The Wake Up Call (part 1.20) One way ticket
Chapter 1.20: One way ticket
A pair of tired looking figures disturbed the city street's static motion as they broke through the cafe's grime-looking side door and moved along the alleyway. Smashed bodies and abandoned vehicles lay around them like some unreal, metal pillow fight had taken place.
"What's going on?"
He glanced at her before resuming his scavenging act.
"I don't know."
Before him was a large, fat, ground-hugging motorbike which had belonged to the scoot-jockey gang's leader. Its shiny chrome monster of an engine gave Hetch a warm feeling inside.
"Time we up'ed the tempo."
She pressed the handle of the gun against her side, just to make sure it was still there.
"Then lets go. Do know how to hot-wire one of these?"
Hetch stepped over the low, wide seat, looked at the controls and then waved the leather key ring in her face. Its collection of lock-picks, keys, tools and obscene miniature figures danced before her brown eyes. She sighed and pressed her body against his on the well-worn seat. Finally Hetch found the concealed start button, pushed down the chrome cover back, inserted the key and twisted his wrist. The immense roar and vibration from the powerful engine shook the two, tired passengers.
"Hold on."
The bike's rear tyre bit into the rough road surface, sending the front skyward as the engine's revs raced upward and the bike accelerated away from the uneasy city scene. It wove a chaotic course around obstacles, taking the unlevelled road surface and occasional concrete steps without too much of a problem. The sheer weight and width of this monstrous, low bike seemed to flatten out all but the largest bumps like a nitro-injected steam-press.
The long, leather biker's coat flapped around in the stream of stale air as the bike tore a path through the damp city street. It applauded the waves of polluted rain showers that came and went like the countless gear changes. The stewardess' back and upper arms became the resting place for the black, leather which captured air as if to slow them down. Her driver twisted a stomach-churning route up sideways, across pedestrian zones, under dull, grey stone arcade tunnels and down curved steps which only seemed to inject more wet air into her coat. Try as she may, she failed to it keep it from slipping off from her shoulders and forming a creased cradle near the small of her back.
"Do you know where the hell you are going?"
she yelled in his ear.
"What?"
"Where, are, you, going?"
she repeated, trying to conquer the noise from the engine's four exhaust pipes.
He swerved to avoid a taxi-pod, clipping the handle bars along the yellow door which almost made him lose control.
"Shit. This thing is fucking fast."
She tightened her grip around Hetch and looked back with an expression of terror mixed with excitement. Her heart started to pound against the hand gun inside her coat. The shiny armband became a secondary threat to her safety, his wild driving style had taken first place, for a split-second.
"Time is running out. We need to floor it, these armbands won't last forever."
They continued around the city streets, dodging hazards on the way. The rain began to pelt their faces with sharp fingers of cold, painful water as they changed direction with each city block corner.
Up ahead lay a solid wall of spiked road belts together with a heavy looking collection of armoured vehicles, troops and rioting citizens all fighting to get past the road block.
Hetch jammed on the brakes. The bike dipped like a lowly serf before a king. Its chunky disc brakes groaned out in pain as the tyres painted two, wide lines of rubber behind them. Hetch felt his passenger's body shunt into his as the bike came to a violent halt. The burn on his side gave another little reminder of its presence.
"And now?" she asked.
There was a moment of confusion. Time, like, it seemed, most of the city's population, was against them. Some of those individuals were now looking at the pair of them, sitting clue-less on a monster road machine which clearly wasn't theirs. It looked like easy pickings, some punk-ass biker and his bitch out on an expensive custom-built scooter who had just taken the wrong turn and ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"We just sit here and enjoy the view." remarked Hetch, searching their surroundings.
"Hey, you!" Screamed an ugly looking taxi-driver from his floating pod as it drifted slowly over the impatient crowds and troop transporters.
Hetch looked up.
"Hey babe, why don't you ditch that loser and come sit on my pod?" he added in a lecherous manner which was followed by a collection of erotic hand-signs and facial gestures.
"Another one of your sleazy friends Mewco?" she asked.
But her fellow passenger ignored both of them. He had his eye on the monorail entrance which shone out like a lighthouse at the top of five levels of hard, stone steps.
"Jerk-stain, you hear me?" screamed the taxi driver as he circled above them, still leaning out of the dirty pod window.
Hetch slowly raised his head up to the slimy driver whose old shirt was covered in non-descript food stains intermixed with last week's sweat stains. This was clearly an individual who didn't believe in taking showers more than once a month. But he was big and strong with a face filled with hate and a collection of tattoos and scars to back up his violence filled threats.
"You're on your own kido!" said Hetch, getting off the bike and walking towards the monorail steps.
"Mewco, where the hell are you going?"
"So, lover-boy has ran away, back to his mama. Don't worry babe, just sit your pretty, little ass there while I park this." came the taxi-pod's driver words as he continued on a large spiral down towards the garbage covered street below him.
She glanced over towards the crowd, the almost stationary taxi and to the decreasing figure of Hetch whose Mewco disguise grew ever smaller before disappearing inside the monorail terminal. A number of grizzly looking men left the road block and police lines and began their threatening shuffle towards her. She didn't know who she feared the most, the slimy taxi driver or the rough thugs.
"Wanna ride honey?"
she felt her throat dry up, but forced out the words. She would stand more of a chance with one taxi driver than with a dozen or more 'street trash'. Some unpleasant, jaded memories from her time working in Mewco's Money-shot club came flooding back into her thoughts.
"I need to get to The Destiny Bridge, can you take me there?"
The repulsive driver stood inches away from her and began to grope her shoulders, arms and neck. She pulled the long, heavy coat around her.
"I know what you need babe."
"I have some credits. I will pay you the rest when we get there."
"I'm always a sucker for a sob-story. My place is close to the bridge."
She felt sick and wanted to run, but it was too late, the group of unsavoury men had surrounded both her and the sweaty driver. Even if she cried out for help it would take ages for the troops to fight their way past through the crowds and reach her. She was on her own. Her only thought of comfort was knowing that she had a gun concealed under the dead biker's long, leather coat. If the worst came to the worst...
"Is this shit-head bothering you?" said one of the crowd members.
The driver clenched his fist around her arm, pulled her off the bike and pulled a desert eagle gun from under his dirty shirt.
"Don't try to fuck with this mister." he spat these words as he tapped the barrel of the gun against his chest.
The group exchanged nervous looks with each other and the driver. The thought of dying came back into sharp focus. He was outnumbered but could easily shoot a couple of them before the rest had managed to wrestle him to the ground and disarm him. Like a unspoken vote, they all decided to back off, to slowly drift away from the barrel and from the stewardess. He pulled her arm while still waving the gun around like a magic wand, able to part the crowd with a flicking movement of the gun.
"See. I must be some kinda knight in shinning fucking armour."
She half-smiled as her hand searched inside the coat for the gun.
"I've saved your life, so, your ass belongs to me. Forever!"
Her expression changed. The gun was gone. The pack of men whose approach she had feared a few moments early now seemed her last chance and she had just wasted it. This slimy individual had all the characteristics of a street pimp, someone who cruises the streets, finds an unfortunate girl and abuses her into become one of his 'working girls'. Her stomach turned over. Bad memories reappeared with increasing clarity and volume. The sights, smells and sounds of her past life had been re-awakened, resurrected from that dark corner and were eager to torture her mind, body and soul with acts of shame.
'At least', she thought, 'he would die too once this armband hit zero'.
It was a cold, hard reality check, another taster to remind her that life, like a city street, could take a turn for the worst without a moment's notice. Fortune and misfortune were both part of the same coin, and it was come up face down. She wondered how many thousand of credits she would have to earn to pay off this sleaze-bag to regain her freedom. How many years of turning tricks, of degrading acts, of faking her mood and of lying to herself she would have to endure? Her heart sank.
"We've gonna get you smartened up. Then put you out to earn your keep. A pretty thing like you should be able to do a dozen tricks a night."
She remained silent, her arm was already bruised from his tight grip and she didn't look forward to another one for opening her mouth.
"First thing, we're gonna lose that little piece of hidden jewellery."
She shut her eyes and bit her lip as he pushed the armband up and down with the barrel of the gun.
The driver's fat, hairy hand wiped the cold rain from his stubbled face and chin.
"Yeah, I saw it inside your coat. Can't have you explode before you repay your full debt. Can we?"
Her head dropped then shook pitifully from side to side. "No." she whispered.
To be continued...