It had been a long drive for Grace -- like can't feel your legs long.
Somewhere between the grime of Los Angeles and the burnt palette of the Nevada border, she ditched her pumps altogether. As she drove over the cracked asphalt, she heard them rattle underneath the passenger seat and it bothered her.
She looked for a gas station or roadside slophouse. Nothing. Despite the growling in her gut, she wasn't hungry. She needed a cup of Joe. Anything would help now and she couldn't help thinking that even the mud Gus sold on his hot dog cart outside the courthouse would do. Without caffeine, the radio would have to do. Nothing but Patsy Cline and Charlie Walker for hundreds of miles. It helped for a while, but she had a deadline so Grace pressed on because she knew there'd be a reward. Especially after what she'd done.
She was now in Nevada and the boys would soon be by to pick her up after ditching the toaster she was driving. At least that was the plan. Or was it?
Sweat dripped down the back of her neck and all Grace wanted to do was rip off the deluxe over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder she bought from the five and dime. But then, that would be unladylike so unbuttoning a few extra buttons would have to suffice. Besides, who was watching?
By now, the sun was sleepy and she leaned against the car and wondered if there was any beer left in the cooler of the trunk. There was, but those Lowenbraus were floating in ice water hotter than a two-dollar pistol.
Then it hit her. They weren't coming. They never were. But it was okay. Truly okay.
Her plan worked. She knew those fellas were lower than the belly of a snake and she smiled at the very thought of how truly dumb they were.
As the sun set on Grace, she hopped back into the heap and headed back to Los Angeles to where she actually hid the money.
Music: Charlie Walker, "Pick Me Up On Your Way Down" via the Internet Archive. It can be downloaded here.