Black Mamba

Then they left me there, bound and naked, and drove off. I was trying to figure out how to get my wrists free and then what the hell I was going to do at night, not knowing where I was and being starkers. I didn't have to wonder about that for very long. I saw the headlights of a car approaching me across the grass of the park and a 1971 red E-type Jaguar convertible rolled up beside me. There couldn't be too many of these in this hick river town, I figured, so I wasn't surprised when Ted Sinclair got out of the car and walked over and looked down at me.

"You look like you got yourself in a mess," he said.

"A mess I think you had something to do with creating," I said.

"I didn't know they'd bring you here and leave you like this," he said.

"At the moment that isn't too comforting. You aren't my favorite person right this moment."

"You might want to rethink that," he said. "I followed them, didn't I, and I'm here now."

"That's fine and dandy if you get me released and get me back to the Motel 6--and maybe find me something to wear so I don't scare the fine ladies of this little burg."

"I have clothes back at the house I could lend you. The house is right over there. We can almost see it from here, but I think we have a little negotiation to do before that."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when I asked if I'd been a good enough lay to get a freebee? And you told me not to push it?"

"Yeah, I sort of remember that."

"Well, would it be pushing it to get that free lay if I free your wrists and take you home for a change of clothes? I surely would like to have another encounter with that black mamba of yours."

I certainly was in no position to haggle about that.