Lawless

by Teagan Kade

  Dawn crosses her arms tightly over her chest, staying close by my side. Conversation continues, shouting, but every eye is on us as we approach the bar. Behind it the bartender stands with his hands spread out on the bar, a white terry cloth over one shoulder, ink up to his ears. He smiles at Dawn, half his teeth missing. “You sure you fell down the right hole, Alice?”

  I gently push Dawn behind me and step up to the bar.

  “You, on the other hand,” says the bartender. “Are not welcome.”

  This was a bad fucking idea, but I’ve been in worse situations. You’ve got to keep calm, feel it out.

  I turn and pass Dawn the keys, whispering by the side of her neck. Her jugular pulses against my lips. I smell the natural vanilla essence of her skin, the floral perfume she was wearing having faded. “If this goes bad, I want you to run to the car and get the hell out of here, understood?”

  She nods. Good.

  I bring myself back to the bartender and exhale. Here goes nothing. “I’m looking for Dale.”

  The bartender cups his ear to hear over the music. “Who?”

  “Dale,” I shout.

  And that’s it. All conversation stops. Judas Priest continues to play, but everything else is silent, fixated solely on us. The song, You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’, is wonderfully fitting.

  The bartender leans forward, the bar creaking. “What the fuck did you say?”

  I can’t show any weakness. “I don’t want trouble. I just want Dale. We have business.”

  Out the corner of my eye I see some of the bikers start to stand and close in around us.

  Two approach from the side. One of them, face like a leather strap, puckers his lips at Dawn. “You wanna play a little, baby, show me those sugar tits of yours?”

  Dawn grips my hand tightly, squeezing.

  “Dale,” I repeat, focusing on the bartender. “Where is he?”

  A shadow falls over the bar. The bartender’s eyes lift upwards.

  Fuck.

  I turn slowly, breathing out, to find the biggest goddamn man I’ve ever seen. The guy’s got to be seven foot at least, and built—an easy three-hundred pounds or more.

  I hear Dad’s voice in my head. The bigger they are, son, the harder they fall, but I doubt even a wrecking ball is going to make this guy drop.

  Reluctantly, I let go of Dawn’s hand and address Goliath. “You Dale?”

  He smashes his fist into his hand. It’s the size of a melon. “Who’s fucking asking?”

  “Bobby Cervantes. You owe him money. I’m here to make sure you pay up.”

  Someone cuts the music off. It’s deathly silent again… until the entire place erupts with laughter.

  Goliath’s laughing the loudest. “That’s fucking funny, my friend. Real fucking funny. What? You think I’m scared of you and your bitch here?”

  I see red at that, but I press it down. Wait. I step up to him until we’re chest to chest, or at least chest to crotch. “If you’re such a big man then, why don’t we take this outside? I knock you out, you pay up.”

  Dale grins. “And if I knock you out?”

  “I will pay.”

  Dale whistles between his teeth. He stands back, letting another biker take his place. This guy is lean, his face hard, probably an MMA fighter. He strips off his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a python coiling across his chest. “You want to fight Dale, you go through me first.”

  I turn around.

  “Max?” questions Dawn, the fear thick in her voice.

  My back’s turned, but I know the guy’s charging. “Suit yourself.”

  I snap around fast, stepping aside and delivering a hard right into the back of his head. He drives straight into the side of the bar and falls flat, out cold. He almost looks peaceful lying there.

  Expressions change around the room. Now they’re taking me seriously.

  Dale looks down at his friend and squeezes his fists together. “Oh, you’re going to fucking pay for that. Let’s go.”

  I follow him outside, directing Dawn to stand near the car. If something does happen, at least she’ll be close enough to it to make a getaway.

  The sun’s directly overhead, beating down on the lot and the entire bar follows us outside, tightening around us like a human noose. They won’t intervene. They’re scumbags, but there’s a code to these things.

  I pull off my shirt and toss it to the side, closing my fists and taking up a fighting stance. I feel the pull of new skin across my shoulder from my run-in with the butchers.

  Dale raises his fists. He’s heavy, but there’s not a lot of muscle there. Still, I’m going to need nothing short of a fucking miracle to get this done.

  I wave him forward with one hand. “Come on then, Stay Puft, or do you need a fucking invitation?”

  Dale roars and runs forward swinging.

  I duck and drill a series of jabs into his side, but it’s like plugging away at a bag of flour. It does shit-all.

  I manage to weave around an ugly left and deliver an uppercut to his gut, but he doesn’t even swagger.

  What the fuck?

  I dance back and consider my options. I feint left and pummel his kidneys, but again, nothing. As I’m doing so he manages to land one on my shoulder. I’ve been on the receiving end of some heavy blows, but this is like being hit by a fucking freight train.

  I spin away and see Dawn, her hands over her face, a group of bikers beside her looking her up and down, probably deciding who’s going to go first.

  Not on my fucking watch.

  It’s all the ammo I need. I run and jump, getting enough height to hook into the side of Dale’s fat fucking head.

  I land heavy and roll away, Dale stumbling and cursing, but he’s still not going down.

  I go in again for the soft tissue, working him, but all I’m doing is exhausting myself.

  I drive down into his knee. He cries out, starting to buckle but getting hold of me on the way down. He pulls me into him and squeezes.

  My chest starts to collapse.

  He grunts, squeezing harder. My vision starts to go, my arms locked uselessly against my side. I’m seeing pinpricks of light, my body being crushed fast by this monster.

  And I almost want to let it happen. It would be easier, but then I see Dawn. She cries out, pleads for me to fight.

  So I do.

  I draw my head back and hammer it forward into Dale’s face. Blood explodes from his nose, his arms splaying wide, and finally I’m able to breathe again. I don’t let the opportunity pass.

  I fall back onto my feet and deliver a quick succession of blows into the same knee. It dislocates and he snaps forward, enough to bring us face to face.

  Blood’s streaming hot and thick from twin trails on Dale’s face, but this isn’t the time to show mercy. I fist his hair in my hand and bring my arm back, punching him with such squared force he’s out before he even hits the dust.

  Silence.

  I’m breathing hard, sweat dripping from my chin, my arms, the skin of my knuckles open and wet. “Anyone else?” I call, my voice hoarse.

  For show, I boot Dale’s lifeless body hard in the side. “Let this be a fucking warning, to all of you. If you owe Bobby Cervantes, pay up lest you end up like Andre the Giant here.”

  I pull out my cell and take a snap, forwarding it.

  The crowd parts as I walk forward and collect Dawn, rushing us to the car.

  I slide into the passenger seat and sit back. “Go,” I instruct. “Drive.”

  She turns the key and plants it. We leave The Furry Cup in a spindly cloud of dust.

  We hurtle down the back road. I check the side mirror. There’s no sign of anyone tailing us.

  Dawn looks across to me. “You okay?”

  I wince as I examine my ribs. They’re bruised, but not broken. “I’ve been better, but I’ll survive.”

  “I was worried there for a second.”

  So was I, but I play it off. “I was fine.”

  �
��Really? Because it looked to me like he was pretty damn close to squeezing you to death.”

  “If I’m going to die in anyone’s arms, it’s going to be yours.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  Stupid. “I didn’t mean… Fuck it.”

  “I’m not allowed to worry?”

  “You shouldn’t. You might be better off without me.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  My cell chimes again. I have to read the message twice it seems so unbelievable.

  “So,” queries Dawn, both hands on the wheel, her dress having pooled around her waist, her thighs creamy and open, waiting to be touched and worshipped. “Where to now?”

  I shake my head. Un-fucking-believable. “The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.”

  Dawn

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “He wants us to do what?”

  Max points through the windshield at the LVPD’s impound yard. The place is fenced. There’s razor wire around the top and countless cameras. It looks like a vehicular Guantanamo Bay. “Apparently, there’s a blue Camino inside we need to ‘borrow.’”

  “You mean steal,” I correct.

  Max nods, holding his side. “Call it what you will, but we need to get inside and get that car. There’s something in the trunk Bobby doesn’t want the cops to find, something ‘precious,’ he says.”

  “My god, is there a body in that car?”

  Max shrugs. “I don’t know, but what I do know is that we’ve got to get this done, and fast. I need time to prepare for the tournament.”

  I’d forgotten all about that. If I could take Max’s place, I would, but the only physical fight I’ve been in in my life was with an errant hair straightener. “Do you have a plan?”

  He bites his lip. “I wish. We can’t exactly storm the gates guns blazing. We’d have the whole damn police force on our tail. No, we need to be silent, stealthy.”

  He shifts his finger. “There’s one guard in the box at the front there. I saw the Camino on the side over there, near the fence, but there’s a camera right above it. It will be on the guard’s feed.”

  “What about the fence?”

  “Bobby, bless him, had someone leave bolt-cutters in the trunk.”

  I think it through. “Okay, so you cut the gate and push the car out, but what about the guard?”

  He takes his shirt, pulling it on slowly. I’d prefer it off, but now’s not the time to be daydreaming about sexy times. “No idea,” he says. “Somehow, we need to distract the guard.”

  It begins to fall on me exactly what he’s implying here. “You want me to distract the guard?”

  Max looks down at himself. “I doubt he’s going to get off on this, is he?”

  My lips pull up. “You never know.”

  “If you’ve got a better suggestion, I’m all ears.”

  I don’t. Any way you cut the cookie this is going to be as illegal as it gets. If we’re caught… ‘Grand Theft Auto’ is not something I want on my resumé.

  Don’t think about it. Trust Max.

  Trust my kidnapper?

  That’s not fair and you know it.

  “We can’t just push the car through the front gates?” I offer.

  “That would be just well until the spikes there turned the tires into pancakes, not to mention Donut King in the box there raising the alarm.”

  Gosh darn it, there’s no way around this. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I huff. “I’ll distract the guard.”

  “You’ll be great. There’s not a man on earth who wouldn’t do anything for a hot piece of ass like you.”

  I sit back in mock offense. “A ‘hot piece of ass’? Is that all you think I am?”

  He smiles wide. “Amongst other things. Now go. Let’s get this done and get the hell out of here.”

  “How are you going to start the car?”

  Max drops his head to the side sarcastically. “Really? I didn’t come from the Upper East Side. I know how to hot-wire a car.”

  I exhale through closed lips.

  “You can do this,” Max enthuses, placing his hand on my bare thigh. It burns there like a hot iron. I want him to move it higher, run it between my legs where I’m already turning molten and wet at his touch.

  I reach up and pull my hair out, shaking it free. I take hold of my boobs and attempt to lift them up a little to boost my cleavage. I’ve seen the movies. I know how these things go.

  Mmhmm, remarks my inner critic.

  I psyche myself up. “Let’s do this.”

  I open the car door and start to step out.

  “Dawn, wait!” starts Max, but it’s too late.

  I’ve opened the car door right into police officer walking past.

  Crrrrrrrrrrrrrap.

  I stumble out of the car, helping said officer to his feet. “My god. I’m so sorry, officer.”

  His glum expression turns into a smile when he sees me. “No problem, ma’am.”

  It changes back when he sees Max in the car. He looks to me. “Everything alright here?” He stands, adjusting his belt.

  I take a step back. “We’re just waiting for a friend.”

  The officer stands there with his hands on his hips looking between Max and I.

  Please don’t ask any questions. Please don’t ask any questions.

  His walkie-talkie on his shoulder starts to squawk. He nods. “Alright then. You two have a good day now. Just… watch where you’re opening your door, alright?”

  I nod back. “Yes, officer.”

  Max pokes his head out of the car door. “Can we be a tad less inconspicuous?”

  “Hey, I’m doing my best here.”

  He puts his hands up. “As you were.”

  I straighten myself and start to cross the road. I hear the driver’s door close and see Max heading down the side of the impound yard with a leather bag in hand. He could pass for a tradesman. As for me? What’s my excuse for being here?

  The closer I get to the box, the hotter the sun seems to get and the more I sweat. I haven’t thought this through at all.

  I’m so close now I can make out the guard. He’s middle-aged, balding, more gut than man. There’s a tiny fan on the side of the desk, but all it looks to be doing is blowing the last two strands of hair on his head around.

  I approach the window. He hasn’t noticed me yet, too busy watching the monitors and snacking on—what is that?—jerky?

  Max should be at the fence by now.

  I stand up on my tippy toes, cleavage out so much it’s almost kissing the window, and tap.

  The guard—Dave, going off his name tag—snaps to, focusing on me, or on my chest, rather, and pulls the window across.

  So far, so good.

  I put on the biggest smile I can muster. Think sexy. “Well, hi there, sir. I was hoping you could help me?”

  Why the hell do you sound like Dolly Parton!

  The accent just happened. I’ve got to stick with it no matter now ridiculous it sounds. Thankfully, Dave doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seems kind of spellbound by my boobs.

  He smiles back. “What can I help you with, ma’am?”

  I stick my head in a little and look around. There are six small monitors. One of them is showing a baseball game, but the others are all focused on different parts of the yard. On the bottom right-most monitor I see the grainy figure of Max cutting the fence with the bolt-cutters and pulling it wide.

  Oh, hell.

  The announcers on the baseball game give a start. Dave goes to look.

  “A car,” I shout.

  Dave looks to me. “Sorry?”

  Compose yourself! “I’m looking for a car.”

  Dave sits back and strokes his head. “Well, we ain’t a dealership here, ma’am. This here is the city impound yard.”

  “I know,” I smile. “I’m looking for a friend’s car?”

  He nods, rocking forward, straining with the effort. “Now, that I may be able to help you with. Name?�
�

  Crapola. Think of something generic. “Brad.” My Dolly Parton drawl almost slips.

  Dave rummages through papers on a clipboard. “Brad…?”

  “Pitt,” I blurt.

  Dave pauses and looks up to me, pausing on my cleavage first, dwelling a little longer than is courteous. “You’re looking for Brad Pitt’s car?”

  “Pit,” I stammer. “One T.” Quickly, I scramble to make it sound plausible. “I think. I don’t really know… I mean, we just met.”

  Keep it together, Dawn.

  Dave checks the paperwork again. “Nope. I can’t see anything here… but there is a vehicle registered to a Brad Pope. That your boy?”

  I nod, thankful. “Yes, sir.” I see Max get into the Camino on the monitor, duck low in the driver’s seat. Come on.

  Dave studies the paperwork. “Let’s see. Brad Pope, Brad Pope… Ah,” he says, finding him. “Twenty-two-year-old white male goes by the name ‘Reaper.’”

  I gulp. “Yep, that’s him.”

  Dave glances up, studying me before returning to the papers. “Nineteen-ninety-nine Lamborghini Diablo with a custom gold paintjob, right?”

  The heck? I nod. “Yes, sir.”

  He leans back and licks his lips. The fan blows rancid air out of the box. It’s like a sauna in there. “What’s your business with Reaper and his Lamborghini, may I ask?”

  “Oh, you know,” I stumble. “I was just helping him out, checking if it was here and all, being a good neighbor.” I almost lose the drawl again.

  Dave’s eyeing me suspiciously now. I’m losing him.

  Someone hits a homer in the baseball game. Dave goes to turn, but I reach in and place my hand on his. It’s like touching some sort of sea sponge, but he’s smiling again when he turns back to me.

  “Is the car here?” I ask, letting my hand lift.

  “Right,” he says, eyes running down the paperwork. “Yep. Your neighbor’s car is here alright, but I’m afraid it won’t be going anywhere soon. It’s part of an ongoing investigation.”

  “Oh?”

  I check the monitors out the corner of my eye. Max is still in the driver’s seat of the Camino fiddling away. What the hell is taking him so long?

  Damn Dave is all business. “Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”