Tom Walsh

Macy leaned hard into the curves. The fuzzy red dice dangling from the rearview mirror swayed wildly side to side until they snapped off and turned up lucky seven on the floor of the new, sparkling silver 1963 Mistral Coupe. She didn’t see the State Patrol car lurking like a cheetah in the pullout until it was too late. She’d been focused on the rearview, paranoid of pursuers after leaving Las Vegas hot following a string of bad luck.