En Route

The trunk would not close and the man crouched to peek through the gap hoping to determine the cause. It was a knee. He got up, lifted the lid, and began to reposition the right leg of the township’s chief of police, twisting it one way then the other, but it still didn’t look flushed. He tried to shove the deputy further in but there was clearly no additional space to be had. He heard the passenger door swing open and the sound of pebbles cracking under boots as he rose to his feet.
         “What’s the problem?” asked his lover as she rounded the corner. She eyed the contents of the trunk as she fished her e-cig from her jeans’ left front pocket. She brought it to her lips, took a dainty puff, and let the smoke out in silky billows.
         “We should’ve gotten a bigger car.” the man said, as he turned around to look at the road behind them. In the distance, the Sierra Nevadas boasted their jagged peaks.
         “I have a suggestion,” the woman said as she wriggled the former chief of police’s right leg out of the trunk.
         “Hey, we need both of them.”
         The woman paid him no heed and, in one swift motion, she dislocated the chief of police’s right leg at the knee, which allowed her to bend and tuck everything back in an unnatural direction. She brought the lid down and the trunk shut closed with a satisfying snap. She looked at the man. “Don’t worry. He didn’t feel a thing.”
         The man half-smiled as they both got back into the car. “You’re a savage,” he said before starting the engine.
         The woman grinned and took another hit from her e-cig. “Yeah, and you love it.”
         Soon, they will be in Reno.