Sally Statham took a long drag of her cigarette through puckered orange painted lips. She turned her head to the right and kept one bloodshot eye fixed on me as she exhaled, giving a push from an uplift of her chin. I coughed and tried to blink the burn out of my eyes. I leaned away and took in tiny gasping breaths, just enough to keep me conscious.
“Name?” she growled.
“Elizabeth Aldridge.” I gave her a pleasant smile, tinged with optimism. “Optimistic” that I’d be outta there in a flash. After all, it was the “happy” word of the day.
“ID,” she barked.
I handed her my driver’s license. She gazed at it and hitched an eyebrow that had been drawn on with a brown pencil. I looked like I was on meth. My shoulder-length hair, normally a strawberry blonde, was the color of dishwater. It looked like rats had used it as a nest. My blue eyes were so bloodshot they looked lavender. I’d dragged myself out of bed, hung-over, to make it to the DMV before they closed at four-thirty.
The party the night before had been epic.
She squinted one eye. “I don’t want trouble,” she said. Her long nails, painted the same color as her lips, flicked a long ash into a half-full tray. The sun hadn’t been kind to her and she had the wrinkles and sunspots to prove it. A bright neon orange tank top glowed against all that bronze, holding her ponderous breasts like a jock support. Her bleached blonde hair was as scraggly as the plants on her desk.
She leaned across the desk and a pair of red cat glasses on a chain of miniature dog bones fell off her ample chest to perch themselves on the desk as if they were giving me a stare down. I smothered a laugh and began furiously chewing my bottom lip.
“You look like trouble.”
I opened my mouth to respond with an obligatory response to that challenge but snapped it shut. It wasn’t worth taking in more rank air. Instead, I wondered how long it would take before I passed out. #IndieAuthor #urbanfantasy #vampires