Girl With Gun: Road Rage

Lissette was having a bad day.

It had started that morning, when she had woken up with a terrible headache. Then, going outside to pick up the newspaper, she had stepped in a pile of poo. Some asshole had let his dog take a shit right in her driveway.

It hadn’t gotten any better at work. At noon, she had opened the refrigerator to discover that some jerk had stolen her lunch. When she had gotten back to her desk, she had found that her stapler and scissors had also disappeared. And at a quarter to five, she had checked her email and found an angry message from her boss’s boss. Apparently, her boss had fucked something up and rather than own up to it he had instead blamed HER for it. And to top it all off, her headache had not gone away despite all the medicine she had taken.

So naturally, when Lissette got in her car for the drive home, her fuse was short. The unusually heavy traffic on the freeway didn’t help matters.

After a wearying hour-long drive, she was finally almost home. Two more exits and she could get off this damn freeway, then it was just three blocks to her house. In anticipation of getting off the freeway soon, she was in the far right lane. The traffic in every lane was slow, moving at about fifteen miles per hour.

Suddenly, she heard the roar of a car traveling at high speed. She saw a silver Pontiac Grand Am zooming along the shoulder of the road. She shook her head at this reckless and illegal behavior. The car went by her on the right, slowing down, and tried to cut right in front of her.

On any other day, she would have let it go, decided it wasn’t worth a fight, and let the driver in. But not today. She had had it with assholes getting away with shit.

She kept very close to the vehicle in front of her, not giving the silver car any room to get in. The driver, a fat, swarthy, obnoxious-looking man, glared over at her. He began pounding the horn with his right hand while giving her the finger with his left. All the while, swear words and threats were flowing liberally from his mouth.

Keeping the gap tight, she slowly moved past him, giving him the finger back as she passed by. His threats and curses became louder, and he was still honking his horn. Finally the noise became fainter as she passed him. As she approached her exit, Lissette leaned back in the seat, feeling better. She smiled as she broke loose from the freeway traffic and sped onto the offramp.

Suddenly, she heard the roar of a familiar car engine. She looked in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, the silver Pontiac was behind her and coming up fast. As she made her way onto the surface streets, the asshole driver kept right behind her, still swearing and giving her the finger. A wave of anger swept over her. This jackass had started the whole situation, and was now following her in a fit of self-righteous rage.

She was approaching a fork in the road. She knew that not far down the left fork was a police station. She could drive there, and be safe, and…

And what? Run and hide like a stereotypical girl and wait for a man to save her? Let the asshole driver most likely get away, or at best get a fine and a slap on the wrist, and let him do it again and again to other drivers? And surely he wasn’t an asshole only on the road. Guys like him were exactly the kind of jerks who let their dogs shit in other people’s driveways, stole people’s lunches and office supplies, and blamed others for their own failures. She felt her rage grow as she thought of the other bad things that had happened to her that day. Her headache increased in pain as well.

She knew two other things. She had a gun in her glove compartment. And the fork on the right led to an isolated area. A very isolated area.

On any other day, she would have taken the left fork. But today was not any other day. She took the right…

She drove along the road, watching as the houses thinned out. She drove fast, as if she was frightened and trying to get away. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she smirked. The silver car was still following her.

Soon, there was nothing but trees and bushes alongside the road. Lissette put on a burst of speed, whipping her car sharply to the right and onto a dirt turnoff. The turnoff dead-ended after a couple hundred yards. She stopped the car and reached into the glove compartment. She put on a pair of black leather gloves and took out the .45 pistol waiting inside. She chambered a round and flicked the safety off. She also kept a thigh holster in there and she now used it, quickly and efficiently putting it on and strapping the compact but lethal handgun to her thigh underneath the skirt she was wearing. She then got out of the car, face expressionless but heart pounding.

The silver Pontiac appeared. The driver smirked to himself when he saw Lissette trapped – or so he thought – at the dead end. Turning his car sideways to block the only way out, he screeched to a stop and climbed out. The look on his face was one of self-righteous rage. At 5’10” and 220 pounds, looking like the thug he was in his torn jeans and dirty wifebeater, he arrogantly thought he could have his way with this slender, pretty young woman. Her elegant yet professional outfit of a black miniskirt, knee-high black leather boots, and white blouse accented her 5’7″, 120-pound figure nicely and stood in sharp contrast to his trashy appearance.

“Suck my dick, bitch,” he growled as he advanced on her.

She smoothly pulled out the gun from underneath her miniskirt. He froze and a look of pure terror appeared on his face. Sweat dripped down his brow. “What was that?” she asked. “Say it again.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He took half a step backward.

“What’s the matter? Don’t want me to suck your dick anymore? Cat got your tongue?”

He managed to squeak out, “Please…I’m sorry, I’ll go…”

“You’re not going anywhere,” said Lissette, aiming the gun right at his head.

He raised his hands. “Please! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that! Please have mercy, I’m begging you!”

“Shouldn’t have done what? Driven illegally along the shoulder? Tried to cut me off? Given me the finger? Cursed at me? Threatened me? Chased me? Boxed me in here, thinking you’d trapped me?” She began advancing on him, keeping the gun aimed right between his eyes.

“Yes, all of those things! I was wrong on all of those things! Please don’t kill me!”

Lissette shook her head. “No, you’re only sorry for one thing. You’re only sorry you got caught.” Now she was almost upon him. She suddenly did a cartwheel, one-handed, her other hand still holding her gun, impacting his face with her big black boots one after the other and sending him to the dirt. Landing elegantly, she kicked him in the side, cracking one of his ribs. Her thighs, although slim, had visible muscle tone from her years as a dancer, and her kicks were very powerful.

“I know assholes like you all too well,” she said, kicking him again, in the head this time, giving him a terrible headache. “You think you’re better than everybody else. You think the world owes you everything. You think you don’t have to play by the rules. And you always blame others for all your own problems.” She kicked him hard in the back as she finished speaking.

Rolling on the ground in pain and clutching his cracked rib, the man began begging and pleading again. She simply stood over him and waited for him to finish his whining. She made a show of rolling up the sleeve of her white blouse to look at her watch, a silver man’s Rolex that hung loose on her slender wrist and stood out nicely against her darkly tanned forearm.

“Oh, you’re begging me now. That’s interesting. I wonder what things would be like if I didn’t have this.” She waved her gun. “I wonder what you’d be doing to me if you’d trapped me for real. I wonder if you’d listen to my pleas.” They both knew what the answer to that would be. He hung his head in shame.

The road-rage asshole was now quivering with fear. Begging wasn’t working. Running wouldn’t work. Fighting wouldn’t work. The sickening feeling of finality began to sink in. He was out of options, and out of time.

“On your knees,” she ordered.

He obeyed, trying to plead for mercy with his eyes. She ignored it. “Open your mouth.”

He opened his mouth. She approached him, holding her gun, still aimed at him, right in front of her crotch, as if it was a surrogate phallus. He wet his pants as he realized how it was going to end.

Shoving the barrel of the pistol into his mouth, she spoke the four words he knew were coming. The words he knew would be the last he would ever hear.

“Suck my dick, bitch.”

She pulled the trigger.

Lissette discovered that her headache was now gone. She looked dispassionately at the blood pooling from the corpse. She scanned the dirt road to make sure no one else was there, then collected the spent cartridge from the ground. Reholstering her gun underneath her miniskirt, she bent over the body, fishing in the dead man’s pocket for his car keys. Still wearing her black leather gloves, she moved the Pontiac to give her enough room to get out.

Putting his keys back in his pocket, she gave the body one last glance before heading back to her own car. As she started the engine and unstrapped her pistol from her thigh to put back into the glove compartment, she thought of the trouble she was in at work and her asshole boss who had gotten her into trouble.

She looked at the gun in her gloved hand, and smiled.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.