The border was a handful of kilometres away and for this reason Lusty Pepper decided to take a break. That side of the hill, slightly windswept, had developed, among the bushes, a dense grassland almost three feet high.
She sat down, completely hidden, took a sip of water and lit a cigarette. She had a fair amount of headroom. The only thing that matters, she thought, is that the information is correct.
Lusty couldn't stand anything going wrong beyond a certain percentage of risk with respect to her schedule. Over the hill passed Rue Departamental 23, a dull strip of gravel barely wide enough for a truck. It had been essential to organise his escape as soon as possible before he was transferred to some more secure detention centre. He was officially arrested for crossing the border without a visa, but they would soon discover his true identity and who knows what torture he would have to endure before he had a real chance to escape or be freed.
At the wheel Lusty transformed from the dark tight-fitting jumpsuit of just before: she wore an ochre and very tight-fitting crewneck sweater to highlight her superb breasts and a short pleated skirt, shiny stockings, like a dancer from some dive bar and a pair of sandals without heels.
Her hair was tied behind her neck with a ribbon. Her beautiful face with Mediterranean character covered with showy as well as captivating make-up. After about ten kilometres she came within sight of the police station. The darkness around it was pitch-black and the small yard in front of the building was dimly lit by a lamppost perhaps dating back to cave times, so ramshackle it was.
