Slick as Ides (4 page)

I can get hand sanitizer ingredients somewhere else.

“Hey, look, I can see I’m making you uptight, and I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t desperate. Please, gorgeous? Those stunning blue eyes are the home of a kind soul—I can see it,” he coos.

Okay, now he’s overdoing it. I’m not this dense.

I glare at him. My knees are still wobbly, and my breath is shallow, but I can think through it enough to see he’s not what he says he is.

He’s a liar.

Doesn’t matter how hot he is and how good he smells, if he’s trying to deceive me then he’s my enemy. My head goes foggy, and my eyes glaze over as I take a deep whiff.

Wow. That’s nice.

No. This is wrong. I need to be more assertive, that’s all. He’ll leave me alone.

“I said
no
. I don’t have any cash, and I don’t have a purse inside my car. I don’t carry one!” I say in a rush of adrenaline.

“All right, all right, I gotcha,” he says, and departs with a playful wink.

I stand rigid. My feet are roots, burrowed into the asphalt. I can’t move.

“What was that?” I barely blink, and I’m still a little dazed by his intoxicating scent even though he finally left.

He hops a half wall about ten feet away and heads for the bus stop another five feet ahead of him.

I can’t stop staring after him.

Wait. Something’s . . . this is worse than before. I can figure this out . . .

He’s good-looking, and most definitely smells like somebody who showers and takes personal hygiene seriously . . .
Hey
! He did not smell like a man who’s living on the streets. And how can he ride the bus if he doesn’t have any money?

He was wearing cologne, and his breath was minty fresh. Not to mention, he smelled extremely clean. I know—I’m an expert on being clean.

Was he . . . ?

He
is
a liar!

Those stains on his clothes and holes were fabricated. He’s a con artist, probably hired by Hillcourt Corporation.

He knows you’ve got the prototype in the back of the car.

Just a glimpse of it could be all he is after. Shit! Did he see it?

I cup my hands on the window and peak in back through the darkened windows to make sure it’s still there.

It is, and I sigh, letting my spine loosen a bit.

What was I thinking? He couldn’t have seen through my windows, tinted with resiliency flare shield. He wouldn’t have been able to see a dang thing unless he craned his neck around my seat, which he didn’t do.

You’re safe
.

I allow a breath to invade my lungs, and I square my shoulders.

Pump gas, and get out of here. You can get your hand sanitizing ingredients tomorrow.

Drop off the model tomorrow as well. This is too much for you. Let them decrease the amount they pay you.

A hiss of breath escapes me, and I resemble a leaking balloon.

My fingers fidget for a moment, and then I manage to uproot my heels and move to the gas flap.

In a bundle of nerves, I open it, unscrew the gas cap, and turn to the gas payment machine thingy. I squint.

My head can’t even remember the names of everyday machines right now. I roll my eyes at myself.

This is ridiculous. Who cares what this machine’s called?

I try to calm my trembling fingers as I turn to the gas pump. A moment later, I’ve got the nozzle in place, and I push down the latch so I don’t have to keep touching the handle of it. The numbers whiz by as it fills up my car.

My head focuses on a project I’ve got back home—a new invention. As soon as I get into my office, I’ll be relaxed, and everything’ll be fine again. No Vapor in my head. No homeless guy hounding me. No gas fumes to breathe in or grocery store to make my blood blast through my heart at an alarming rate.

My eyes clench closed, and I take another tight breath, hoping it will soothe my addled brain. A few more minutes, then I can leave.

Next thing I know, my car is rocketing off, and out of the parking lot—the gas spraying out of the nozzle onto the asphalt.

I turn and scream, “You can’t do this!”

Chapter 3

My legs turn into powerful pistons as I run at maximum speed after my car, and when I hop over the same wall the distracting man did, I realize he’s gone.

Where did he go?

Is he the culprit behind the wheel?

Son of a bitch! This is unbelievable!

I make a mental checklist of his attributes. His eyes and hair are easy to recall. The rest of his build? Not as easy, and I like precision. I think he’s about six foot two or thereabouts, and size eleven shoes, approximate weight one-hundred-eighty.

He’s toned, but not bulky—kind of a runner’s physique.

Nice hands despite their touching me without my permission. They seemed oddly familiar, too.

And you know exactly what he smells like.

My left eye twitches, and my hands ball into fists. I can get my car back. And I can get back at him for daring to take something belonging to me.

Not to mention I can smell him one more time. That should be nice.

My car disappears, like him, as it rounds a corner. I grimace as I watch it go.

There’s enough adrenaline in me I can continue to chase after him, and I can even shoot at him, but I kind of like that car.

The other one isn’t as nice.

But then I inherited the other one.

Fucking, ruddy, monkey balls!

My prototype!

What if he’s got it in his hands right now?

I gasp, heaving in great volumes of air, but it doesn’t help.

Oh great. He’s got me so angry I’m reverting to old curse words I made up in high school with my electronics mixed-wire-nerds.

I yank my backpack off, take a seat on the bus-stop bench, trying to ignore the creepy-crawly, germy feeling, sliding up my spine.

Before the next bus arrives, I grapple with my phone, tuning it into my car’s specific frequency and make sure to turn the light down so people won’t be frightened when they see me spying on the thief inside my car.

I’ll have my vehicle back before the night’s over.

The sound of a rumbling bus approaching does little to relieve me of the helpless, treacherous heebie-jeebies, skyrocketing through my system. I’m surrounded by microscopic raw germs and sewage traces.

My skin crawls, and I push the thoughts aside of babies sitting on this seat in nothing but soiled diapers, partially toothless people who smoke with stained teeth, and worst of all, people failing to thoroughly wash their hands after using the toilet.

Without any forethought, I’m up and off the bench—my backpack secured as I pace and hover over my phone, still uploading my links.

I type in the final code to get live, video-feed from my false, stereo-face in my car.

“Who’s that?” I whisper to myself, completely enveloped in my task.

I barely register the bus heading my way.

I zoom in so I can get a better look at the punk that thought my car was free for the taking.

And then I hear it. The same voice that spoke to me and rattled my insides so thoroughly, is chatting with somebody in my car.

I knew it! I knew he did it!

I pull some earbuds out of my backpack and hook it up to my phone, then slip the ends into my ears.

“I told you I could do it. Pay up,” the gorgeous conman says from the passenger’s seat of my car.

“I have to admit . . . that was pretty slick,” the driver responds.

The driver looks formidable in size. His barrel chest and linebacker shoulders make me think twice about going after my car.

But I have a firearm, and I know how to keep a safe distance so they can’t hit me, should they have their own guns.

That’s my car—the first one I chose and bought.

I slip into a rant with a few choice curse words.

Thankfully there’s no one around to hear me.

I cringe at the sound of the bus, squeaking to a stop in front of me.

Without turning my phone off, I slip inside the disgusting bus doors and pay the fee without making eye contact or giving any kind of recognition to the bus driver. He probably doesn’t even realize I didn’t take my earbuds out while paying.

I kind of smirk, thinking about how I have cash on me, enough to pay for bus fare until the end of this century but didn’t give any of it to the man now joy-riding around in my car.

The conman was lied to. How ironic is that?

The bus driver seems distracted by the other people on the bus as I tuck away my wad of cash.

I find a seat at the front, getting as much distance as I can from the loud, obnoxious group of teenagers at the back.

I turn up the volume on my phone to hear what the perpetrators in my car are conversing about.

“I know. Now will you admit I’m as slick as Ides?” the fake homeless guy says.

“No, Vapor, you conceited bastard.” The big man snorts.

I gasp and all heat leaves my body.
Vapor
?

He
found
me? And he’s that asshole in my car? He’s out to get me!

Shit, shit, shit! Tears line up at the edge of my eyes, threatening to march across my face like traitor soldiers.

I thought he liked me. I thought he sincerely wanted me.

I’ll fucking piss on his ashes after I burn him alive for this.

I blink hard and take a few gulping breaths to combat the stupid tears still forming.

“I won’t say it, so quit pestering me. No one’s as good as that guy. Face it . . . you’ll always be in his shadow,” the burly driver says, chuckling.

“Whatever.” Vapor waves his friend off. “You’re jealous, and you always have been. No one’s as slick as I am. I lifted her car out from under her nose—the rich snob. She wouldn’t even give me a quarter, and you know she’s loaded with a car like this. Driving around in her Veyron, acting like she’s penniless. What a bitch.”

I remotely shift the view of the camera in the car, so I can stare at Vapor, instead of the intimidating behemoth of a man behind the wheel.

Oh God. I can’t stop a few stray tears from strolling down my face. Nor can I stop staring at Vapor and his beautiful face. Why does he have to be this hot and this awful that he’s destroyed me this way?

Why did he have to make me care about him by lying to me online and pretending to be interested?

“Well, if I remember it correctly, I’m the one that actually drove off with it. You did your thespian part well, but I had to execute the actual heist,” his friend brags.

“Shut it. I did all the work. Your part was easy. No thinking required,” Vapor says. “I did all the research on this one as usual, and
I
pulled it off. And stop trying to use big words. You sound ridiculous.”

Vapor reaches for my stereo, and I’m actually grinning now.

“I’ve got you, stupid bastard,” I murmur, sniffing away the tears still hanging out in my eyes as if they actually belong there. “Keep touching my shit, and see what happens to you.”

Vapor fiddles with the stereo, but nothing happens.

He can’t turn it on, but for a moment he’s too caught up in his bravado to realize it’s not working.

“I’m not called Fingers for nothin’,” the driver says.

“You like to think so anyway.” Vapor snorts, and then he growls, “What is wrong with this stereo?”

“Did you plug in the iPhone?” Fingers asks.

“Yes, you moron, I’m not as stupid as you. If you’d paid attention, you’d have noticed I put it in as soon as you opened the car door. I had it in place before my ass was in the seat,” Vapor huffs, his face contorting in confusion.

The douche deserves this.

“Dammit—what the fuck is wrong with this thing?” Vapor makes a face as he keeps pressing buttons.

I’m actually chuckling a little at this point, even though I’m a mess inside. A few people stare at me.

I duck my head and try to be a little more discreet about my voyeuristic activities since I realize I’m coming off as a complete psycho.

“God, this sucks!” Vapor says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Now we’ll have to put in a new stereo system, and I wanted this car changed out and sold tonight.”

Fingers laughs. “
I’ll
keep it. This has gotta be the most amazing car we’ve ever lifted.”

“We can’t keep it, asshole. It’s too risky. Stop trying to think before you blow the last of the few brain cells you have left in that head.”

I snort a laugh.

From my periphery, I can just make out the bus driver, giving me incredulous looks. He most likely thinks I’m insane, snickering to myself one moment, and ready to burst into tears in the next.