Nilla! I can barely sense you out there, talk to me!
Later, but still long before the dawn. Darkness outside of the window in the van's rear door. Occasional arpeggios of light as they passed under streetlamps, pizzicato flashes of red as they passed a car going the other way, few and far between. Mike, the one with the needles, had his arms around her, moving her back and forth. Maybe trying to wake her up. He pulled a blanket around her as the van slowed, pulled away from the lights. The back door fell open and she was pushed and dragged out, onto loose dirt. She could feel the van's exhaust farting against her leg, hot and dry.
The desert at night: close and comforting, the very opposite of the expansive emptiness of day time. The darkness, near total, pushed in close looking to share your warmth. The few sounds were mournful and polite.
'Welcome to Arizona, Muffin. Home of fuck-all and plenty of it,' Mellowman bellowed at her, his face very close to her ear. She couldn't stand on her own. If Mike let go of her she knew she would fall. 'I'm going to shoot you again. In the head this time. If that still doesn't kill you we're going to bury you in a shallow grave. If you dig yourself out of the grave then I will come back and shoot you again, until it works.'
Just' just go invisible, Nilla thought. But that was beyond her, way beyond her. She lacked the energy for it.
Mike set her down, leaning up against the side of the van. The third guy, the fidgety one'had be been driving the van? He must have been driving the van'leaped out of the back holding a shovel. 'Alright, Termite, you get to it,' Mellowman told him. He moved rapidly out of Nilla's field of vision but she could hear him digging, quite close by.
Mellowman knelt down near her and took one of the film canisters from his bandolier. He popped it open with one thumb and a complex, earthy, skunky smell came out. A vegetable smell. He dug out a finger's length of leafy green material and rolled it into a cigarette. He lit it and blew smoke in her face. 'Not much longer now. You feel like talking?'
She let her eyes go lax in their sockets. No point in looking at anything. There was nothing in this little tableau that could save her.
'I don't expect you do. Some people like to talk when they get to this point, is all, they like to confess to things, like I was a priest or somewhat. I've been out this way before, you see. I've had problems like you before. Not so much it's become a habit. You want a puff on this? Or maybe some water? Maybe, Muffin, you want to know what it's like to be with a man. You know, one last time.'
She focused her vision on him again and was surprised by what she found in his face. He looked genuinely interested. This was real to him, all of it, much more real than the people in Las Vegas lined up at the van or the danger she might have posed to his operation. No, this was a man whose life was measured in the number of times he was able to go out into the desert and do someone harm.
She could plead for her life but that was beyond pointless'he wanted her to suffer, to beg, and the more she cried the more he would want. She could ask for what she really wanted and just maybe she would get it. 'Huh, huh,' she snuffled. 'Hungry.' It came out on a long exhalation.
Mellowman shrugged. 'Yeah, whatever. Then I guess a blow job is out of the question.' It was a joke, whether or not she found it funny. Apparently he had been serious about granting her last request, though, or perhaps he just didn't care. Mike went into the van'she felt it rocking against her back as she moved around inside there'and emerged with half of a sandwich. Roast beef and mustard, by the smell. He held it near her mouth but she couldn't use her hands, couldn't even lift her arms. He had to feed it to her, disassembling the components. His motions around her were respectful, almost gentle. When she was done eating though Mellowman ordered Mike to pick her up and carry her and his hands grabbed her forcefully under her armpits.