Tall and broad at the shoulders, he was a brute of a man, but limber.  Unexpectedly so.  He’d walked light-footed through the casino in a pair of nubuck Timberlands when she’d first spotted him, size 13.  A shag of hair the color of black walnuts covered almost every inch of flesh above his neck; his chest, too.  He’d led her into the parking lot after a few shots of bourbon because he thought being with her would be easy, but nothing about Ruby left a man at ease.

Exiting the car after, he’d called out to her from a measurably lowered testosterone haze, “Hey, where ya goin’?  We done here?  Really!?”

“A girl’s gotta pee, doesn’t she?” was her only reply.

Ruby didn’t have to pee. Ruby didn’t have to do anything.  As she confidently made her way across the parking lot and past the main entrance to the gaming tables, she violently flicked her head sideways. This continued a habit she’d adopted years before when she realized for the first time how much her mother hated a shrouded stare in her punching bags.

Ruby pulled the paper money and credit cards from the wallet she’d lifted off him. The rest of his identity she let slip through experienced fingers to the wet pavement below.  She fingered the cross she always wore around her neck.

The fog was beginning to roll in quickly now.

$594 in cash and the plastic—it’d been a good night!

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