The house of Don Francisco sat in a remote part of the desert and a thin veneer of dust had settled on the shining paintjob of the limousine as it approached the mock-adobe mansion set at location that allowed a perfect view on anyone who dared to approach.
The sniper’s gun-sights sent ominous reflexes through the bulletproofed windows of Donna Juanitas dusty vehicle. She sighed, “Men and their toys”, and hoped that she had not overlooked any detail, but she felt sure that Don Francisco continued to underestimate female adversaries.
Mingling humble offering of peace with sex and a devious concoction mixed with her nail polish, Donna Juanita felt well prepared. Nobody would believe that the crimson striations on Don Francisco’s back would be the real cause of a death that looked more like a heart attack while having passionate sex.
By dawn tomorrow, she — a mourning mistress — would command the Arizona mob.
This is my second linking to Barbara W. Beacham’s Monday Finish the story. Great to fantasize of a warm desert in the cold of late December.
December 29, 2014