Dangerous Broads 1: Gina Winchester By: August Lane The back bumper of her black-cherry 1949 Mercury had just eased over the Harrison County line when the single woop of a police siren tore through the air, turning Gina’s blood to ice. Red lights flooded her car’s interior and the tires crunched in the loose gravel as she let the car glide to a stop along the road’s shoulder. This was the last thing she needed. Her kohl rimmed green eyes flicked in the mirror and gave the trunk a quick, nervous glance before she turned her attention back to smoothing on a fresh layer of deep red lipstick. The cop pried himself out of the car, his badge flashing in the headlights. He could have stepped right off the set of Dragnet, all straight lines and dark hair. He walked toward her open driver’s side window with a hitch in his step. Is he staring at the trunk? A week ago she wouldn’t have given a damn, would have invited his stare whether it was directed at her or the car, and begged for more. But a week ago she hadn’t met Dickey Roberts. Gina and her ’49 earned good money on the Coast drag circuit, beating the boys a quarter mile at a time. Dickey was one of the good time boys, the kind easy enough to find around the drag strips along the Gulf Coast. He’d been quick to try to impress her with all of ideas about how they could put her very particular skills to work on one quick score -- the kind of score that would put them both on Easy Street. Dickey was a clever one, alright, but not clever enough. It was a gem of a job. It was nothing for her to be at the right place at the right time, precariously perched on five inch heels on front of the shop’s front window. All she did was bend over and adjust the top of her thigh-high stocking just enough her slip of skirt rose dangerously high, as if, maybe…Gave Dickey’s brother and his co-driver just enough to dream about during their afternoon break at the Old Town Soda Shop. Enough of a show to stretch out those precious minutes when they left their armoured truck unguarded, each passing second another bag of cash hoisted by Dickey from the back of the armoured truck into the trunk of her Merc. Then pretty as you please,
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“What can I do for you, Officer?” She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and innocent though her palms were sweating through the elbow length gloves she wore. She smiled like some deranged Mouseketeer though the expression felt hard and hollow on her face. “License and registration,” he said without giving her more than a passing glance. His chin tilted toward the rear of the car. She leaned over the seat, making a show of pulling the documents of the glove box, taking plenty of time to let him have a nice long look. When she sat up there was a mischievous gleam in her eyes and her pin curls were slightly mussed -- only the copper was too busy worrying his bottom lip with his top teeth as he eyed her Merc’s trunk. He stuck his hand out for the documents and she slapped them into his open palm with an undisguised pout. After a cursory glance at the licence, he
she had trotted around the corner, hopped into her weighed down Merc, and roared away from Slidell. Dickey was waiting for her and the money in New Orleans. No dice. She and the loot had an appointment to keep in Pensacola. By the time Dickey puzzled out the jig was up, she would be sipping Mai Tai’s with Cuban cabana boys. Her future was nothing but Cuban casinos, white, sandy beaches, and rich men. As long as this Mayberry copper didn’t go nosing around places he didn’t belong. Where was he a week ago when she was chatting up Dickey? Things would sure be a lot different now if she had spied him at the drag strip. Dickey wasn’t a bad looking sort, but he was no Cary Grant and this cop could be Cary’s long-lost brother. The brim of his fedora blocked his left eye as he sidled up to her open window. 4
wore for the job were not part of her usual wardrobe, at least not wearing all three at the same time. No point in letting him get the wrong idea. There were no free shows here, thank you very much. The door slammed shut behind her, the breeze brushing the skirt across her thighs and blowing her loose curls around her shoulders. The cuffs were slapped on her wrists before she could blink. “Hey!” Indignation poured off Gina in waves. “What is this about? I have rights, you know.” “Sure, you do and I’m about to read them to you. Right after you tell me what you’re up to and why you happened to be driving the same car seen speeding away from a robbery in Slidell earlier today.” “I’m going to Pensacola. Just me and the girls. That’s not a crime, is it?” She looked at his through her eyelashes, a thick stream of smoke from her freshly lit cigarette pouring from between her parted lips.
tucked both the documents into his shirt’s chest pocket, right behind his badge. “Alright, Ms. Winchester, how about you hop outta the car?” “Mrs.” In for a penny, in for a pound, her dear old Ma used to say. Hell, at this point anything was worth a shot. “Missus,” his one visible eyebrow shot up into his hairline, “right. Well then Mrs. Winchester, you wanna hop outta the car?” “Is there something wrong, Officer?” Gina’s right foot hovered over the accelerator. If she could get the jump on him, she could take the old bootlegger’s roads and be in Pensacola on the boat before good lookin’ fished his hat out of the dirt. He popped open the door and held onto the frame, and said, “Not a thing, so long as you step out of the car.” She set the brake then swung her legs out of the car, careful to keep her knees together. The corset, barely there skirt, and thigh-high stockings she 5
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He leaned into the gap left by the open door and said, “You know, you could just tell me what’s in the trunk and this would all be over.’ “All the things a girl needs to have a good time on the coast.” “Cool your heels while I call this in.” He slammed the car door shut, rocking the car on its axels. When he dropped into the driver’s seat it was to snatch up radio handset. “Dispatch, I need a warrant to search a vehicle. Suspect vehicle registered to a Ms. Gina Winchester.” Gina kicked the back of his seat, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Vehicle matches the APB for the robbery in Slidell. Over.” The sound of static filled the car, then a nasal voice responded, “Hold for further assistance.” The cop rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Once a telephone operator, always a telephone operator.” He caught Gina’s petulant gaze in his rear view mirror. “Sweetheart, the back bumper
“Where are the girls?” He grinned at her, the Cheshire cat with a golden canary in his teeth. “They’ve got their own cars. We’re independent women,” she said with her chin held high. She ground her teeth to drown out the sound of his laughter. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about an independent woman who looks a lot like you, and who just happens to be wearing the very same outfit you’re in, who was seen giving a free show in front of the Old Town Soda shop earlier today, would you? Maybe right around the same time that an armoured truck was being robbed?” He asked as he frog marched to the back of the squad car. “There was a robbery? Was anyone hurt?” She feinted surprise at the news as he helped her into the back of the car. “Don’t play coy with me.” “I would never play coy with you, Officer.” 8
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“Car 2-42, your request for a warrant is denied. The suspect vehicle was spotted outside New Orleans by Orleans Parish Police. The suspect is in Parish Police custody. Over.” Gina giggled at the look of confusion on the cop’s face. “Dispatch, could you repeat that?” The particularly put-out Dispatcher sniped, “You’re request for a warrant is denied. Are you goin’ deaf out there? You’ve got the wrong person, Frankie.” After an awkward pause, the dispatcher added, “Over.” “That your wife, Frankie?” Gina asked. “Sister.” Gina laughed until she couldn’t breathe, and then laughed some more when Frankie the Cop’s ears flushed bright red. Over the sound of her laugher she heard him say, “Well, aren’t you the lucky little thing?’
of your Merc is damn near dragging ground. Unless your bikini is made of lead, there is no reason while a little swimwear, and I am assuming from the way you are dressed it would be very little swimwear, would weigh down the car quite that much. Why don’t you give me a little peek…” “You’ve gotten all the peek you’re going to get, Officer.” “Into the trunk of the car.” Each word was clearly enunciated as a wry grin spread across his face. “If there is nothing in there but lead swimwear and a cast iron sink, I will be more than happy to send you on your way.” “No. I am not going to let you riffle through my undergarments.” She knew she was sunk, but was determined to be defiant to the last. Her first week as a bad girl had been a humdinger and there was a still a slim chance she would be able to the wiggle her way out this. “I don’t want to…” “Yes, you do,” she cut off his protest and glance in the rear view mirror only the once to see if he was paying attention. “Trust me, Sweetheart, I want to less every minute. Happy now?” “Jerk!” He twisted around, looking over his left shoulder to focus on Gina. “It’s 110 degrees in the shade at night and I am driving around in a black tin can wearing a suit and tie. Of course I’m a jerk. Now either tell me what you’ve got in the trunk or shut your trap and cool your heels so I can hear what his miserable jerk,” he held up the radio handset, “has to say.” Gina threw herself against the back of the seat and fumed. Her mind whirled, conjuring reasons while she would be cruising around with a lifetime’s stash of cash in the trunk of her car. Her father owned a business and she was going to drop the money at a bank on her way to…no that was ridiculous. Or how about…no. Oh, then there is … Nope. It was less ludicrous to say it was a lifetime of earnings for her performance in as a bear trainer with the circus. She was on the verge of breaking her silence with a confession when the dispatcher’s nasal whine came over the radio.
Back in the front seat of her Mercury, she used her teeth to strip off her long gloves, wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, and took a deep breath. Her foot hoovered over the accelerator, ready to smash the pedal to the floor the moment Frankie the Cop pulled out of sight. Dizzy with relief, she turned her thoughts on back to the sunny beaches and glamorous life she had plotted for herself. Knuckles rapped against her window. She cranked the window down a couple of inches. “Need someone to help you spend all that money?” Frankie asked with a sly smile. “What money?” She mashed the pedal to the floor and roared away into the night.
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