The woman is a feisty one but her daughter is such a beauty I'm obliged to keep mommy alive for at least a short time until we are locked in the privacy of my refuge. She appears more outraged than frightened which is annoying. She'll soon sing a different song when I, the leader of this orchestra, flail my baton.

I can see her in my rear view mirror, just sitting there, plotting a way they can escape. How foolish she is! I've only secured her with a single steel bracelet, attached to the vehicle floor .That is all that is needed. Fear is my true restraint; fear of what I'll do to her child if I'm again annoyed. It's so much more effective than rope, or wire, or chains.

My last chore is determining if I have slain the nefarious tipster or if she now sits in my van with a look of fury painted on her beautiful face. I'm fairly certain she is the one; this Elizabeth . . . Betsy for slang. But I must be certain as it may well be the one I slayed as she squatted ignominiously on the toilet. In either event, I for once, need not worry about snooping eyes watching my glorious deeds. The psychic tipster is no longer in action, one way or another thanks to my cunning triumph!

Soon I'll be away from the ocean and the cow-herd masses of ignorant tourists. A little while and we'll be where no one will find us as we play our games.




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