Page 24 of Mister Prick

I glanced out the window. I was completely unfamiliar with the area, and found it unbelievable that we were a matter of blocks from my dealership. By the looks of the graffiti painted on the sides of the buildings, my guess was that I had no business ever trying to get acquainted with the neighborhood.

We pulled into a place called Kettle Coffee and Tea, and walked inside. The mouth-watering aroma of fresh brewed coffee hit me like a freight train as soon as the door opened. I enjoyed the scenery of the quaint shop while he ordered, wondering the entire time why they weren’t located elsewhere. In a matter of seconds, we were both enjoying a cup of the best cold brewed coffee I’d ever tasted.

“Oh my God,” I said. “This is heaven.”

“Good, isn’t it?”

“It’s spectacular. How’d you find this place?”

“A customer introduced me to it.”

“Tell him or her thank you.”

“If I ever see him again, I will.”

He held the front door for me, and stared at my ass as I walked past. My opinion of him had changed drastically in the past two days, and I wondered with a nickname like Mister Prick, how many people truly knew much about him. It seemed the more I learned about him, the easier it was to like him.

I sipped my coffee as we walked across the lot, taking an admiring glance at him every few steps. Just as we reached the back of the car, he looked to the left, and then stopped in his tracks.

“Get in the car, Jess,” he said in a demanding tone. “Don’t unlock the door for anyone but me. No matter what happens out here, you’ll be safe. The vehicle’s armored, and the glass is bullet proof.”

Bullet proof?

I spun around. “What’s going on?”

Instead of responding, he tossed the key fob in my direction.

I caught the keys and scanned the lot, trying to figure out what was wrong. Nothing looked out of place. But, something was wrong. Bad wrong. I wondered if Marty was coming for revenge.

“Vince, what’s going on?” I stammered.

He set his cup of coffee on the back bumper. “Now,” he said, his tone stern. “Lock the doors and keep the windows rolled up.”

I fumbled with the key fob, and eventually got the door unlocked. Two Hispanic men got out of a Cadillac that was parked a few stalls over just as I hopped inside.

Dressed in khaki colored slacks and short-sleeved button-down shirts, they looked like businessmen.

Angry businessmen.

I locked the doors. My heart raced. With no idea of what was going on, why I was locked inside a bullet proof Mercedes, or what was going to happen to Vince, fear washed over me as they approached.

Vince adjusted his stance, spreading his feet apart slightly. His hands slowly raised half the distance to his chest, and his fingers curled toward his palms.

I hadn’t realized it before, but being locked inside the vehicle with Vince outside, it was apparent just how soundproof the vehicle was. One of the two men was talking, and I couldn’t hear a single word.

After what appeared to be a heated argument, the second man pulled a gun from the waist of his pants and pointed it at Vince.

Oh my God.

A wad of fear got tangled in my throat, all but blocking me from breathing. As I struggled to take a breath, Vince’s hands became a blur.

Somehow, he snatched the gun from the man’s hands. Then, he planted his right foot against the man’s chest, kicking him to the ground.

Holy shit!

It happened in an instant, but the finesse of Vince’s movements told me it wasn’t the first time he’d done something of that nature.

He then pointed the gun at the second man. The man’s eyes thinned. With the gun pointed at his head, he had no alternative but to lower himself to the parking lot beside his defeated friend.