Chapter 37
Iraced past houses and duplexes painted in mint green, cornflower blue, and pastel yellow.
Horns honked and grills ate the pavement as I veered left across traffic, onto a side street.
I blazed past empty lots and little more than shanties with peeling paint and dry rot.
The sportbikes rounded the corner, their engines howling.
With the throttle full out, I raced down the boulevard past decrepit structures and abandoned buildings coated with grime. I banked a hard left on a one-way and weaved around slower cars. Parked vehicles on both sides of the road narrowed the lane.
After a quick right, I throttled up and raced past a tire shop.
The sportbikes caught up in no time.
This time, the dirtbag came up behind me and swung the bat hard.
I ducked, and the bat grazed my spine as he swung.
The other ass clown kicked my scooter, which sent me into a shimmy.
I tried to regain control, but veered left, careening straight for a parked car. I crashed into it and went flying over the handlebars.
The few seconds I was airborne felt like an eternity.
Everything slowed down.
If God wanted me to fly, he’d have given me wings. I certainly would have taken them.
Catapulted over the vehicle, I crashed onto the grassy dirt of an empty lot and tumbled. It was a miracle I missed the palm tree.
That would have been painful.
The dirt was no picnic, but it was a lot better than a tree trunk or concrete.
The tumble lessened the impact.
When I came to a stop, I was scuffed and scraped. Numb from the adrenaline.
I didn't think I'd broken anything.
The scumbags on the sportbikes screeched to a halt, climbed off, and marched in my direction. Slugger looked like he was ready to finish the job.
Guys from the tire shop came running to see if I was okay. They'd seen the whole interaction. With tire irons in their hands, they squared off against the thugs.
After a brief standoff, the goons backed off. They hurried back to the bikes and took off. Exhausts rattled as they disappeared into the city.
"Are you okay?" a guy from the tire shop asked, extending his hand.
I took it, and he helped me to my feet.
"I think so," I said, dusting away the grass and dirt.
"You’re bleeding," he said. "I have some bandages."
One of them grabbed my e-bike, while the other escorted me back to the tire shop, which was really just a lot with a bunch of half-tread tires, a carport, and a machine to remove the tire from the rim.
Blood trickled down my elbow and my knee.
By the time I got back to the tire shop, I was limping a little, and the soreness had set in.
Francisco grabbed a first-aid kit. I figured if you worked in a tire shop, there were a lot of busted knuckles and smashed fingers. With some peroxide, he cleaned the wounds and bandaged them.
"Who were those guys?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know."
Francisco shook his head. "You need to be careful around here. A pretty girl like you… High demand."
"You mean trafficking?"
He nodded.
"What do you know about that?"
"There are many gangs in the city. Lowlifes."
"I'm looking for my friend. She went missing a month ago."
He frowned. "I'm sorry about your friend. If she went missing a month ago, she is far from here by now."
I didn't think Kate had been trafficked. But I was keeping my mind open to all possibilities.
Pedro had grabbed my e-bike and wheeled it back to the shop. It was a little battered, but still seemed rideable.
"You think those men will try to harm you again?" Francisco asked.
I shrugged. "I don't even know why they were harassing me. But I bet it's because I'm looking into my friend's disappearance."
Kate wasn't exactly a friend, but it was the easiest way to describe her without sounding batshit crazy.
"Where are you staying?"
I was hesitant to tell anyone anything about my accommodations, but these were good guys. I sensed it. "I'm with friends, staying at the marina.”
Francisco exchanged a look with Pedro, then said to me, "We will escort you back to the marina."
"That’s so kind of you. You don't have to do that."
"Those men are probably waiting around the corner for you. They will try again." Francisco puffed up. "We will stop them."
I smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate that.”
He finished bandaging my elbow and knee, then I tried to stand. By that time, things hurt a bit more.
I wasn't sure what to do about the car I had hit.
I hobbled back to it and looked it over.
It had mismatched quarter panels and was beaten to hell.
The car was originally black, but it had a white panel and a red one.
The only reason I could tell where the scooter hit the car was because of a bit of blue paint transfer from the bike.
I asked Francisco if he knew who owned the car.
He shook his head.
It was about that time when a big guy rounded the corner and approached the car. He saw us looking at the vehicle, and his brow knitted with confusion. He didn’t look too happy.