DROP THIRTY-TWO

 

 

The drive home was awkward.

“So… I guess we’ll put you in my room for now,” Hector said and felt Bobo tense up in the back seat. He glanced at her from the rear-view mirror. “No, don’t worry, I have a cot downstairs in my workshop. It’s for when I have some alloy that needs constant supervision and I need to get up multiple times per night and check the readings, otherwise it gets microfractures- You don’t really care for this. Anyway. I’ll stay there, the top floor is all for you girls.”

“I… see. Alright.” Bobo seemed to relax a bit.

“So!” Pickle said, clapping her hands. “Tell us, Bobo, how do you feel about coming to join our team?”

Hector glanced at the rear-view mirror. Bobo was looking awkward, even more so than before, glancing from one to the other. “I… Uh… I dinnae…” she stuttered.

Hector chuckled. “Bobo, relax, you can just-”

A heavy smack on the windshield and suddenly a spiderweb pattern appeared on it. Hector’s eyes went wide, and he floored it, driving down on Alexandras’ Avenue and picking up speed.

“Whit happened?” Bobo asked, arms stretched while trying to hold herself on the seat.

Pickle had already taken out her pistol and looked out the passenger window. “We got shot at.”

Bobo exhaled. “Oh, thank Artemis’ virgin twat.”

“Are you relieved we got shot at so you could avoid a personal question?” Pickle squeaked, frowning and aiming at something. She was leaning outside and her butt was on Hector’s face, bobbing around as the car swerved and she repositioned her weight.

“Weil…” Bobo held her head between her legs as Hector drove the truck like a madman.

“Girls? Focus, please,” Hector shouted at them, running a red light. He pushed Pickle’s legs out of the way so he could change gears. They sped past Panathinaikos’ Stadium with its green and white stripes.

Pickle said, “I am,” focused her sights, and shot once. Twice. The car chasing them screamed on the asphalt, the shot-out tires grinding out sparks and forcing it to decelerate. It swerved away, and another car crashed into it.

“Who was it?” Hector asked, daring to look over his shoulder for a single second.

“No clue. Saw two men inside, but they could be anybody,” Pickle said calmly and sat back down on the passenger seat.

Hector was sweating all over. He looked sideways at Pickle. “How the fuck are you so calm right now?” His heart was still pounding in his ears and his hands were shaking, so he squeezed the steering wheel as much as he could.

Pickle shrugged. “Practise.” She turned her face to him, and added, “Jugger. You get used to the adrenaline rush.”

“For fuck’s sake… Is everyone alright? Bobo?” Hector said.

“Aye, I’m fein,” she replied.

Was she looking bored? Fucking crazy chicks, all of them.

“Hey, what’s with the windshield?” Pickle asked casually, arching her spine forward, holstering the pistol in the small of her back.

“I-What?” Hector stuttered. “I got it from the neighbour, he does custom fittings for bulletproof cars. I helped him out with an electrical problem he had one day, he installed it as a favour. The thing is heavy as fuck, you need something with horsepower to fit it in.”

“Caym in handy,” Bobo added from the back. “I theink that yin went straight for ye, Hector.”

Hector looked at the intricate fracture on the glass. It shone like a diamond as the various lights hit it, making a pretty pattern that spun around. In the middle, there was a break that had stopped a bullet, aiming for him.

He gulped.