Dottie and Bree: Episode 2- Forks at the Last Stop

Dottie and Bree: Episode 2

“That was it, Man. That was the last of it.” He twitched and picked and cracked his neck for the twenty-seventh time in sixteen minutes.

“I’ll fight you for it.” He sniffed, wild eyes darting through the store resting on an open bag of Cheetos that neither planned on consuming.

“Fuck that. Forks, Man. Get the forks.”

They nodded in unison letting clenched crooked grins overtake their gaunt graveled cheeks; Jimbo bolted to the hot dog station.

Rusty worked at the “Last Stop Gas ‘n Sip” somewhere after Barstow. Customers were rare, but they still carried milk and eggs and various red mesh trucker hats with slogans like “Galt Racing Pigs” and “I’m with Stupid”. Jimbo came over most evenings for late night speed binges and early 80’s porn marathons. Competitive beasts, they would usually decide disputes with jack-off contests to feather-haired dirty blondes on VHS; Rusty always won.

Jimbo was partial to forks. Each got three tries to embed their plastic tines in the corrugated ceiling tiles above. Jimbo believed he was a circus performer in a former life, throwing forks at trained poodles dressed in little clown hats with painted dew claws; he rarely missed. That last line would be his.

The oncoming car’s headlights illuminated the wall of refrigeration highlighting ice cream sandwiches and silver Sparks six-packs and Snapple Peach Tea as it skidded to a stop spitting rocks into the cold desert air. Two badly beaten disheveled girls emerged from the white vehicle. The long haired blonde hopped sideways as she attempted to strap on a plastic shoe and reached for balance on the outstretched arm of the driver with crusted blood matted in her short bobbed locks. Neither had purses, both smelled desperate.

Dottie leaned over the counter allowing her thin blouse to gape open exposing a nipple. She grabbed a Cheeto from the open bag and delicately licked the orange cheese powder from the crinkled stick lolling her head to the left with partially closed eyes. “Mmmm, can I take this bag? I love Cheetos.” She breathed and moaned the words letting her tongue spend more time outside her mouth than necessary.

Bree stood back, hands on hips, admiring Dottie’s work. She felt suddenly hopeful. They might be able to get the food for free and spend the sixteen on gas. They might not have to suck off these speed freaks. They just might make it to Mexico.

She had to pee, and Dottie seemed to have this situation well under control, so she slithered off to the bathroom to wash the blood from her forehead and assess her appearance’s outward damage. Flipping the light scattered an Entomologist’s dream world across the molded tiles and growing grout; Bree held back the rising vomit, lifted her skirt and hovered above the toilet. Tilting her head back rapturously, she emptied herself and breathed relief.

There was a yellowish line on the counter.

“Thank you Universe.” She mouthed to the sky smiling while removing a short blue straw from her bra. She inhaled it steadily before attempting to wash the gore and stared at her reflection in the scratched and fogged glass and sang, “We’re gonna make it after all.”

Bree emerged ecstatically from the bathroom and started to bounce and spin with head rolling and shoulders shaking to “Let’s Get Physical” as it crackled from the porn playing TV in the corner. Dottie has acquired the sundries and was working her shoeless foot up Rusty’s leg for the gas. “I LOVE it when a good plan comes together!” Bree grabbed the air with her fist and shook her magical powers like dice throwing her open hand seeing the flashes of lightening escape from her fingertips.

They were going to make it out alive.

A green beer bottle crashed directly in front of Bree’s open hand. “She fucking ate our speed, Man!” Jimbo exploded and shook his hands menacingly dropping the six forks dangerously close to Dottie. She sprung into action.

Grabbing her plastic stiletto from the ground, she immediately spiked Jimbo in the neck. The shoe stuck crookedly for a moment until she yanked it away letting loose the spurting fountain of blood. She kicked him in the stomach with her naked foot so his last sight could be her perfectly manicured anal darkness as she stood triumphantly above his seizuring body. She spit on his face and turned to Rusty.

“Please. PLEASE. Take what you want. Take the money. Take the gas. Go. Just get out of…..” Rusty’s pleading was cut off by Dottie’s favorite ninja star wedged squarely in his open mouth. He crumpled to the ground atop the plastic forks and she dislodged it as quickly as Bree removed the money from the cash register.

Dottie grabbed two red mesh trucker caps, a pair of aviator glasses and a pack of Big Red gum.

Olivia Newton John was still singing as they sped away from the deserted gas station into the grey morning light.