In the auctioneer’s office, Jem cracked the safe. She wept bitterly, but still set the manuscript on fire. “It’s only paper,” she reasoned.
“Hold still while I drill through your hands,” he smiles, teeth glowing. “If you taut your arms, I can’t stretch you on my wall properly.”
She crawled through a crush of concrete, bones and blood for days. On the upheaved street, she was lured into the truck by an offer of food.
She stares back at the men drinking cheap beer. Spins on a high heel. They cough, leer, burp. Then throw wallets where her Uzi points.
Leila hated her son-in-law, but during her daughter’s funeral, she began to see what a good father he was. She told her men to stand down.