The door to the gas bar opened; Mags stepped out into the warm summer air, her blood red hair flowing behind her. She wore black baggy shorts and a white tank-top.
"West - that is what the old man said," Mags stated as she strolled across the pavement. She hopped into the jeep; Trump sat in the passenger side licking his paws. She pulled out of the gas bar like a bat out of hell. "He's close by, we still have time to find him," she said as the jeep roared onto the highway. She was so close, so close to him.
"Are you positive that this is him?" asked Trump. "It won't be like the last time? Where you ended up putting two slugs in some guy's head?"
"Not this time," Mags said.
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