A loud clack of metal on metal was followed by an abrupt jerk that set her in motion with the sound of metal rollers. Her vision was an opaque blur of...greenish tinged light. The motion and sound stopped with a small bump. A searing pain ripped through her neck.One of the voices said, "Here she is Detective, the Jane Doe from the club."Her mind tried to wrap itself around this sudden and unsettling chain of events. Why was there a Detective here? What did he mean by 'Jane Doe'? Where the fuck. Hardinger had seen it all and was in the autumn of her sexuality. There was something risky and mysterious and provocative about her that Mandy had yet to cultivate.Dark round sunglasses perched on her head, nestled amongst a spiky swirling salad of very short, platinum-frosted-sun-bleached hair shot through with dark gray roots. Her thirsty face- leathery and craggy from decades of ultra violet rays, steady alcohol consumption, and smoky bars while looking for some action on a Tuesday night-. More

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