Chapter 5 #2
The road finally comes to an end, trees framing both sides while a more open space sits ahead of us, beyond a blinking yellow light. If we go left we’ll circle back around, hug the mountains and take hours to return. Have a night where it’s just us, slow driving, low music, and all vibes.
Or we can go right and head into the city—Detroit is unpredictable in the summer. An evening of high octane, steamy windows, and street races. The kind that leaves you on the edge of your seat. The kind people search for and never taste again.
“Yeah. What makes you think I want to do anything good, Rey?”
“You planning on committing murder or something?” I tease.
“Nah, not yet.”
And like that, I turn the steering wheel to the right and gun it.
Game on.
On the highway, with the windows down and air flooding the cabin, Nadia reaches over and wrenches the volume knob to the right, sending Tesla blaring around us.
At least she hasn’t forgotten I’m a music guy, the oldies of course.
None of this new age bullshit where you can’t understand a fucking thing they’re saying or lacks story to the lyrics.
Pink Floyd, Cinderella, Foreigner, Bad Company; you know, the good shit.
This is exactly how I lose myself—by finding comfort in how easy the Civic glides through traffic with my girl at my side.
From the corner of my eye, I see her reach up and gather her hair, pulling it down to the side of her neck.
She pins it there, preventing it from flailing all over the place—taming the dark cloud of soft strands, inadvertently rewarding me with a better view of her profile.
The rough air has captured her body wash, perfume, what the hell ever, long ago.
I hope to God it clings to the leather interior so I can have a part of her with me when I’m forced to let her go at the end of the night.
It will have to tide me over until I get her back in the car after the weekend.
Reclined in my seat, one arm reached out at the steering wheel’s ten-o-clock, the other resting at four, we skate around the ass of a tractor-trailer when I get a wild hair.
Every time I turn or maneuver sharply, she lets out a little gasp.
Pressing abruptly on the accelerator, she jolts in her seat and sucks in a breath when her head moves in a forced nod.
She snaps her sassy mug my way when I chuckle.
Tilting my head, I can’t help but grin at her; a canine snagging the cushion of my bottom lip.
She glares a bit longer then turns to the side, staring back out the window as the suburbs zip past us in a blur.
The sun is far beyond the mountains, leaving a warm glow behind them as we approach the city.
The skyline is already lit up, painted in a sharp blue from the Renaissance Center; it’s cold and abrasive neon clashing with the other buildings but still stands out against the darkened sky on the eastern side.
A rainbow of red, gold, and green light does its best to outshine the corruption and poverty running rampant on the city streets.
A mask like no other, from afar there’s glitz and glamor, billions of dollars’ worth of money but under it all the city is rotten. Still, the lights are stunning.
I have driven this route hundreds of times, and I’m still left speechless on every drive in.
Nearly every one of my runs has been at night too, that way I get to witness the splendid lie that is Detroit.
Another concrete covered Wild West with gang violence in the projects, highways littered with trash and debris, and alley ways that have seen just as much bloodshed as garbage pickups.
Under the same lights though? Families are born, lives are changed, and love is found in the most unlikely of places. Fitting as the love of my life is suddenly shifting in her seat next to me, tucking her legs under her; making herself small in a world where she already feels tiny.
Joke’s on you, Diabolica, you’re the center of mine and that makes you immeasurable.
We’re almost to the off ramps leading into shopping districts when the low hum of a bike overtakes the purr of the car.
Checking my side mirrors first, then the rear view, I hunt down the source.
Sports bikes, this I know, I can tell by the absence of the deep rumble baggers have.
Which means the Blacktop Butchers are not casing us.
Sitting up in my seat, I reach over, putting my hand on the shoulder of Nadia’s seat, holding the steering wheel steady when I check the blind-spots.
Sure enough, there’s five of them. Staggered in a pyramid style placement, one leading point in a blacked-out get-up.
Original. I can’t say shit, Delinquent is blacked out too.
Criminals have that about them, make it black and make it scary—oogly boogly.
The leading bike moved up beside Nadia’s window, running dangerously close to the car, and knocked a gloved knuckle on the glass moving at eighty down the highway. As self-aware as she is, she clocked them just as quickly as I did—now holding a stare with the biker.
Lord help me, don’t let her fall for two wheels instead.
He waves playfully at her, tilting his head towards the off ramp coming up; telling me to pull over.
I’m about to hit my blinker and move over, when Nadia lifts her hand and flips him off.
The rider outside of her window is shaking his head now, jolting enough to look like he’s laughing.
That’s when I see the phantom black ‘E’ sticker on his visor.
Flicking the indicator up, the clicking sound barely snaps over the thumping music and 1,000cc engines.
Tonight’s about to take another fun turn.
If I know anything about this fucker, shit’s about to go down.
“You wanna get in trouble?”
Nadia jumps, whipping around to look at me and my heart fucking stops—breathe Kaleb.