Jane repeated herself, “I said, who are you?”
The man coughed abruptly to clear his throat. He then replied, “You know who I am, you fucking bitch.”
Not the answer I was expecting. She asked the question a third time.
“What are you, dense?” asked the man.
“Don’t make me shoot you.”
“You? Shoot me? I don’t think so.”
While it looked as though it caused the man great pain— which made Jane think he had broken or at least sprained more than his leg— he went to unbuckle his seatbelt.
But Jane moved forward, and brought the gun closer to the man’s face, a genuine threat in her eye. For some reason, she didn’t trust him. Maybe it was his attitude, or the glib smile.
She said cooly, “Stop. I will shoot you.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why not? I killed those guys,” admitted Jane. (Although, she wasn’t sure if she did.) Jane motioned with a head tilt to the dead men lying in the snow.
The man raised his hands above his head. Or in this instance, lowered them, so that they hung below his head.
“Can’t I get out of this chair first? All of the blood’s rushing to my head.”
“Once you tell me who you are.”
The man laughed, “Ha ha. You crazy bitch… Alright.” Then he sniffled and answered seriously, “Joe Ewing… I’m the guy who shoved you in the trunk, remember?”
Jane thought long and hard about the name, but it didn’t ring any bells. Or the trunk. She had no recollection of being in a trunk at any point.
“I don’t remember you. I don’t remember any of that.”
“Yeah, sure you don’t, sweetheart.”
“I don’t! I can’t remember anything! Who I am, who you are, where I am! Nothing! I don’t remember a fucking thing!”
“What? Like head trauma?”
“I don’t know! Maybe!”
“Damn,” Joe clucked, considering the idea. He looked Jane over, and she wasn’t afraid. She was confused.
“Well fuck, I can’t do anything about that. And anyway, I’ve introduced myself, let me the fuck down.”
“No,” Jane said simply.
“No? Lady, we had deal.”
“Well, I lied. I don’t trust you. And I definitely don’t like you.”
“Well you can’t keep a bead on me forever. Especially in that skimpy outfit.”
Jane knew Joe was right. And as soon as he mentioned it, a shiver crept down her spine. Slowly, the cold was inching in.
“I can hold out long enough.”
“Not in twenty below weather you can’t. Sooner or later, you’re going to freeze to death. Or I’m going to get loose, and shoot you a few times. Maybe in the head. Or maybe in the gut so you bleed out. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Perhaps I should shoot you then. Before you have the chance.”
Joe shifted in his seat, and smiled. Confident that he would survive. He whispered; provoked her, “Then do it.”