Part 2

Rudy hadn't lived much of a life, but he'd always thought that it would end with a whimper, rather than a bang. He'd known there were troubles between the, but when Brenda actually pulled a gun on him... well, it was a radical shift in perspective.



- Baby, what is this?



- Don't you f#cking 'baby' me, asshole! This is the way this f#cking story ends. Drop the f#cking case and move over there.



If only she'd been right. Later on Rudy had LOTS and LOTS of time to reflect on how wrong she'd been.



- I said, 'Drop The F#cking Case!' You impotent, dimebag, skinny-d!ck, piece of sh!t!



- Look, Ba..., Brenda, Brenda honey, it wasn't, it isn't like this isn't OUR money, OUR life. We're here together.



- F#ck that! I know you. You're not innocent, you're not f#cking sharing. You're looking at that money and you're f#cking making plans.



- Plans for us! Plans for US, ba.., Brenda.



- That's all I have to hear. You barely know my f#cking name! I'm just one of your damn 'Babys' Well f#ck that, and f#ck you! I'm not having that. I'm having it all.

The windmills turned over head. Oblivious to the quickly cut-off,
- Baby, NO!
and the four shots that followed.

Rudy, looking down at his corpse, reflected that she'd been too close. She was spattered, well spattered. Not like Carrie or anything, but it was a bloody mess. She stood so still that it was almost as if SHE'D died. But then her eyes moved to the case and it was like a current to a clock. Instant movement.

Rudy was a little startled. Not being a terribly metaphysical kind of guy he'd never really given much thought to what happens after death. Now it was happening. He'd been planning on checking into a hotel at around this time. Within two hours he'd planned to be showering the sex off and leaving a note. He'd given a lot of thought to whether or not he'd leave money. He'd decided not to, which had only made it more surprising to be shot. Ask anyone who has suffered a fatal gunshot wound, (consult your local medium) they'll tell you it's pretty surprising.

Rudy watched her level his body over the cliff and was impressed again at how different she was than he'd thought. She'd seemed, for the couple months he'd known her, to be one of those pretty, little bitches that one meets and discards. He'd never thought of her as something special. Clarity rarely comes to one in the full flush of rapid existence. But get to the other side and things start to clarify in a hurry.

Rudy saw that she was a little more than just a random bar slut. She was obviously better looking, but she'd also been planning this caper for a while. The ease with which she had pulled it together, the swift movements for disposal. Rudy wished he'd seen things this clearly before he'd died. With one of those goofy little smiles of his, the ones that defined his success with women when he was alive, he thought about using his new found deductive skills to, well, to what?

As Brenda started the car and drove off Rudy experienced yet another little shock. He stopped being by the windmills and found himself floating about 10 feet behind the car. With all the control he could muster over his new, apparently nomadic, dicorporeal form, he stopped in midair. But within seconds he was moving again, floating along behind the car. He considered his options. Apparently his would not be an existence of control. Something clearly compelled him.

Rudy was used to control. Not that he wasone of those control freaks or anything. He ran one of the most continually successful minor casinos on the strip for a very, very successful little syndicate, known under a variety of sobriquets and mostly feared by those in the know. The case Brenda had taken was only 1% his, and as a consequence some very, very angry men would be coming after Brenda before too long. Rudy expected to feel good about seeing harm come to her, but was surprised to find that he couldn't muster and malice whatsoever.

There was closer and there was in the car. Those were his options. By a little manipulation of the will he found that he could move in any direction, 10 feet from the car. He considered a destiny tied by a 10 foot leash to a rental car. It seemed bleak. Being in the car with Brenda, near all that blood, it was disconcerting. He found that he really had a lot to say to her, but the conversation was pretty one sided.