"Sit in the back, my front seat's broken."   
As she climbed in, she saw what he said was true.  The front seat had a large hole showing the springs
with one nasty point sticking up. He pushed the lock button on the back door and slammed it shut.  
Instinctively, she knew that wasn't right.  She tried to open the door, but she knew she couldn't.  
Child-proof. It would only open from the outside.  The other back door, she could see,
was locked too.   
She tried to scramble into the front seat before he got into the car.  
Suddenly, something hard hit her on the her head slamming her against the back of the seat.
Momentarily stunned, she slipped to the floor. She heard a massive click. As she raised herself to a
sitting position, she saw a steel grate locked into place behind
the headrests.   
Just like a police car.        
She was trapped and she might have been knocked out if she hadn't had the hat and wig on.
Her large sunglasses had been thrown to the floor. She retrieved them, feeling dizzy when she quickly
bent over.
Garry climbed into the front seat, all 300 sweating pounds of him.  Luckily he couldn't move with much
swiftness so that she had time to get to work.
She pulled out the gun and shot him through the back of the
seat.   
He stopped moving.
She knew how loud the shot was going to be but for a moment the sound crashed against her ear
drums and reverberated in her brain.
If only she could reach the lock switch on the front panel, however the car door was still open, his leg
hanging out. Too far away to try to poke anything through the grate, not that she had anything.
Garry's keys were in his hand, but they were slipping to the floor.  The keys wouldn't have helped her
either.
"Help, help!" she yelled hoping a passerby in the mall parking
lot would come to her aid and open the back door.   
A man did.  She tumbled out, panting, her heart about to rocket out of her chest.  "Oh, thank you,
thank you."  She was so grateful to him she almost blurted out everything.
The man, probably in his 70s, looked bewildered.  "My friend's fainted."  She said. "I accidently got
locked in the back seat."
She kept her face averted, pulled out her cell phone and pushed in
911 but not `send.'  "Help, help, my friend had an asthma attack.
Yes."  Then she gave directions to their location in the mall into the dead phone.
She squeezed past her Good Samaritan who stood like a stone statue between her and front door of
the car. Maybe he needed direction, like a child.  "It's all right, you can go now, the ambulance is on its
way."
He stared at her. She kept her face down peering into the front seat with what she hoped was an
anxious look.
Garry had slumped to the right.  No exit wound that she could see.  The twenty-two bullet was probably
still rattling around in his body. She could only hope.
She pulled out the canister. "I'm going to give him a shot from his inhaler," she said as she spurted
Garry's face with mace.
No reaction.
"He's coming around, thank you.  We're okay."  The man backed away, then turned, his eyes still on her,
his every movement reluctant.  
"Move!" she mentally yelled at him. Maybe this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to
him, she thought.  
Then she pretended to talk soothingly to the lump of lard in case anyone was watching.
She hoped she appeared to be looking for the ambulance that would never arrive, but actually scanning
the area from behind her
dark glasses for any would-be witnesses.     Then she struggled to
push Garry's leg into the car.  She patted the obnoxious blob on the shoulder and closed the door.  He
looked like he was sleeping.
Hot day and inside a black car, he ought to be smelling real good soon.  Just like his victims.
She looked into the back seat to be sure she hadn't left anything. Her thin cotton gloves over plastic
ones ensured no fingerprints. What she was wearing, a nylon track suit might leave fibers, and there
might be debris from the soles of her shoes, and possibly hairs from her wig. No matter the whole outfit
would soon be long gone.
Even if criminalists found evidence of her presence, they'd finally find the evidence of his victims.  The
women he had raped and killed. Maybe now the police would take seriously those anonymous calls the
Committee had made about Garry.
They'd guessed his M.O. was to disable the victim's car in the parking lot of the mall, then offer her a
ride home. Only she had pretended her car was disabled near where he had parked his. Make
it easy for him.  Call it entrapment.  Vermin entrapment.   The
Committee had theorized that the victims recognized Garry as a person they had seen around the
neighborhood, so he wasn't a stranger, albeit a misfit. They were not far from home, so it was
reasonable to go with him. Maybe they figured they could at least stand him for the few blocks it would
take to get them home.  
Then Mandy had disappeared. One of their own.
Someone had seen Garry talking to her in the mall's parking lot. Later her car was found there. A wire
disconnected. The Committee had become suspicious of Garry, did a little research, and found out jut
how weird he was. They had reported their findings to the police anonymously.
Mandy's body had been found. The details of her slow and painful death were emblazoned on their
individual and collective memories forever.
More calls. Still the police had done nothing, instead focusing on an ex con with tattoos and a record.
That's when the Committee decided to do something about it.
Garry would never harm another living creature again.
Vermin extermination.
Courtesy of the Committee.
The Neighborhood Watch Committee.
NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH
By:Gay Kinman