The honeymoon of Laura and Gerry Fitz is off to a fast-paced yet deadly start when they arrive in Florida. There is a maniac behind the wheel who needs to win at all costs. When he wins, life is great but when he loses he is DRIVEN TO KILL!
The first victim off the starting line is Laura’s ex-husband Lou, and she is taking it personally. Mix in a creepy cop and some unexpected surprises and you have a race for your life. Who will win and who will wipe out?
Excerpt
I was hoping to catch some sleep. This is was what I did to avoid a major pity party and my current situation definitely called for one of epic proportions, I was on my bunk with my arm shielding my eyes when I heard one of my cellmates whispering at me. “Hey, chicklet, you got a smoke?”
“No, sorry, not one of my vices.” I managed to mumble through my pity party.
“Damn!” she replied, “been dying for a Camel for the last four hours”
“Babe,” Bertha chimed in, “I keep telling you, go menthol if you have to do it at all, Camels will kill ya.”
Great! Now I really wanted to cry. I was stuck between two women in a jail cell, debating which carcinogen is better for you.
It was no use. I was not going to get any rest with these two around.
“Ok, here’s a thought why don’t we swap stories about how each of us got here?” I looked at the skinny broad with the Camel addiction and the big lady to my right whose rightful and fitting name was Sideshow Barb, a long time carnival owner. It would hopefully occupy our thoughts and kill time.
Skinny broad went first. “It’s a classic case of PMS and poor impulse control. Me and the old man were arguing over chores and his God given right to sit on his overused ass and hog the remote. I was in pain big-time ‘cos I was ragging it and the kids were being pissy as well. They at least know enough to stay away when mommy isn’t well. Lonnie hasn’t learned that lesson, not even after fifteen years with me. Finally, I had had enough of the inherent lazy gene in the Jones family men. I started whacking him with anything that wasn’t nailed down. Long story, short he now has a broken arm and five stitches from getting an ash tray in the head.”
We looked at Barb for a topper for this one. “I threatened my son’s teacher with a major can of whoop-ass if she dared single my Johnny out for misbehaviour again. I know the kid has issues with attention and needs better social skills. I did teach him that looking up little girls skirts was just not done. Alas, my lectures have fallen on deaf ears and he got nailed for rampant voyeurism in the school yard. So the teacher called cops on me for uttering threats about popping a cap up her tushie.”
By the end of Barb’s tale of woe, the skinny bitch and I were laughing so hard we were in tears.
“Okay Laura, your turn chicklet”
I started off by stating that I am Canadian and live in an area in Toronto know for crime and that Gerry and I manage an apartment. I went on to state that the last two years has been fraught with one disaster after another: “I have had to deal with two dead bodies in the last year alone, I have done battle with bimbos and ‘little people’ and endured cars being wrecked. My hubby’s nose was broken by a flying watermelon. I survived all that and was able to marry Gerry and come down south for our honeymoon hoping to see some NASCAR races. Now I am sitting here because some damn cop thinks I murdered my ex-husband Louie, who we found already run over and left for road kill.
Both Barb and the skinny one whose name is Denise agreed that I had the best of all three stories. By that time the jail guard had come to get us for our fresh air break and announced that I was being sprung, as was Gerry. I exchanged hugs with Denise and Barb and wished them luck with their cases. I was glad to shuck the prison denim and suggested they get a supply of fabric softener; however this request landed me a dirty look. I was starting to think American police have no sense of humor.
Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 