nearing the intersection—three of them in a wedge formation like fighter jets coming to her rescue.
The turn arrow for Toby was red.
His brake lights came on. He squealed to a halt.
The other three cars kept coming.
As Sherry ran for the curb, she wondered if she should try to wave down one of them.
First get out of their way.
She barely made it to the parking lane before the first of the cars whizzed by. As she turned around, the others rushed past her.
Didn’t it cross anyone’s mind I might need help?
Toby’s car lurched into the intersection. Tires whining, it started into a tight U-turn.
Sherry ran for the Nacho Casa.
As his car roared closer, she rushed to the restaurant’s nearest door.
Made it!
She grabbed the handle and pulled. As the door swung toward her, Toby’s car lurched to a stop at the curb.
She stepped inside.
Out of the wind and heat, into air-conditioned brightness and tangy aromas of Mexican food.
Standing just inside the doorway, she stared through the wall of windows. Toby’s car remained at the curb, headlights on. But he didn’t get out.
He’s afraid to come in.
Of course he is, she told herself. He tries to come in after me, all these people are going to see him.
All these people?
Forcing her eyes away from Toby’s car, she scanned the restaurant:
Most of the tables were empty.
Him!
He’d moved to a different table, but Sherry was certain this was the same man she’d seen in here earlier—the creepy, gray-haired guy who’d spent so much time staring at her.
He was staring at her now.
Staring and frowning.
Sherry looked away from him.
At one of the other tables sat a filthy old woman jibbering to herself.
At another were a couple of husky, tough-looking bikers. The one facing her was a woman with a black patch over one eye. The other had wild black hair and a thick beard. He wore a sleeveless denim jacket with Hounds of Hell on its back.
Glad they’re here, Sherry thought.
Far down near the other end of the restaurant, two guys and one gal were seated at a table. They were probably in their early twenties, and seemed serious as they talked quietly and sipped coffee. Several books were piled on the table.
Probably college students, Sherry thought.
She liked them at first glance.
Maybe they’ll give me a ride.
Turning her head, she saw Toby’s car still sitting by the curb. Its headlights were now off.
He’s still in it, isn’t he?
She crouched slightly and narrowed her eyes and made out a vague shape in the driver’s seat.
As she straightened up, aches and pains made Sherry grit her teeth. She looked down at herself. The right sleeve of her gaudy, tropical blouse, ripped at the seam, drooped off her shoulder, which was skinned and shiny with blood.
A single button, just above her navel, was all that held her blouse shut. Completely untucked, the blouse draped over her yellow skirt. The skirt was filthy in front, but didn’t seem to be torn.
Leaning forward, she pressed the pleated fabric against her thighs and looked at her knees. They were both scraped raw.
The shoe was missing from her right foot.
Deedle-deedle dumpling…
Her white sock, now dirty, was half off.
Balancing on her left leg, Sherry raised her right and pulled up the sock.
Then she checked both her arms. Aside from the skinned shoulder, she had an abrasion on the underside of her right forearm.
She wondered what else was wrong.
Torn ear lobe.
Maybe bruising in the face from the first punch.
Damage to her side from the second.
Probably a bruised breast.
She thought about going to the restroom. She could take a better look at wounds, clean herself up a little, use the toilet…
She needed it badly, now.
But what if Toby decides to come in?
He’d have me alone.
She looked out the window, crouched and saw the dim shape of Toby behind the wheel of his car.
Planning to wait me out?
She glanced toward the creepy, gray-haired man. He was still staring at her.
She turned her back, then looked down at her blouse, hoping to fasten the rest of her buttons. They were gone, leaving behind tufts of broken thread.
All over the street, she supposed.
Along with bits of my skin.
Holding her blouse shut and not looking back, Sherry hurried into the alcove under the BANOS sign. The short hallway led past several doors. She glanced at the signs on them: Employees Only, Private, Hombres…
She stopped and frowned at the Hombres door.
Was the naked girl still in there, hiding in a stall?
Maybe I can borrow her top. She isn’t using it anyway.