Parked across the street from a four-star hotel, Harley's beaten-down old Chevy idled in the evening rain. While awaiting instructions, he listened to the hiss of tires from passing cars on the wet pavement and the SLAP-SLAP of his windshield wipers.

"Give a tug on this sleeve," Ashley said.

Harley's brow furrowed.

"Harley! Rip my shirt a bit."

He ground the chewing gum between his molars, the way he always did when he struggled to figure something out.

"You hear me?" She raised her voice.

He pulled and tugged again until the seam split. "That what you wanted?"

"I'll meet you 'round back. Don't you leave me waiting on you." She pushed open the car door.

"You're gonna get yourself soakin' wet, baby girl."

She gritted her teeth. "That's the damn point." She jumped out of the car, slamming the door. She worked herself up while she ran through the rain toward the hotel, hopping onto the sidewalk over a roiling stream of water rushing along the curb.

Three businessmen were seated in the foyer, enjoying their cocktails when Ashley burst through the front door, sobbing loudly, a dripping mess.

"I hate him! I hate his guts!" She drew a mix of curious and dismissive glances. One of the men set down his drink and rose from his chair.

A doorman the size of a tractor interceded. "Miss, unless you are a guest at this hotel--"

The businessman cut him off. "It's okay. Can we get the young lady a towel?" He wore a tailored suit with the creases in his pants almost as razor-sharp as the part in his hair.

"Yes, Mister Wertham."

"My boyfriend," she sobbed uncontrollably. My ex-boyfriend is such a... threw me out of his car in this storm. Just like that." She pretended to notice the rip in her sleeve then crossed her arms over her chest, embarrassed by her revealing rain-soaked shirt.

"He's hurt you," said Wertham. "We should call the police."

"No. No, don't do that. I just need to dry off, is all." She shivered, standing in a widening puddle on the marble floor. She dropped her head, wet hair falling over her face.

Wertham removed his suit jacket then draped it over her shoulders, the smell of cologne on his lapel along for the ride.

"Your nice jacket. I don't wanna mess it all up."

"Don't worry about the jacket."

The doorman returned with a towel. Ashley wiped her face, bawling into the terrycloth.

Wertham gently patted her narrow back. "Oh, come on now. You're going to be fine."

"I hate his stinkin' guts! I do. I never ever wanna see him ever again!"

"How about a nice cup of coffee? Or a hot cocoa to take the chill off?"

"I look like a complete fool standing here shivering and dripping with folks gawkin' at me."

"No one's gawking."

"I must look a sight." She turned her red eyes to the doorman. "Is there a ladies' room where I might freshen up?"

"Yes, ma'am. Right down the hallway there past the elevators."

She touched Wertham's arm. "You're so awful kind." She pulled the jacket tightly around her, trotting down the hallway toward the ladies' room.

Wertham joined his two companions, shaking his head. "Poor little thing."

Ashley entered the ladies' room and found it empty, the gleaming white tile walls so brightly polished they made her squint. She slipped into a stall, rifling through the suit jacket. She located his wallet and a BMW key fob then discarded the suit jacket on the floor.

She exited the bathroom then made her way to the rear door of the hotel where, through the streaks of rain, saw Harley's old Chevy idling noisily. She poked her head outside, raindrops pelting her forehead and cheeks, then squeezed the button on Wertham's key fob. The lights blinked on a parked BMW.

Harley bolted out of his Chevy, racing toward the BMW, the soles of his sneakers squishing like suction cups against the wet asphalt. He jumped behind the steering wheel then rummaged through the console and glove box, stopping momentarily to admire the plush leather upholstery.

"Check the trunk," she called, slipping into his Chevy.

When the BMW's trunk popped, Harley investigated. He spat out his wad of gum, lugged an overnight bag to his car, then threw it onto the back seat. The Chevy screeched away across the puddled asphalt.

Ashley could barely control her convulsive breathing. She startled Harley when she grabbed his hand from the shifter and slammed it against her chest.

"Feel that?" She shouted, "Lord, my heart is poundin' like I'm climaxin'."

His head swung from the road to her beautiful face, eyes closed, her pink lips drawn in ecstasy.

"Yeah, me, too. I nearly wet myself when--"

"I got the tingles all over." She writhed on the cracked leather seat. "My brain is on fire. But in a good way."

Harley didn't have the sense to see it then but what he was looking at wasn't merely sexual arousal. Ashley was an addict high on a stimulant whose cost would come at a price neither could afford.

########

A few hours later, Harley sat on a padded chair in a shabby tattoo parlor called Chooks, which happened to be the name of a heavily tattooed guy with a bushy beard dabbing Harley's arm with a wad of cotton. He bobbed his big head in time with the Zydeco music dancing from the speakers.

Ashley parted the curtains, bringing wide eyes and a wider grin to Harley's face. She held out her right hand to display a little red heart at the base of her thumb. "You like it?"

"I like it fine," Harley replied. "Lookee here." Chooks removed the pad of cotton to reveal Harley's fresh tat - a heart behind the Gothic letters A... R... C.

"A, R, C," he said proudly, jutting out his chin. "Ashley Rae Chavers."

Chooks eyed up the girl. "This'n's worth every last drop of that ink," he said with a heavy dose of Cajun dialect.

Harley took Ashley in his arms and kissed her hard. When he came up for air, he freed some folded cash from a silver clip and handed it to Chooks. "Keep the change, friend."

Chooks peeled off a twenty-dollar bill, slapped it into Harley's palm. "That little girl's tat is on the house."

"Well, aren't you sweet," Ashley purred.

"You come back, y'hear? I'd be privileged to ink you head-to-toe."

With their arms around each other's waists, Harley and Ashley slipped into the night.

########

An old pick-up truck was tucked beneath the boughs of a sycamore tree, shielded from the afternoon sun. Ashley lay naked in the truck bed, covered by a tattered blanket. Harley popped up beside the truck bed, startling her. He tossed a handful of daylilies onto his girl, climbed into the truck bed, and under the blanket beside her, chewing his gum.

"What did I do to deserve you? My God, you are the most beautiful thing."

His compliment brought a warm smile. He kissed the little heart tattoo on her hand. "You like the truck?"

"I like it fine."

"I figure in a year, two years tops, I'll have enough money saved to buy that piece of property up there off sixty-three."

"What for?"

"To farm soybeans. Become a regular law-abiding citizen."

She pulled away, her brows dipped into a tight V. "A soybean farm?!"

"Ain't gotta be soybeans. There's sugar cane or cotton."

"I don't want to live on no farm," she said, her face contorted in disgust.

"You know, there's somethin' to be said for a everyday kinda life. Supper on the table at six, falling asleep in front of the TV before ten."

She looked at him like he'd just stuffed a forkful of worms into his mouth.

He kissed her forehead. "A life like that don't leave you with a lot of bruises."

"I wanna go places and do stuff," she said.

"Hell, once we're rich, we can visit any city you want. Dallas or Paris or maybe even China."

"Rich? Every soybean farmer I ever knew looked like he didn't own a change of clothes." She giggled. "And for your information, China is not a city."

"I know it," he said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He pulled her close and kissed her hard, as though his kiss had the power to change her mind.