“Shut up, bitch!” he said.

Smoke watched Divinity drive the Escort from behind the bank, where it had been hidden. She inserted herself into the solid line of traffic creeping toward downtown, early morning light winking off windshields. He smelled shit and pee and at first thought it was the kid in the back seat.

“Fuck,” he said when he realized his victim had lost control of her bowels and bladder. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t . . .”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch. You’re going to drive real normal and you try anything I’m gonna blow your sweet little baby’s brains all over the back of the car while you watch.”

“Take anything,” she cried. “Just don’t hurt her. Anything you want. Oh please! Anything . . . !”

“Shut up!” Smoke hissed.

Miss Sink was crying so hard her teeth were chattering. They drove behind Kmart and parked where asphalt gave way to acres of woods. Smoke grabbed her wallet out of her purse. He took the ten crisp twenties she had gotten from the money stop.

He robbed her of an additional two dollars and sixty-two cents, and quarters and tokens for tolls. Her watch and necklace weren’t worth the trouble, and pawn shops were risky. She stunk so bad he was about to gag, and the fucking kid was waking up and beginning to cry.

“Loraine, it’s all right, sweetie. Please be quiet, honey. My name’s Miss Sink and this is my grandniece, Loraine,” Miss Sink prattled on. “You don’t want to hurt us. For God’s sake, you must have a mother, a grandmother . . .”

“SHUT UP! QUIT NAGGING ME, YOU UGLY OLD BITCH!”

Smoke turned the radio up loud. The kid began to howl.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Smoke yelled at the baby.

“Oh God in heaven! Please don’t hurt us! Dear God! Think about what you’re doing! You look like a smart young man. You don’t want trouble like this!”

“I hate ugly old women like you. So you better shut the fuck up and consider yourself lucky I don’t do other things to you. But you stink too bad,” he said in a low, cold voice. “So now you’re gonna bend over. So you don’t see me when I get out. Okay?”

“Okay,” Miss Sink whimpered.

She pressed her face against the steering wheel. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightly covered them with her hands. She didn’t move. She barely breathed. Annie Lennox was stepping on broken glass on the radio as Smoke dug through the glove box and the kid screamed. Smoke emptied the purse on the floor mat and helped himself to a pack of spearmint Freedent gum, fingernail clippers and a prescription bottle of Ativan.

“Thanks, Miss Sink,” he said. “Grow up to be a good girl, Loraine. Y’all don’t forget me, promise?” He laughed.

He popped a stick of Freedent into his mouth and scanned the area. No one was around.