Rocky Mountain High

She, curled up in the corner of the passenger side, groans softly but shows no sign of waking. Her face is puffed from his beating. She has clutched her coat in an effort to ward off the cold. Underneath she wears only a thin party dress. One pump had stayed on her foot when he pushed her into the front seat of her Dodge Viper, but she won’t need the other. He reminds himself to look for it when he gets back to his condo, and promptly forgets about it. Eleven-ten at night the road is empty but he keeps his speed at seventy miles an hour, just five over the limit. He isn’t much worried about being pulled over so far from the barrooms drawing deputies’ attention on the drunkest night of the year, but the risk will rise around Peyton or Calhan or one of the smaller towns along Highway 24. He shouldn’t be here, it should have been taken care of by somebody else. But Jack, his newest associate and first choice for this sort of job, can’t be found, leaving him to mop up a mess that could send him to the pen at Canon City.