What the fuck am I doing in Phoenix?<br/><br/>It was a silent, rhetorical question that Frank Malzone posted. Well, not so silent. Frank had a habit of talking to himself. He blamed it on growing up an only child of Italian American parents.<br/><br/>Frank was fueling his 1949 Packard at a station just outside of town. It was early October but still blazing hot.<br/><br/>Why don't they just put this town on the Goddamn sun?<br/><br/>He did it again, murmuring to himself as the bill of sale rang up on the pump. The Packard could take 16 gallons of gas. It would be awhile.<br/><br/>Frank knew why he was in Phoenix, of course, but that didn't mean that he had to believe it.<br/><br/>Only two things could get Frank to drive nearly 2,000 miles: money, or a girl. In this case, he was after both.<br/><br/>The Chicago assistant DA, Sam Melvin, gave Frank half of his $5,000 fee up front. The second half would be doled out when Frank brought the girl back. In one piece.<br/><br/>But this was no ordinary girl. Lauren de Salle was the girl of many a man's (wet) dreams. She crooned at the Moxey and she was built to kill. Red hair, green eyes, big tits, legs to kill for and hips that could part the Red Sea better than Moses ever could.<br/><br/>Melvin told Frank that she was a key witness and that's all he said. Because that's all Frank cared to hear. As a bounty hunter who didn't always play nice, Frank didn't want to know a lot of details. Just, who do you want and how much do I get paid? Frank figured that the less he knew about reasons, the better.<br/><br/>The tip that de Salle was in Phoenix was based on a single overhead phone call, but Melvin said it was credible enough to send Frank on the hen chase.<br/><br/>So here he was, filling his Packard in Phoenix, about to grab a gorgeous girl and take her back the other nearly 2,000 miles to Chicago.<br/><br/>He'd have to truss her up like a turkey and put a muzzle on her, but at least she'd be in his car. It might be the closest that the divorced Malzone may ever get to such beauty.<br/><br/>After refilling the tank and buying a horrible ham sandwich, Frank's next stop was the Western Union station in town. He'd slip the clerk a sawbuck and ask to see the money wires over the past several weeks. Frank had a tip that Lauren may have received a wire transfer from a drummer in the band at the Moxey. The paper slip would have the redhead's address.<br/><br/>******<br/>The Palm was a tourist trap motel but Frank didn't care about Lauren's taste in accommodations. He just wanted to grab her, get her into his car and collect his other $2,500.<br/><br/>Frank, using a photograph of Lauren provided by Melvin, fixed his eyes on a stunning and sunning redhead near the pool. She wore a swimsuit that strained to hold her boobs.<br/><br/>Lauren de Salle.<br/><br/>But as Frank plotted out his next move, which was to spend yet another sawbuck to find out what room she had, unbeknownst to him a short, pudgy man wearing a grey suit and matching Fedora approached the lovely Lauren.<br/><br/>"Pardon me but don't you sing in Chicago?"<br/><br/>The man was holding a pen and a piece of motel stationery.