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“Okay yeah, much later,” Emily moans and keeps banging until she’s sure the mystery person leaves, then she abruptly cuts off and snatches the chunk of rubber as soon as we’ve got it free.
“We have to get this back on the rack,” Dante stands and opens the door, peeking out.
The coast is clear, and all three of us sneak out of the bathroom. We open the back door to the garage, wait until it’s clear, and then we start racing down the service road toward the Concordia truck.
“Tire bitch,” Emily grabs us and points.
We duck behind the eighteen-wheeler and see a short Concordia rep in her white, pressed shirt, carrying a clipboard, and headed toward the truck where the rack of tires is at the back waiting to be loaded.
“Her name is Tire Bitch?” Dante whispers.
Emily nods as we all watch the Concordia girl. She’s headed right for the truck, and it’s painfully obvious one of the tires is missing.
“You two owe me,” Dante mumbles, then stands upright, slicks his hair back, and strolls out from behind the truck. Emily and I watch, our hearts racing, as Dante swaggers up to Tire Bitch, takes her hand, and starts kissing it and cooing at her with his usual Italian bullshit.
She giggles at whatever nonsense he’s feeding her, then he takes her face in his hands and smashes his mouth against hers.
She drops her clipboard. Her arms wrap around Dante, and he spins her around, so her back is to us.
“Stay here,” I tell Emily, then I race the mutilated tire to the rack and hoist it up without making a sound.
Dante’s watching me out of the corner of his eye with Tire Bitch’s tongue down his throat, her eyes closed, her hands grabbing at him. I move to the far side of the semi-truck then round the hood to Emily, who’s watching the shit-show.
Once we’re clear, Dante pulls Tire Bitch off his face, says something to her, then turns and walks away. Her face is covered in black tire soot from his hands, and she looks lovestruck.
“Poor little Tire Bitch,” Emily whispers.
Fifteen
Emily
“Emily, this is… highly unusual,” Professor Tillman says as he looks into the brown paper bag I’ve brought into his office today.
I’m absolutely exhausted from jet lag and travel. I’m supposed to be off work for the next few days, but this can’t wait. I’m not making any progress on figuring out why everyone seems to be struggling with this season’s tires.
It just doesn’t make sense. Sometimes, some compounds seem okay. Other times they shit the bed. Olivier has been of no help. While he’s plenty underfoot, he’s entirely useless, which is even worse.
If someone is useless, the least they can do is make themselves scarce.
“I know, but I need your help. Imperium doesn’t have the kind of lab needed for this, and I can’t do it at work anyway, for obvious reasons,” I plead.
“Certainly not,” he agrees.
“Will you help me?”
He’s still for a long time, staring at the eight-inch chunk of tire Cole, Dante, and I stole. His eyebrows waggle from side to side every few seconds, he takes a few breaths, and I know this could go either way.
“It’s important to me,” I break the silence. Doc looks up from the bag and rubs his chin. “People could be hurt. Someone I… someone I care very much about could be hurt.”
He drops the tire back into the brown paper bag and leans back in his chair.
Damn it, he’s going to tell me no.
I can’t blame him, I probably sound like a crazy person, as usual. This is stolen proprietary property, and I’m asking him to use the university laboratories to melt it down, tear it apart, run chemical tests on it, and find every secret hidden inside.
Secrets I’m starting to think Olivier and Concordia don’t want me to know.
“It’s okay, I understand,” I hang my head and start to stand. I’ll find another way.
