Deceived - Laura S. Wharton Page 0,18

head struck the steering wheel and windshield. The last thing he remembered hearing was the sound of screeching tires as the SUV sped away.

Chapter nine

“Dude…are you…like…dead?”

Sam could hear a voice, distant, but throbbing, like it was coming from inside his head. He wanted to sleep, but the voice persisted.

“’Cause if you’re dead, I’m thinking I might like to check out your wallet.”

Now vaguely aware of a hand moving down his backside to his wallet, Sam felt a tugging and jostling. With all the strength he could muster, he sprang upright and reached with his right hand through the open window for the voice.

The voice shrieked, and Sam latched on to the throat from which it emanated. With a firm hold, he pulled the throat into the car and mashed the button to put up the electric window until it hit the underside of the would-be pickpocket’s armpit, capturing an arm, shoulder, and head inside the car. Then Sam let go of the voice’s throat. The voice gulped and gasped for air as the window held it tight.

Sam turned on the car’s dome light, momentarily blinding his catch. The voice belonged to a dark-haired, pony-tailed woman in her mid-thirties and wearing a soggy, battered Hawaiian print shirt.

“Dude! I didn’t mean it! I…I was checking to see if you were all right, man! Really, I didn’t mean anything by it,” she babbled.

Sam glared at her. She looked harmless enough. Sam looked around for the SUV with the rack lights on top, but he couldn’t make out anything in the brilliance of the dome light.

“Why were you trying to run me off the road?” Sam asked calmly.

“I didn’t do this to you. You were this way when I found you.” She was emphatic.

“What’s your name?”

“Monroe.”

“Monroe,” Sam mimicked. “Is that your first or your last name?”

“Last.”

“Got a first name, Monroe?”

“Yes, but…but you just call me Monroe.”

“What is your first name, Monroe? I would like to know whose hand it is that is reaching into my back pocket.”

“Oh, sorry. Like I said, I thought maybe you were dead.” Monroe pulled her hand up as far as she could given her current predicament and offered to shake Sam’s hand.

Sam didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he climbed slowly over the passenger’s seat and out the door. He staggered around the back of the vehicle and to Monroe’s back side to frisk her.

“What the…? Hey, you’ve done that before. You a cop?” Monroe asked nervously. “What are you going to do, dude?”

“Well, for starters, I thought I might see who you are, and what you’re up to. You have the right to remain silent.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” Monroe protested.

“You don’t think running someone off the road and leaving him for dead is right, now, do you, Monroe?”

“I told you, man, you were already off in the ditch when I found you!” Monroe shouted. “I was just checking to see if you were all right, and if you weren’t, well, I was gonna find out who you were, so I could, you know, notify somebody or something.”

“Then where did you come from, Monroe? I don’t see your car around anywhere,” Sam said as he quickly looked around the area.

“I don’t have a car right now. I was hitching. Or trying to, anyway. I saw this huge truck with blinding lights on top racing up the road behind me, so I dove into the ditch a few hundred feet back. Then I saw it clobber you, and I figured you were a goner when you went off the road the second time. Hey, can you lower the window or something? My arm is about to fall off here!”

Sam reached for the door handle and jerked the door open. The force of the door hit Monroe on the chest, making her yelp.

“Cripes! You didn’t need to do that.”

Sam reached into the car and mashed a button, which lowered the window, freeing Monroe.

Monroe stood there, rubbing first her arm, then her head. “Uh, I’ll be moving along now.” She started backing away from the car and from Sam, but not fast enough.

Sam grabbed her arm and pushed her into the car. “What kind of a truck was it? Did you see the license plate? What color?” Sam rapid-fired his questions.

“I don’t know! I told you, the rack lights were blinding. When I dove into the ditch, I didn’t see anything! May the fleas of a thousand camels attack the driver in his crotch, and may his arms be too short to