Dont Get Fancy

Don't Get Fancy A femme fatale Oklahoma oil billionaire serial killer lures flyover boys to help nurture her prize winning water roses. Chapter 1 The Escape (Excerpt) The dotted center line of Oklahoma Interstate 77 was a hypnotic blur, lit by a fading orange winter sun as it sank below the western horizon. In the dusky dimness, he sped past monotonous, flat, sunburned landscapes, punctuated occasionally by a cluster of rusty pumpjacks-those robotic sucking machines extracting crude from an enormous Oklahoma City oil field. The compass on the rearview mirror of the Jeep confirmed he was headed...

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Don't Get Fancy A femme fatale Oklahoma oil billionaire serial killer lures flyover boys to help nurture her prize winning water roses. Chapter 1 The Escape (Excerpt) The dotted center line of Oklahoma Interstate 77 was a hypnotic blur, lit by a fading orange winter sun as it sank below the western horizon. In the dusky dimness, he sped past monotonous, flat, sunburned landscapes, punctuated occasionally by a cluster of rusty pumpjacks-those robotic sucking machines extracting crude from an enormous Oklahoma City oil field. The compass on the rearview mirror of the Jeep confirmed he was headed south, although his direction of travel gave him no solace. He was running for his life, and his choice of this road had been purely random. Besides, he had never mastered even an elementary grasp of the topography of this godforsaken place. Born without a proper sense of direction, he'd suffered from a horrible lack of an internal GPS his entire life. Paula had teased him about it time and again, adding to his miserable sense of self-worthlessness. By this time, CJ would have realized he was on the run. He hadn't had the time to grab his suitcase or wallet; he just knew he had to get out before she returned. She would know he had put two and two together and was onto her. He should have gone to the authorities, but who would have believed his word against that of CJ Longacre, the golden girl of Oklahoma City? He knew that his discoveries about CJ distilled down to a stark reality that wasn't going to be good for his health. So, he had fled into the evening in a disorganized panic, barely able to take a breath. He flinched as his cell phone suddenly pinged and vibrated where it lay on the dashboard. It was her texting him. He was certain of it. A continuum of messages pinged in rapid succession. He tossed his phone on the front passenger seat in a vain attempt to ignore the incoming chain. Finally, he could no longer look away from the cascading blue bubbles collecting on its screen. "Jay, just where do you think you're going? You know that you have a lousy sense of direction and you're going to get your self real lost. And you left your wallet here darling. By the way, I happen to know the Jeep is low on gas." As if on cue, Jay saw the "red low" fuel light blinking beside the gas gauge and shook his head in disbelief. "Why don't you just pull over and let me meet you? Are you there, Jay? I'm beginning to worry about you. Let's just talk this out, babe. Running away from this little problem isn't going to help anything. Let's just get some drinks, sit in the hot tub, and hash things out.". . . M. Lee Fox is a practicing eye surgeon with a penchant for storytelling. He has authored a variety of original stories and both feature and TV screenplays designed to stimulate the reader and open doors of imagination. Fox resides in Fort Lauderdale, Florida where he enjoys a wonderful life with his muse Teresa and their Portuguese Water Dog, Ray Charles. For more information and his works in progress, visitwww.mleefox.com

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