands out. Sonia ducked under his arm and slammed the shovel into the back of his knees. He went down on them with a yelp. Sonia put a bare foot on Clint's side and shoved him over on his back, pushing the pointed end of the spade up against his throat. "The next time I nicely ask you to do something, you fucking do it." She pressed the spade down on his windpipe, forcing a gag out of Clint. "Capisce?"

"Okay," the man choked, his eyes bulging from their sockets.

"And it would be a healthy idea not get the deputies involved in our little neighbor dispute. There's a big desert out there, guys; plenty of places to bury your bodies and I'm more than capable of disposing of you." Sonia pulled the shovel away from Clint's throat and tossed it into the weeds. "Now you two have a nice, quiet night."

Sonia turned and went back to her house as Coy stumbled to his brother and helped get him to his feet. She felt them staring, but the men didn't utter a word to her.

Sonia shut the front door, then went into her room and crawled back into bed. Smiling, she fell asleep to the distant sound of coyotes singing their night song.