But translated it sounded a little something like this…
‘I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle.’
So, two minutes later, and I found myself wearing skinny guy’s leather pants, (rolled up at the ankles) biker boots (three sizes too big), a Led Zeppelin T shirt (that I knotted at the side to make it fit me) and skinny man’s leather jacket, that actually fit me pretty well, thanks to the boobs that managed to fill it out.
I had also grabbed the smallest helmet, a rucksack in case it had anything useful in it, and the best looking bike. Well, this was after twisting the keys out of the owners hand, which meant breaking his wrist first. Because, well I wasn’t in the mood to be bitch slapped like he tried to do first.
I also stole the guy’s phone who, after hearing his buddy’s wrist bone crack, was willing to give me anything I wanted. But seeing as I wasn’t in the market for first borns or kidneys, I told him the phone would do.
Then I picked up the spliff, and because I was embracing my inner bad ass, I inhaled a drag, thinking it would look cool. Unfortunately, this was me we were talking about, so my cool, inner bad ass only extending to kicking ass, meaning I just ended up coughing as though I was choking, before telling them,
“Now this shit will kill ya!” Then I unlocked the guy’s phone, found his Spotify account that was linked to the speaker, and tapped in the only song that had to be heard right in that moment.
Then I twisted up my hair and winced as I pushed on my helmet, thanks to my bruised face and lump on the back of my head. Once ready, I kicked up the stand to the shitty dirt bike I had no choice but to ride. And I did this all to the sound of no other than…
‘Bad to the Bone’ by George Thorogood and the Destroyers.
I started up the Kawasaki KLX250, kicking up the dirt around me as I headed in the direction of where I had seen the helicopter go down, unable to resist the urge to say aloud,
“It’s been fun guys, but now it’s time to…Get to the chopper!” Then I giggled to myself which was lost over the sound of the shitty old two stroke engine. Gods, but I was going to stink of bike fumes by the time I got to where I was going, but then again, I was on my way to a crash site, so really if anything I was simply going to blend with the stench.
Now why wasn’t I on my way back to Transfusion you might ask? Well, it was simple, as I gathered by now they had informed Lucius they had me and would simply hold me to ransom until he handed over the box…the real one this time. Which meant that by the time I made it back to the club, I would most likely already be too late to stop him from falling for whatever contingency plan they had conjured up. One they would have had no choice to do seeing as I hadn’t yet shown up.
Meaning that my only hope left was to find the wreck and hide whilst I waited for the bad guys to show up. That way I could hopefully discover their plan, follow them to wherever their hide-out was and get to Lucius before he had chance to make what he thought was an exchange. Who knows, maybe if I was really lucky, then I would get a chance at intercepting him before he got there.
Well, this was my plan anyway, and despite Lucius’ stern belief that I couldn’t be trusted to make these kind of decisions, I knew that this was the best one we had. Besides, my decision to switch the boxes had been pretty spot on.
So, with this decision already made, I travelled along the dirt road that ran alongside the river, one I remembered was named Isar, from what I had overheard being said in the helicopter. Of course, it helped enormously having a great bellowing plume of smoke to follow and even though the bike was old and crappy, it did the job quite well in getting there in between all the dirt tracks that weaved throughout the thicket of trees.
I was just thankful I knew how to ride and unlike firing a gun earlier, doing what I was doing now wasn’t my first rodeo. Of course, this was thanks to my Uncle Vincent who was as into bikes as my dad was into cars. Meaning that after much convincing and admittedly when my parents were out of town, my uncle Vince taught me how to ride. And thank the shiny happy chrome Gods that he did, as otherwise, this bad ass biker chick look I had going on would have looked similar to Ragnar wearing a pink tutu and doing ballet.
But instead of swerving all over the place before crashing into some tree, I actually made it there in one piece. But then I also knew it was probably wise not to get too close. As I stopped my bike, skidding side-on the second I saw that the bad guys had already beaten me to the crash site. Which meant I was now faced with a convoy of blacked out off roaders, and even more mercenaries. I mean jeez, where did they keep getting these guys, ‘Ebay for ex-military’? Was there like some app for your phone out there for bad guys, like dating with profiles, list of accomplishments, hobbies, pictures and shit?
I could see it now…
‘Likes to take long walks on the beach after a long day of kidnapping, murdering and blowing up shit. Hobbies include reading about evil dictators, fertilizing the garden with dead bodies and sharpening blades by a warm fire whilst watching Rambo with that special person.’
“Hey, move along asshole, this isn’t a fucking show!” I jumped the second I heard someone behind me and then felt the back of my helmet being smacked, causing me to wince in pain. This was thanks to the lump there from where that bitch had shot me with a tranquilizer and I had fallen backwards. And well this, along with a bruised face that was currently being smushed into a fucking helmet, wasn’t exactly what I would have called a fun time.
But then again, at least it was all black and currently hid the fact that the person they would have been looking for was staring them right in the face. So, it was a little more than satisfying when I heard him say into a radio,
“Nah, just some punk kid that’s gonna get his ass kicked if he doesn’t fuck off.” I actually smiled at this before starting back up the bike and making my way past the wreckage going as slow as I could. There must have been about twenty guys, all stationed around it, making me wonder why the cops hadn’t arrived yet? It wasn’t as if a helicopter crash would have been missed, not being so close to the city.
However, my question was soon answered, but first I drove off in the opposite direction and into the tree line. Then, once I knew I was out of site, I ditched the bike and started backtracking through the cover of the trees. It also helped that it was dark and I had the movements of their flashlights to follow.
So, thankfully, I managed to stay hidden and thanks to the smoke that clogged the air near the crash site, well then, I managed to get close enough to see what was going on. The helicopter was a crumpled mess of twisted and burnt metal and I couldn’t help but suck in a shuddered breath, just thinking how risky my actions had been just to escape. Gods, but just knowing that I could have ended up in that wreck was enough to make me suddenly want to be sick, and in the end, I could barely get my helmet off quick enough before I did in fact hurl.
Thankfully, I wasn’t heard as there was too much going on with the wreckage to hear, which included the bent and twisted propeller that came crashing to the ground making everyone shift further back. I watched as an older man emerged from one of the many vehicles and despite being dressed the same as the others, he held an air of importance like armour. This told me even before he spoke that he was about to start issuing orders. And I was right.