Chapter Eleven
Mustang Sally
Dumb Bitch. Every step Dusty took seemed to whisper the sentiment. She couldn’t outrun it and didn’t deserve to. Kidnapping. Who the hell does that anymore? All the money was in blackmail. Even kids knew that. But Otter had yet to bring her anything on the mayor. She’d wanted him in her pocket for years, but as far as anyone could tell, the guy was clean.
Dusty hated clean. It’s where the darkest truths liked to hide.
The neighborhood she and Edward passed through was a little rough around the edges. Though, after Eliot’s, it was practically the Shire. The occasional car shot past, windows dark, and headlights too bright. The pulsing beat of reggae music echoed down the street, and they turned into a gravel-filled lot decorated with cars of every shape and color. More than one was missing tires, windows, or engines. Several seemed in working condition, but the layer of grime on the windows was a testament to how long it had been since anyone had been behind the wheel.
“Let me do the talking,” Dusty said in warning.
“By all means,” Edward replied. His expression was strained, and the dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of exhaustion. Blood and dirt stained his clothes, but still, he followed her without question or hesitation. Dusty couldn’t pinpoint why the idiot trusted her. She wondered if he still would after he found out what she and Ape were planning, and shoved the thought aside. She couldn’t afford to waver. The guilt could come later, when she was sleeping, the way it always did for Desi.
Will he hate me for this?
Dusty swallowed hard. It didn’t matter. As long as he didn’t find out, he—
Wait .
What the fuck was wrong with her? Was she nervous about how Edward would feel when there was so much else on the line? What did it matter if some rando off the street hated her or not? Just this morning, she’d cut off a man’s ear. She wasn’t winning any popularity contests. Dusty had never cared what someone thought of her, so why start now? With him?
“I’m getting soft,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“What?” Edward asked; so loud he might as well have shouted.
The longer they walked, the tighter the cars were packed. Some had been stacked on top of one another, teetering metal behemoths looming over them in the dark. Edward’s voice bounced off the narrow corridor they traversed and ran free into the night. Dusty turned, pressing a finger against his lips and glaring.
Contrite, his eyes widened. “Shit. Are we sneaking?”
Dusty hesitated. Was there a reason for stealth? The reggae music was loud, even here. If they were trying to sneak in, no one would have been able to hear Edward over the metallic ring of steel drums and singing. She forced herself to relax and shook her head. “No,” she admitted, sheepish. “I’m just jumpy.”
Solemn, he nodded. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.
“You always this nice to murderers and troublemakers?” Dusty asked with a snort.
“Only the ones I like.”
She couldn’t quite read his face, but his voice sent shivers down her spine. Dusty turned away. “Lucky me.”
They walked in silence, making their careful way past discarded tires and the occasional bumper.
“What is this place anyway?”
“Salvage yard?” Dusty shrugged. “I don’t know what cover Sal is using these days.”
“Cover?”
She grinned to herself. “It’s a chop shop, darlin’,” she confided. “They steal cars, strip ’em, then sell ’em. Lucrative business if you can get into it.”
They stepped beyond the car graveyard and into a clearing, of sorts. A set of garage doors had been lifted, exposing the inner workings of the shop. Men and women were dancing, grinding on one another, while outside, several grills had been set up. Long picnic tables took over the driveway, and heaps of food were laid out for partygoers to grab. Dusty could smell the liquor and curry chicken from a dozen yards away. She wanted to run toward the warmth and familiarity of the scene but held herself back, as laughter filled the sky; only to fall like stars.
“How’d you get involved in all of this, Adele?”
The sound of her name was a fist to the heart, and she almost gasped. Her eyes closed for a second as it punched through her. God, the pain was sweet and terrible. She could live in it forever. She didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until Edward brushed the weight of her braids to one side, exposing the nape of her neck to the moonlight.
“Came looking for it.” Dusty didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know what he meant. “Just like you.”
“You’re nothing like me,” he said, but not like it was a bad thing.
Dusty laughed, and it was bitter. “You got someone that’ll miss you if you don’t come home tonight? Come on, Chere. Say yes.”
But he shook his head, and the sadness in him was like a falling star too. A quiet light streaking across the horizon. “There’s no one.”
“Well, there you go.” She resisted the urge to step away. He was close but hadn’t touched her. Maybe he knew how close they were to doing something stupid. “Guess we’re more alike than you think.”
“Bobby Dustflap!?”
Dusty jumped and blinked at the sudden light as floodlamps illuminated the junkyard. She couldn’t see the person who’d spoken, but she recognized the lilting cadence of her voice. “What chu doing here, girl? Didn’t I tell yo narrow ass not to come back ’round here?”
“My ass is not narrow,” Dusty forced herself to take a deep breath. She was coming here for help. The least she could do was hold off on being an asshole. “Sal? That you?”
The music was still playing, but the DJ had turned it down. Sighing, Dusty lifted her hands to show she had come in peace. “I’m good. I don’t even have a gun on me this time.” Not a legal one, anyway. She lasted a full three seconds before snarling, “Can you turn that shit off?”
The floodlights disappeared, and Dusty blinked the spots from her eyes as Sal chuckled.
“There she is,” Sal purred. “Same as ever.”
A figure stepped forward, fingers loose around the neck of her whiskey bottle and brown eyes bright with curiosity. Dressed in platform heels, a diamond-crusted leotard, and a pink feathered headpiece, it was clear that Sally was prepping for Carnival. Though, knowing her, she was just as inclined to fix a car in the headdress as dirty wind her way across Briarcliff.
Sally glanced beyond Dusty to Edward and made a small noise of surprise. “You bringing White boys to the cookout now?” she teased, the stick-on jewels around her eyes sparkling in the light from the citronella candles stationed around the parameters of the party.
Dusty groaned. She was going to get a lot of shit for this, but there was no helping it. “Bitch, didn’t Taylor drop a hard R during karaoke at my spot last year?”
“It was an accident.”
“Eight times?”
Sally smiled, nostalgic all of a sudden. “The man knew his way around a Lil Wayne song, didn’t he?” When Dusty said nothing, Sal laughed. “Come on. You look like shit. Want some oxtails?”
Dusty started forward, halting a few steps later when Edward failed to move. “Come on,” she echoed Sally. “What are you waiting for this time?”
“I don’t think…” He was so uncomfortable, so unsure.
It made her sad. Made her soft when all she wanted to be was broken bones and blood splatter. Under cover of the dark and the music that burrowed its way into your empty spaces, she laced her fingers through his. “I got you,” she said, searching his face. “Remember? Better here with me than there with them.”
He nodded, straightened his shoulders, and, just like all the times before, followed her unflinching into the lion’s den.
***
The cookout. Of course, Edward knew of it. Who didn’t?
To White people, it was a magical event. One few could ever hope to see for themselves, sort of like Narnia or Avalon. This was not a wardrobe he ever expected to wander through, and he damn near gave himself whiplash trying to take it all in as he and Dusty followed Sally inside. If he’d had a pen and paper, he would have taken notes just to show it to his frie—
Oh wait…he didn’t have friends.
Kids were running around everywhere. More than once, he tripped over someone’s offspring and had to choose his steps with care, as if he were maneuvering through rush hour traffic. Several tables were occupied by old Black men playing cards. At a quick glance, he could have sworn they were arguing over UNO, but the amount of vitriol being spewed didn’t line up with any UNO game Edward had ever seen before.
The air was fragrant with food, hot from the flames licking the grills, and the music seemed in competition with the conversation and laughter all around him. Edward loved everything about it. He wished he was a little boy again so he could close his eyes and curl up in the backseat of one of the many cars lining the bay. As out of place as he was, no one else seemed to notice or care. In fact, several people smiled at him, and one of the angry UNO players invited him over for a match before Dusty dragged him indoors.
“You don’t need that kind of stress in your life,” she assured him.
“It looked like fun,” he grumbled, but didn’t argue the point. This was, after all, a whole new world.
She glowered but said nothing.
Together, they followed Sal past a line of car lifts. At the end of the row, a red Mustang GT with a modified engine hovered a good six feet off the ground. Below it was a metal grate where the mechanics could work. To one side was a hole where a step ladder emptied into a small storage space. A little square room, no bigger than a grave, lined on all sides with tools and various types of lubricant.
Sal lowered herself down into the space, and he and Dusty waited as her green and gold feathered headpiece shimmied with her every movement. A moment later, she was back topside, used to maneuvering the step ladder in her precarious shoes and none the worse for wear. Edward was tempted to ask for lessons but didn’t want to push his luck.
“Here,” Sal held out a manila folder.
Covered in grease stains and worn from use, at first, it appeared to be nothing more than an itemized list, a receipt for parts purchased, and work done. Then Dusty dug a little deeper and pulled out two fake IDs, one with her face and the other with Edward's.
“Thackary Binx?” He quirked a brow, glaring between the two women. “The moody pilgrim boy from Hocus Pocus?”
Sal tapped the ID with a manicured talon.
“Actually, it’s Zachary Michael Binks,” she corrected. “Don’t want you getting clocked by a bunch of millennials.” She winked at him, and he flushed. “I wasn’t sure at first, but after getting a good look at you, I can see why Sara Sanderson might want to hang you from a cage and play.”
Edward sputtered, his ears burning. Then Dusty was between them with one finger against Sal’s forehead, pushing her away. “That’s enough of that,” she said.
Sal’s eyes danced with amusement.
“Keys?” Dusty rasped, tight-lipped.
“Envelope.”
Grumbling, Dusty dipped her hand inside for a second time while Edward took refuge behind her. He didn’t want it to look like he was hiding, but he was definitely hiding, and the look Sal sent him said she knew it. He made a big show of looking down at his ID just to wince.
“40?” he hissed at Dusty. “I’m 35.”
“Not according to those bags under your eyes,” she bit back.
Okay. Well, someone is feeling touchy. Edward pocketed his new ID. “When did you have time to set all this up, anyway?”
“You’re a deep sleeper.” She sent him a glance. “Wasn’t hard.”
“Any more felonious goodies in there I should know about?” he asked stiffly. He could have an attitude too, goddammit.
“Felonious goodies,” she repeated deadpan, then squinted at him. Ire momentarily replaced with pity. “We gotta get you out more, baby.”
There was something in the way she drawled baby, accent heavy and hugging every syllable it met, that reminded him of what this all was for. He was leaving Briarcliff California, once and for all. Relief flooded him, not just because they were getting the hell out of the way of the shitstorm they’d managed to stir up in twelve hours, but also because running tasted like freedom. Something about standing still always felt like dying, and he’d been dead and buried a long time ago. He wanted to run so fast and so far, it put the breath back in his lungs and taught his heart how to beat again.
The music changed, and Sal strode over to the controls for the lift. She swayed her hips in time with the music, even as she lowered the car and released it from its bracers.
“License and registration are in the glove compartment. Even got you a personalized plate.”
“Roxanne…”
“Poppy called,” Sal interrupted, voice softening. “She’s bringing her over tomorrow.”
Dusty nodded, slipping into the driver’s seat through the open window.
Edward had already learned his lesson back at the bar and was happy using more conventional methods to get inside. Buckling his seat belt, he stared at the side of Dusty’s head until she rolled her eyes and followed suit.
“Do I want to know where you’re going?” Sal asked.
“Nope.” Dusty turned the key in the ignition, purring when the engine came alive with a soft rumble.
“How long you gone?”
Grinning, Dusty leaned back in her seat and threw her arm out the window. “Why? You gone miss me?”
“I charge for babysitting,” Sal bent in her heels to grip the bottom of the garage door in front of them and lift it clear. It was one of the few bays closed, and the partygoers outside scrambled out of the way in surprise as the Mustang’s headlights flooded the overhang.
“Don’t worry, Ape’s good for it.” The car eased forward, and Dusty sent Sal a wink as they passed. “Besides, Roxy’s a good girl.”
Sally shook her head. “Keep an eye on that one,” she called, and it wasn’t until they’d peeled out of the shop that Edward made the connection that she was talking to him.
They made their way toward the edge of the city, and the fake IDs got them past the exhausted patrol officer manning a hastily erected blockade. No one knew who ‘Bobby Dustflap’ was, and Edward was so haggard as to be unrecognizable, so that helped. The hundreds of other drivers awaiting their turn didn’t hurt either. Once on the highway, it wasn’t long before the familiar cityscape was lost in their rearview mirror.
“Where are we going?” So much time had passed in silence; the sound of his own voice was strange and unfamiliar. He glanced down at his hands. When the cop was examining their IDs, he’d been sure his anxiety would come back, but his hands were still. No dancing. No twitching.
Weird.
“Safe house,” she said, reaching up to twist her braids in a bun at the top of her head.
Edward yelped and grabbed the steering wheel from her knees to keep them in their lane. She was done in less than a minute, plenty of time for his heart to set up permanent residence in his asshole.
Chuckling, she patted his arm to urge him back into his seat and took the wheel again.
“Get some sleep, Edward,” she said. “It’ll be a while before we get where we’re going.”
Had she done it to shut him up? Why wouldn’t Dusty want him to ask questions about the safe house? They were on the same side. Or at least, they were supposed to be. What if Andrew had found out about her already, and she was working for him now? A warning tremor in his wrists had him clenching his hands in his lap. No. If Dusty were going to betray him, she’d had plenty of chances to do so. Edward had to trust her to keep her word. Even if the contrary were true, he was already screwed. Might as well enjoy the ride.
It is, after all, only chaos.