The Good, the Bad, and the Other by Brandon Barrows

     A stranger ripped open Jenna’s passenger door, pointed an automatic at her and ordered, “Stay still.” His other hand held a bulging cloth bag. A second man with a bag of his own slid through the rear door. The gunman threw himself into the front. “Now go. Go!”
     The sequence took seconds. When Jenna understood what was happening, instinct was already in control, the accelerator to the floor, her car racing.
    “Take Battery,” the gunman said. Battery Street followed the lake out of town.
     The speed-limit was twenty-five throughout the city, but, aware of the gun, Jenna kept the Kia at fifty, weaving through traffic, breezing through traffic-lights. Angry, frightened drivers leaned on horns, but her passengers were impressed.
     “You handle a car real good. You always drive like this?” the gunman asked.
     Heart thumping, her eyes strayed to the gun still on her. “Not always.”
    The rear passenger laughed. “Maybe she’s a racer, Ronny—like that Danica chick.”
     “She’s retired,” Jenna said without thinking.
     “Well, we aren’t,” Ronny answered. “Not for a while, so slow down—and no more running lights.”
      “Lucky as hell,” the backseat rider said.
     Jenna checked her mirrors. They were on the highway linking the city with several suburbs. Cops often set speed-traps along here, but not today. Maybe it was luck—but what kind?
     “What’s your name?” Ronny asked.
     She hesitated, decided it didn’t matter. “Jenna.”
     “Nice,” the rear passenger said. “Pretty. Got a boyfriend?”
     “Cut that, Nick,” Ronny growled.
     “No boyfriend,” Jenna answered.
     “See? She don’t mind,” Nick crowed. “Reason I ask—”
     Ronny twisted, shooting Nick a warning look.
     “Okay, okay,” Nick relented. “Forget it. But still—man, the way you drive!”
    “Yeah,” Ronny agreed. “We could use a driver good as you. Josh deserves prison, losing his guts and taking off.” He sighed disgustedly. “Lucky we spotted you at the curb, Jenna. Were you headin’ to work or what?”
     She shook her head. “I don’t have a job.”
     Nick grinned. “Unemployed, huh? Maybe it’s fate.”
   Miles from the city now, the road wound through trees, past scattered houses. Jenna’s adrenaline had faded, leaving only fear. Ronny’s gun had a presence of its own.
     Finally, Ronny said, “Here, on the left.”
   The road was dirt, nearly hidden by brush. Jenna turned off, wincing as branches scraped the Kia. The track ended in a clearing with tiny, ruined cabins and a half-tumbled sign reading “Motel.”
     The car stopped. Nick hopped out, hefting his bag.
    “Listen.” Ronny leaned in, twisted the key from the ignition. “I meant it about a driver.” He looked towards where Nick seemed to struggle with the nearest cabin’s door.
    “I’m sorry we got you into this, Jenna, but we aren’t bad guys,” he said. His tone was friendly, but he still held the gun.  “And we make nice money. More than any job you’ll find. Think about it, okay?” He pocketed the keyring. “Gimme your phone, too.”
     Jenna dug the cellphone from her purse and handed it over, noting several missed calls on the screen. Losing it sucked, but Ronny was satisfied and took the gun off her for the first time since forcing his way into the Kia. He climbed from the car, joining Nick in wrestling the stuck cabin door.
   Jenna’s gaze drifted from the men to Ronny’s bag, forgotten in the passenger foot-well. Luck again?
     Remembering the pistol’s black eye and the reason for today, she sighed in relief, extracted the emergency key from her wallet, and started the engine. Backing down the road as quickly as she dared, she left the heisters in a cloud of dust and confusion.

     “Where’ve you been?” Jenna’s husband, Scott, demanded hours later. “You left me hanging back there!
     “Shit,” he spat, not waiting for a reply. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. I was in line, wearing the wig and fake nose, the note about the bomb all ready, and these gun-waving yahoos burst into the bank and cleaned the place out. I couldn’t believe it.
     “What’s that bag, by the way?”
     The fear distant now, Jenna could grin as she told him, “Luck.”
    Good, bad, or something else entirely—it all depended on how you looked at it.

About the author:
​Brandon Barrows is the author of several crime and mystery novels. His most recent is And Of Course, There Was the Girl from Full Speed Publishing. He has also published over one hundred short stories and is a three-time Mustang Award finalist and a two-time Derringer Award nominee. Find more at http://www.brandonbarrowscomics.com and on Twitter @BrandonBarrows