back, back down the road I'm goin'

She makes quite the picture, a red-haired girl in a white-and-red dress leaning against a red Cadillac, lighting up a cigarette with tension disguised as poise. She's pretty as a summer day's con, and about as reliable. Still, Clint regards her with something that's best described as fondness.

“Nice car,” he says. He doesn't ask, is it yours.