"Excuse me ma'am, can you tell me how to get to the freeway?"

The woman eyed the man who accosted her. He was disheveled, ragged, and a little dirty. He looked like one of the panhandlers who hung out at the exit ramps. She was visibly discomfited by his presence. "I'm sorry. I'm still rather new here and don't quite know myself," she lied.

The man moved down the parking lot and approached a woman pushing a cart of groceries. "Excuse me ma'am, can you tell me how to get to the freeway?"

The woman shook her head and in a thick Spanish accent said, "I don't speak English," and hurried on past the man.

Unfazed the man continued walking down the parking lot past rows of mini-vans, SUVs, and the occasional sedan. As he walked past a shiny new Hummer he spotted a rather short and stocky person, whom he assumed was a woman despite the dark wispy facial hair. "Excuse me, uh ma'am? Can you tell me how to get to the freeway?"

The woman whipped her body around confronting the man. She heard the questioning tone of his "ma'am" and was immediately defensive. It was bad enough Doreen was shorter than average, and it was unfortunate she had a stocky build, but if there was one thing Doreen hated it was her apparent beard. Anyone who knew her knew how sensitive she was about her femininity and bristled with fury whenever someone mistook her for a man. "Something wrong with your eyes?" she snapped.

Nonplussed the man blinked and replied, "No ma'am."

"Well then how come you can't see the damn freeway from here like all the rest of us?"

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry but I'm just passing through and I'm a little disoriented."

"It's over there," Doreen gestured behind her, "behind those trees."

The man glanced in the direction Doreen indicated and every so slightly frowned. "Can I ask you one little favor --" he began.

"Little is it!" Doreen screamed. "That does it!" Doreen reached into her purse and pulled out a small handgun. "You make one move toward me you creep and I'll shoot. I've had all I'm going to take from some freaked out creep like you. You get off stalking short women? You think just 'cuz we're so small we can fit in your trunk or something? I'll bet you want to know where the freeway is you sick bastard. You're probably hoping you could grab me, toss me in your car, drive away and have your way with me before murdering me. Well sorry to spoil your day you disgusting pervert, but you won't get nothing but pain from me."

"Of all the people in this parking lot I had to go and find some armed and crazy woman on PMS," the man thought to himself. Holding his hands out pleadingly he said, "It's nothing like that. I'm just looking for directions to the freeway so I can get home."

At his gesture Doreen flinched, tightened her grip on her purse in her left hand, let out a primal war-like scream, jerked the trigger of her gun, and swung her oversized purse with all her might at the man's knees. The man's face went white; the impact of the purse knocked him on his back; his head bounced off the pavement. Doreen, adrenaline racing through her body, let out a whoop of triumph and bounded up into her Hummer. The gun was loaded with blanks, and the man was only stunned, but that wasn't good enough for Doreen. She hurriedly started the car, and without even bothering to put on her seat-belt, she put the car in reverse and slammed her foot on the gas.

The Hummer raced backwards, jostling as its tires drove over the body of the man. It came to a screeching halt, it's taillights blazing, then squealed as it raced forward, barely swaying as it once again drove over the body of the felled man. Cries of alarm and panic accompanied the display and someone could be heard yelling, "Call 9-1-1!"

When the police and paramedics arrived there was a small crowd around the battered, disheveled, dirty, and ragged man. The paramedics rushed over to the man, checked his pulse, and satisfied he still had one began work on immobilizing him. Soon he was wheeled away into the back of the ambulance and rushed off to the hospital.

The police officers had their hands full as quite a number of civic minded people were eager to help out with details. One woman, the one who claimed not to speak English, stepped forward, saying she had seen it all. Along with her full account of the altercation she gave them a full description of the car and its license plate number. While she was giving her name and address to the officer his radio squawked, "Dispatch to Officer Brown."

"This is Officer Brown."

"Officer Brown, we have the identity of the John Doe in your hit-and-run. He's one John Meyer, wanted for the abduction of his eight year-old daughter three days ago. Be advised the daughter is still missing."

Officer Brown sighed and ordered a search of the parking lot, hoping he'd find a little girl waiting for her daddy.