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“This is where you work?”
She nodded, speeding around two motorcycles. “I’m not there a lot. I usually call in to get my assignments. M&B’s isn’t my favorite place.”
Blowing past a Corvette on the left, she moved into the center lane, then across the next to reach her exit. She took the off-ramp fast. The front tires bucked, leaving the pavement for a second. As the rubber touched back down, Truly sped toward bottom of the exit.
The light turned yellow.
She hit the gas. The ’Cuda rumbled and jumped, racing toward the intersection.
Westvane sucked in a breath. “Truly —”
“Hang on.”
Big hand pressed to the dash, he reared in his seat.
She sped through the intersection just as the light turned red.
He released the breath he was holding. “Next time, I’m driving.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged.”
His threat made her smile. Why? No clue. Insanity, maybe, but for some reason, she found his disgruntlement hilarious. Satisfying, even. She knew with instincts that rivaled a predator’s not much bothered Westvane. The idea of her driving might freak him out tickled a long-forgotten part of her — a place that encouraged laughter and accepted joy. A place she hadn’t visited in a while.
Feeling lighter, she turned into a bad part of town. Run-down buildings populated street after street. Questionable people hung out on corners with cracked sidewalks fronting seedy stores. The wide boulevards narrowed, leading deeper into the belly of the beast. Philly at its most stark. A city in waiting, a gray lady hoping for better days. A place Montrose had planted his business, sinking deep into an underbelly where nothing but bad things grew.
She hadn’t lied to Westvane.
She came to Devil’s Pocket as little as possible. Safety wasn’t something she took for granted here. It wasn’t lost on her that Montrose hadn’t tried to find better. Not once. He stayed instead, terrifying people in a neighborhood that boasted the scariest criminals around. Even stranger, everyone gave her boss a wide berth. No one wanted his attention, and…
Everyone who owed him paid on time.
He must have serious connections. She’d never asked. Didn’t really want to know. All she wanted was for gang members and drug dealers to leave her alone. To date, they had — no doubt thanks to Montrose — so, no complaining. She took what little she got when in Devil’s Pocket. Only a fool, after all, got uppity in the face of bad elements.
Taking the last turn, Truly slowed as she drove down Spindle. She spotted the parking spot from a block away. Located on the side street next to the shop, the space along the curb always sat empty. No name tag above it to explain the vacancy, but it never failed — whenever she showed, the spot was available. A quirk of fate? A gift from the Gods? She didn’t care. No sense risking the wrath of Montrose to find out.
She parallel parked, zipping into the gap with little effort. The second her car settled, she threw it in neutral, yanked the emergency brake, and shut the engine down.
“See?” Truly glanced out of the corner of her eye. Looking pale, Westvane sat still as a statue in the passenger seat. “Got you here in one piece.”
“I don’t know how,” he said through clenched teeth. “You nearly hit three cars on the off-ramp.”
“Did not. I had inches to spare.”
“I didn’t realize it before, but now I do.”
“What?”
“You’re out of your mind,” he said as though he’d just discovered the secret to the universe. “Should’ve known. Door Masters — certifiable.”
“Met many of us, have you?”
“No, but I read.”
“Good for you.” Palming the handle, she popped her door open.
Westvane looked out his window. He eyeballed the chipped brick exterior with peeling paint before shifting focus to look at the faded sign hanging above cracked windows:Montrose & Brim Investigations.“Not much to look at, princess.”
