15
ANSON
“Take this left.” Twill pointed. “Right here!”
Vincent yanked the wheel hard, barely slowing down. The wheels screamed in protest, and the back of the minivan felt like it would tear away from the front.
“Now right on Bull!”
Paul slammed into me and both of us toppled across the seat as Vincent quickly turned, fighting to keep the vehicle on the road. I heard loose blacktop and gravel crunch under us, the spin of a wheel, then it caught and jerked us back to the pavement.
When I sat back up, I caught Vincent’s bloodshot eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Is he following?” he blurted out before looking back to the road ahead, narrowly missing a motorcycle on our left.
I twisted in the seat and looked out the back. With Vincent driving like a madman, most of the traffic was hanging back, giving us a wide berth. I didn’t see Van Man’s white paneled van, but he could be in something else.
“Is he following?!” Vincent shouted.
“I don’t think so.”
Vincent let out a frustrated grunt. “Christ, Bishop, is he back there or not?”
Paul sat up beside me and quickly took in the traffic. “He’s not back there. I think we’re in the clear.”
“Why was he even at the hospital?” Twill asked in a stunned voice. “How did he find me?”
When I turned back around and got a good look at her, I saw fear in her face for the first time. “He wasn’t there for you,” I told her. “He was there for Sam Porter.”
“Who’s Sam Porter?”
“We’ll tell you later,” Vincent cut in. “Where are we going?”
Twill glanced out the windshield and studied the road. “Keep straight. When we get to Cumberland, make a left.”
“Van Man called someone,” I said. “He knows what we’re driving. He probably even got the plate number. We need to change cars.”
Twill nodded. “I’ve got that covered. It’s not much further. There. Turn left.”
Vincent took the turn, which was followed by a handful of others as we wove down various side streets.
I knew very little about Charleston. I remembered reading that city planners had passed a law prohibiting any building taller than four stories.
Something about wanting to keep the historic charm intact.
As a result, there was very little space between each structure.
Some had narrow alleys. Others had nothing at all; walls were either shared or pressed against each other.
The roads were narrow too, especially in this part of town.
Not meant for cars. Built for horses. Carriages.
As we neared our destination, a number of the roads were roped off to traffic.
Those spaces were filled with tourists wandering about.
Busy sidewalks became crowded sidewalks.
Narrow streets and roadways became impassible.
“Make another left right here,” Twill told Vincent. “Pull into the lot on the side of that bank.”
“I don’t have any money for parking,” Vincent told her. “Everything got left at the hospital.”
“We don’t need it.”
When he turned into the lot, he was blocked by a red and white arm across the pavement.
There was a small guard shack on the left.
A window slid open, and a freckled boy of maybe sixteen poked his head out.
His hair was long and red, braided in the back, and he had a small silver hoop in his nose.
I couldn’t imagine that being sanitary, and when he spoke, I couldn’t help but think of the germs festering on it every time he inhaled.
He had a slight twang to his voice. I didn’t think that was from the hoop.
He held his hand out. “Twenty dollars for the first hour, five for each hour after. You pay upfront for the first, and we’ll settle the balance when you come back. ”
Vincent turned to Twill.
The redheaded kid spotted her in the passenger seat, and his eyes went wide. “Twill! Holy shit! I saw them haul you off. I figured you were halfway to Cannon Juvie by now. How’d you get out?” He took a quick look around. “Are they looking for you?”
She smirked. “Always.”
“Right on.” He nodded. Then he took a closer look at the minivan. “Where’d you get the wheels?”
“Borrowed,” she told him. “It’s a gift for our friend.”
With that, he frowned. “A minivan? With all this rust? I don’t know. Paco don’t like rust much.”
“Paco can’t say no to me—you know that.”
He chuffed. “Paco’s been saying no a lot lately.”
“Come on, Ruddy . . .”
He steepled his hands under his chin and let out a slow breath. “I’ll do five. Any more than that and he’ll kill me.”
“Deal.”
The boy, Ruddy, leaned back inside the booth, fumbled with a metal lockbox, and returned to the window with a roll of bills. He tossed them through the window, over Vincent, into Twill’s lap. She winked at him. “I owe you one.”
“You most certainly do,” he told her, eying her legs. “Pull it to the back of the lot, next to the white Mercedes. That one’s for Paco too.” Then he seemed to remember something. “Hey, did you find Emily?”
The lines of Twill’s face fell. “Not soon enough.”
Ruddy pursed his lips and tapped twice on the side of his small guardhouse. “I told that girl . . .”
“We all did.”
He tapped a button and the arm blocking our path rose.
Vincent maneuvered the minivan through the small lot and parked next to the Mercedes, as he was told. Reaching under the dash, he found the wires and pulled them apart. The motor sputtered and died. “Who’s Paco?”
Twill twisted a finger through her knotted hair. “Local guy. Got his hands in just about everything. By the end of the day, this clunker will be in a thousand parts in ten different trucks.”
“You trust him?”
“I don’t trust anyone. You know that.” She held up the cash. “We have a mutually beneficial relationship.”
When we got out, I heard music nearby. A lot of voices. Smelled food. My stomach grumbled. “Where are we?”
“Market District.” Twill looked the three of us up and down. “We need to get you some real clothes.”