Before the light even turned green Loxley was already halfway down the next street. She enjoyed how the smoothness of the Porsche's tires made the whole driving experience inexplicably better and smiled as she pursed her dark red lips and flipped her hair with her hand a few times, making sure to look the part of a rich, privileged, white girl. Her mother had gotten deathly sick about nine years ago but now, at twenty-three years old, Loxley was finally living the high life, or what she considered it to be. She took a sharp left, slammed on the breaks, and slowly pulled into the garage. Marveling at all of the sparks caused by metal against metal flying everywhere, she hopped out of the car, her feminine, wealthy attire glowing in great contrast to the abundance of sweaty, working, dirty men littering the garage.
“Lock Lox!” a man yelped from behind a silver car. He came out and wiped his hands before taking hold of her shoulders and looking at her face. “I see our gem ain’t maimed in any way. You get the car okay?” His heavy Brooklyn accent couldn’t have been missed as he nudged Loxley away from the precious car and began to make sure the car was still well intact.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “The car’s fine, Tin.”
He lifted his dark eyes and chuckled. “I just like to see for myself.” With these words, his eyes traveled up and down her body, taking in her full attire. With the dirty rag he used to wipe his hands, he gestured at her dress. “Why you wearin’ this fancy get-up anyway? You steal cars, not livin’ in SoHo.”
“Yeah, but if I’m stealing cars from SoHo, shouldn’t I look the part?”
He stared at her for two seconds before huffing out, “Whateva.”
“Dumb ass. Where’s Stevo? I need my money,” she said, kicking the wheel of the car.
Tin nodded his head toward the back of the garage as he got in the car and relayed to her what Stevo had told him. “Apparently he has another job for ya. You ain’t gettin’ your money till then.”
Loxley’s mouth dropped in shock. “The fuck?! I did my fucking part and got the damn car! His ass asked for a fucking Porsche—I got his ass a fucking Porsche. He owes me my money.”
“Why don’t you go yell at him in fucking Italian or some shit, I got work to do.”
As he shut the door and drove the car off, Loxley blew out a breath a mumbled, “It’s Portuguese—and it’s that bastard’s fault I learned it.” With no one listening to her financial frustration, she stomped her way to Stevo’s office and rapped her hand against the tired wooden door. “Stevo! Open this damn door!” She now opted for an open-palmed slap against the splintering wood.
Before she could yell another round of colorful profanities, the door swung open with an undeniable squeak. “Ah, Loxley! I thought I heard your feminine, dainty steps.”
“Fuck you, Stevo.”
He chuckled and stepped aside, allowing her into his office. “All in due time, my gem.” The older man had an undesirable attraction towards her that he did not let go unnoticed. Loxley was well aware of exactly what he wanted to do to her body and, on more than one occasion, she used this to her advantage. “I gotta job for you.”
She plopped herself in his seat and turned herself around to see him leaning against the wall. She crossed her legs, catching his attention, and muttered, “I heard.”
“I assume Justin told ya.”
“Yeah, Tin told me and I’m not happy about it.”
“I figured, but you’re the one I need to do it. It’ll double your money and gain ya some serious cred.”
She pursed her lips and squinted her eyes. “With who?”
Her eyes widened in shock. She placed her hand on her chest, feeling a shortness in her breath. Big Rose was the second most powerful gang on the east coast and a favor to them would make Loxley a powerful person herself.
“That’s fucking big.”
Stevo laughed. “Yeah, I know. I recommended ya for it.”
“Why? I’m a petty car thief?”
“Petty my ass. Ya never failed on a job. Three years ago, ya brought me that fuckin’ cop car.”
“I had to go on the run for that shit. I’m still pissed off with you about it.”
“Yeah, whateva. Besides, the job's easy. Ya just gotta pick up a car. Ya do worse things every day.”
“If it’s so easy, why can’t someone else do it?”
“'Cause it can’t look suspicious. It’s in a pretty normal neighborhood and they need someone who looks pretty normal. Ya know, American Dream shit and all that.”
She smirked. “Are you calling me normal, Stevo?”
His eyes darkened and he slithered behind her. As he ran his hands up and down her bare arms, she kept the chair facing where he was standing before. Her eyes stayed forward as he whispered in her ear, “Oh, my gem, far from.” He gave a short laugh before whispering, “But they need someone perfect and you’re her. With ya soft skin, beautiful lips, and heavenly body, you’ll fit right in.”
“I just have to pick up the car?”
She could practically hear the desperation in his voice as he stood behind the chair she sat in, crouching at her ear. She bit her lip softly as she nodded in agreement.
Before she knew it, two days passed and Loxley was waxed, plucked, made-up, and pushed out into a suburban area of Pennsylvania.
Find the car and bring it back to the guy in New Jersey. Easy. Simple.
As she mindlessly walked down the sidewalk of a shopping area, her phone buzzed in her purse. She fished it out and checked a text message from an unknown number sending her the location of the car. “Perfect,” she said to herself and hailed a cab. It took fifteen minutes for the driver to talk about his children who were both in middle school and drive her to the park where she had told him to drop her off.
“What are you doing here?” the talkative cab driver asked nosily.
She laughed and lied, “Oh, nothing. My friend’s picking me up here.”
“Oh, well, bye!”
She hated talkative people. She had work to do and it wasn’t to waste time talking to overweight cab drivers. After a brisk ten minute walk, Loxley was standing in front of a dark blue car. It was nothing special—it made her wonder why everyone was going through all of this trouble and why this was such an important job. Walking around the car to observe the whole thing and to make sure nothing was generally wrong, she noticed the trunk was open. She opened it to see nothing but tangled rope, a flare gun, and a few blood stains scattered in a few places. Considering the people she was working for, Loxley gave no mind to it and slammed it closed. With ease, she hot-wired the car and drove off. Easy. Simple.
It hadn’t been long, maybe about half an hour since finding the car, when Loxley heard sirens sounding behind her. Her eyes shifted to her rear-view mirror to see a police car about two cars behind her approaching fast with it’s red and blue lights flashing.
“Shit,” she muttered. “What the hell?” This was supposed to be a simple job. Get the car and deliver it. No police involved. For a few miles, her speed grew faster and faster and she watched with stress as more police cars gathered into the pool of authority chasing her. It wasn’t long till the situation turned into a high-speed chase. She was swerving in and out of lines of cars while aggravated honks and commanding sirens followed her.
She felt the hard right she slammed the car into by the way the vehicle tipped into the road. “Fuck,” she mumbled. She needed to get away. She needed to escape. She didn’t care if the authorities captured the car, they just couldn’t capture her. She had too much on her.
Up ahead, her eyes splashed into the random river. She could see the docks. She knew, without even thinking it over, what she had to do. Her arm shot out to grab her purse, zipped it up, and securely hooked it around her arm.
The blue car flew off the dock and splashed into the dark green-grey water. Wasting no time, she took a large breath and dashed out of the car, swimming through the water. Her dress was an extra lag to which the water was not kind. She paid no attention to the sinking wreck of the blue car behind her as she ducked under the docks and swam away. For three hours, swimming was all she knew. Though she had now shed her dress and heels, her hands still kept a firm grip on her purse.
If she was going to survive in any way, shape, or form, she would need her purse. Fatigued and cold, she used her weak arms to pull her sore body up and out of the water. The sun had set but she could still hear the faint sounds of police sirens spread throughout the city. The cold wind blew through her body as she shivered from the dripping water.
She was a twenty-three year old woman wearing nothing but her undergarments and her purse. Barefoot, wet, and shivering. She’d been in worse situations but this still wasn’t exactly ideal.
She had to find clothes. She had to get back to New York. Stevo was her best bet.