Final Notice

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She was a willowy girl wearing a skirt that was too short. At first glance her face held so much vivacity that Ballard thought she was feverish. Then he realized the glitter of her eyes came from contact lenses.

“I represent California Citizens Bank, Mrs. Schilling, and—”

“I don’t know anything about it and I don’t want to know anything about it,” she snapped. With the expectancy gone from her face, she was just a skinny woman showing too much skinny leg from behind a realty-office desk.

“Your name is on the contract.”

“I don’t care whose name is on what, I told the other man from your company that the Bastard has the car.” She said the Bastard as if it were her husband’s legal name. “Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

Ballard had just gotten the case on the 1972 Duster that day, because the man assigned to it had been unable to do anything with Mrs. Schilling.

“Your name’s on the contract.”

“Leave me alone!” she shrieked.

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