13
Ihear Murphy’s car before I see it, and the sound of Jesse laughing at something Birdie says cuts through me like a hot knife. I throw the box down in my arms and turn toward the garage door as they barrel through it with smiles on their faces.
Murphy is next, and I can tell by the way he’s dressed that they were out somewhere.
That’s not surprising. What does shock me is Cress.
She’s wearing something out of Birdie’s closet—I can tell because it’s molded to her body like it was painted on.
It’s black, glittery, and pushes her chest up, exposing more than she ever does..
Her hair is around her face in curls and I’m instantly distracted by the sight of her.
My eyes rake over her: same long legs, same strong hips and curves.
“What the hell is that?” I point to her arm where a nasty bruise forms in the shape of fingerprints.
“A war wound.” Birdie grabs a few beers from the small fridge and hands them out before sinking into the old couch beside Jesse as Murphy moves toward his laptop. Her fingers pick at the label of the bottle, and I can see the dark, dried blood beneath her nails.
“Excuse me?” My head snaps to Murphy and then back to Cress.
“We found one of them,” Cress says gently, sliding over the arm of the chair Rafe is sitting in and crosses her arms over her chest.
“You found one of them and…” I step forward, mimicking her movements.
“Cress found a recording of the guy fleeing from the hospital, Birdie recognized him from the Soundwave so we went…” Murphy tells the story so confidently until I start to walk in his direction with absolute confusion on my face.
“You just went to the club? Downtown, in an area we have no control over—and you took her?” I groan. “Are you fucking insane?” I turn the anger toward Birdie who is completely unbothered.
“I’m not. Birdie presented a solution to our problem, we acted on it.” Her voice is calm and cool. It’s unusual and I don’t recognize it.
“And where is the problem now?” I ask carefully, focusing on the garage. The chaos of the old structure is frozen in time: never changing on me, never doing anything behind my back. It’s a safe space that slowly becomes corrupt in the face of everything going on.
“Probably halfway to the city morgue.” Birdie smiles, proud of herself.
“Stupid,” I sigh. “Please tell me you at least got something out of this?”
“We did, actually—a lot,” Murphy cuts in.
He brings his laptop over from the desk cradled in his arm as he adjusts his glasses on his face with the other.
“This guy isn’t some low level crook, he’s got hands in everything.
I’m also sixty percent sure he shouldn’t have been using this phone for business.
It’s not encrypted, so I started searching through the code and... ”
“English, Murph,” Rafe instructs for the benefit of us all.
“It’s a corner store burner,” he clips quickly before turning back to the screen. “He makes the same call three times a day to the same number.”
“What does that mean?” Cress asks, fidgeting in the tight dress.
“The number on the other end is a weird area code. It’s registered to a guy named Malosi.” Murphy’s eyes scan the page quickly, his brain moving faster than his mouth.
“Anyone?” I look between Birdie and Rafe but neither recognize it.
“You? It’s Samoan.”
“I’m Māori, you cunt,” Jesse scowls. “There’s a crew that’s been messing with people,” he says hesitantly.” They’re in everything. They stole a run from Westfall two weeks ago and he’s been shaking people down trying to figure it out.”
“And you didn’t think to tell any of us?” I ask.
“In my defense, you’ve been out of the game. I only found out you were active because Birdie called for help. So nah, Riggs.” Jesse shrugs. I can’t argue with his logic and it pisses me off even more than I already am.
I clench my jaw and turn back to Murphy.
“Do we know anything about this Malosi guy? Is it a man, or a company…” I ask him.
“Yes,” Murphy gawks, his words clipped as he reads the screen.
He sighs softly. “All of it.” He turns the computer to me and I take in the picture on the screen of a man who doesn’t look like he’d be in the business of roughing up other gangs or stealing runs.
He’s a clean-cut-looking man with dark features complemented by a well-fitted suit framed against the background of windows and the Phoenix skyline.
“We need more,” I say to him.
“There’s nothing. Dude is squeaky clean,” he says. His eyes glance up at me and I can tell he’s at a loss because he looks defeated for a second.
“What about the card?” Cress asks.
“Nah, that’s blank. I checked it…” Jesse says, but Cress’s face tightens in thought.
“What?” I prompt her and she shakes her head, but I know that look. “Say it.”
“It might be an NFC.” She turns to Murphy and it’s like his entire world shifts. “We use them at work.”
“Smarty pants,” he says to her and looks at the table with a smile as he shifts back to the card and flips it around in his hand while he pulls out his cell phone. He taps it against it as we all sit in silence and wait.
He cocks his head to the side, squinting through the lenses of his glasses and uses his finger to flip through a few things.
“So?” Rafe asks, sitting forward. The chair wiggles a little, causing Cress to lose her balance but she pushes off it and stands uncomfortably.
“The suspense is killin’ us, mate,” Jesse pokes.
“It’s a fucking race…” His voice is confused as he turns back to us.
“What?” Birdie stands, her attention absolute. “Show me.” She moves toward him and stares at the phone over his shoulder. “He’s right, it’s a race.”
Murphy scoffs at her. “That’s offensive.”
“I wasn’t insulting your brain,” Birdie whispers, “just confirming.” She scrunches her nose up at him and leans against his side as she stands up straight and I prepare for the fight. “Let us race it.”
“We know nothing about it,” I respond and she huffs.
“It’s obviously something if they’re keeping it a secret like that, hard to find, hard to race.” she argues.
“Races like that bring in massive pots,” Rafe adds, and it’s no surprise that I’m being ganged up on. Not big enough to solve our problems but it would be a good chunk.
2021
Koa is uneasy.
The Cuda swerves on the highway ahead of me and I have to correct my own car to keep from smashing into his bumper.
He was determined to drive it today, to stand out.
To be annoying and flashy. I reach across the console to the lap of Murphy and wrap my hand around the radio as he hammers on the gas.
He stares at me and then puts his eyes back on Koa when the ass end of the Cuda whips unsteadily again.
“What are you doing?” I yell into my side of the radio and wait for a response. In the rear view I can see Rafe darting in and out of traffic to catch up to us. We only have a small window today because Koa threw the job at us at the last minute and Murphy barely had time to make us a route.
There’s a mile stretch—it’s barely enough.
Koa never answers, but I watch as he slides into position next to the driver’s door. He’s the distraction today, keeping the driver's eyes at the front of the cab while we unload a moving target into the truck that Birdie handles with precision on Rafe’s tail.
We caught the highway too late and are behind. Murphy forces the unmarked Civic faster and I get ready to move. “Take the right side, out of the mirror.”
“What about—” Murphy starts, watching as I push up on the seat to get into the window.
“Whatever Koa is doing it’s going to get someone killed. Focus on the job.” I remind him and he breathes in slowly before he nods in understanding.
The wind on the highway impairs my vision for a second as my hair rips around my face, but in a brief flash I see that Rafe and Birdie are ready. I extend my hand and form a gun with my fingers, watching the truck ahead of me and the team behind me for a second longer.
We all wait.
The exit sign to highway 238 whips by us and I cock my hand up, firing off the fake gun and setting it all into motion.
Murphy drags the car to the right as we pull onto the quiet stretch.
We have less than the normal distance before he pulls back onto highway 8 and it’s causing everyone to panic more than usual.
Koa, thankfully, does his job, and the semi seems to slow a little to deal with the erratic driving. With the speed lowered I whip around, take a deep breath, and crawl to the roof of the car with the bolt cutters in my back pocket.
“Closer,” I holler through the sun roof at Murphy and he surges the car forward a touch giving me a smaller gap for the jump.
I pull the bandana up and over my face, checking everything one more time.
I count to three before launching across, getting my hand around the locking bar.
My boot slips off the rear guard but I haul myself closer to the frame more securely with a racing heart.
I shimmy across the bar, keeping tight to the doors until I’m on the left.
The pavement whips by beneath me and I let the adrenaline take hold of my muscles to get the job done.
It’s simple from here, the jump being the worst part of it all.
I dig out the cutters and pop the lock on the doors, pulling hard to get it free and letting the right door swing open in the wind.
I hold my breath as Rafe gives Birdie space, pulling back as she drifts the truck in a wicked, tight circle and forces it backwards.
It took Murphy an entire year to figure out how to reverse engineer the dual-gear box system and Birdie another six months to master the rear wheel steering modification.
The truck wobbles for a second as she gets up to speed, but she watches over her shoulder out the rear window and pushes it until it's backed up against the semi-truck with about a foot between them.
I get inside and stare at the boxes. Nothing is labeled like it usually is, but Koa just told us to get as much as we could…