Concrete Chaos

by Earle, Michael-Scott

  "Here she is winning the US Stunt Riding Showoffs last year." The video showed me doing a bunch of wheelies, endos, and jumping around on the back of Funakoshi. "She's won the whole damn thing three years in a fucking row. Are you kidding me?"

  The video flashed again and showed a big parking lot filled with a maze of cones. There were motorcycle riders making tight turns around the cones at really slow speeds. The voice spoke again:

  "This is how all you motherfuckers ride Moto Gymkhana. You look like a bunch of invalids trying to make a nine-point turn in your parent's basement. But hey," the man said with a laugh, "I look that bad too. Now here is Sue Zay:" the video changed to show me taking a course. I slid through one turn smoking the back wheel, endo'ed through another, landed Funakoshi backward, and then rolled the wrong way through another before sliding right side front through a tight curve. "She's like a fucking ballerina on that big fucking bike. She's like Mozart on that bike. She's so fucking much better than everyone else at Moto Gymkhana the shit almost isn't funny. Check it." The screen flipped to show last year's world championship rankings. My bitches hadn't beaten me in the California championships, so they couldn't do the National one, and then couldn't do the World Championships. It was a real shame because all of my friends were easily better than the rest of the world competition.

  "Sue Zay is over twice as fast as the second podium. Over twice as fast as fucking Takasi Ishikawa. That dude has been ruling Moto Gymkhana for the last twenty years. I mean, the guy used to rule Moto Gymkhana." The video changed again and showed the narrator's smiling face.

  "Some of you all are probably thinking 'Yeah, but who fucking cares? Where's the speed? That stunt and Gymkhana stuff is for jerk-offs.' Shut the fuck up and watch this." The video showed Funakoshi and me crossing the finish line at a race and a few choice turns when I leaned him out really low.

  "This is the AMA Superbike Championship last year. She won it by a handful of seconds against Zato's Greg Karasik. She did the same thing the year before that." The screen flipped to another few cuts of me taking corners and standing on a winner's podium. Greg Karasik had a super-sour expression on his face in each podium shot, and I almost laughed. That guy was a fucking asshole that thought he was Muhammad's gift to women and motorcycles.

  "So look," The video cut back to the narrator's face. "This isn't even the crazy part, okay maybe it is the crazy part. You've got a triple threat. No, make that a fucking quad threat. Sue Zay can out-fucking-stunt anyone alive today, she's out Gymkhanaing the best in the world, she's the fastest rider on the planet right now, and... she is so fucking hot. Let's just look at her again. Goddamn!" There was another picture of my smiling face on the screen again. "But back to my earlier statement. Here is the real crazy part: She doesn't even have any sponsorship. Like, no one knows who the fuck she is. She doesn't ride for any company. She just shows up to these events, dominates, and then leaves. Fucking haha." The man started laughing hysterically.

  "There are rumors she even trashed the trophy at the last AMA Championship. They said she just walked off the stage, threw the cup into the nearest bin, jumped on her bike, and then peeled off. What. The. Fuck." He laughed again. The rumors were right. I never kept the trophies. I didn't have space in my two bay garage for anything other than my basics, Funakoshi, his tools, and my computer stuff.

  "But that brings me to the next crazy thing about Sue Zay. She rides a fucking gasoline bike. Fuck it all. What the hell, huh? Yeah, you heard me right. She's not doing electric or hydro. It is a fucking old-school, fuel-injected, loud-as-fuck 'Busa beast. The thing has to weigh three times what everyone is competing with. Could you imagine what this babe could do with a modern bike? I don't even want to see it. I'd just hang up my riding suit for good and then go take up BMX racing or something. Fuck me.

  "So what do we know about her? In short, we don't fucking know shit. Except for a few things: First, we think she lives in California; San Jose to be exact. She's apparently part of an all-girls bosozoku gang there. How does anyone know this? Check out this pic." The video switch to a static picture of last year's AMA Championship pit. I was sitting in the area with Xiu Mei, Kate Tee, and Stacey Jones.

  "What is that saying about hot girls only hanging out with other hot girls? Looks like it is true here. We don't know who the other Asian smoke show is, but the redhead is Stacey Jones Taylor. She's a student at MSU in San Jose. Her parents are both vice presidents at SpaceX. Oh, and the way-too-hot blonde? That is Katherine Naderi. Yep, from the Naderi family you are just now thinking about. She is also a student at MSU. These girls have been in Sue Zay's pit crew at the last two AMA Championship races." A video played of the girls switching out my tires along with a crew that they had helped me hire. I didn't really have the money to pay for a crew, but Xiu Mei and Kate Tee had pitched in some cash to help me.

  "So if you see Sue Zay riding in San Jose, or anywhere else in the world, make sure you tell her how much I love her and that I want to marry her. I'm thinking you'll have a hard time catching her! Let's see a few more shots of that ass in the seat."

  Caleb touched the skin on his wrist, and the video muted and switched back to news.

  I saw Jae studying me out of the corner of my eye, and I felt my cheeks start to heat. Ugh. What was with me? I had plenty of fanboys, but this guy was making me weak in the knees and wet in the crotch.

  "There are a few hundred other videos like this, not to mention pages and pages of internet forum posts. Did you know that people ride up to San Jose from all over the country with hopes that they will catch you on the road?" Caleb leaned his head sideways and smirked like one of Pavel's cats.

  "No. I try not to go on the internet unless I need to order a part. There is too much garbage there." I shrugged. "I'm still not understanding how you knew my real name."

  "We couldn't figure out why Katsumi Zato was having dinner with a notorious motorcycle racer. Especially the day before her own birthday. You both have similar features, so I thought you might have been her niece," Jae explained.

  "Then we found a lead in old archived print media. The San Jose Lifestyle Magazine was still doing print editions back then. They had a short mention about your birth in one of the articles featuring your father," Caleb continued. "I found the scan and put the pieces together."

  "We didn't know for sure, though," Jae said. "You confirmed an hour ago when I asked you to come over and used your real name."

  "Ugh." I put my left hand over my face.

  "I understand why you want no one to know who you are; your secret is safe with us."

  "Secrets tend not to be safe with more than one person." I shook my head at the handsome man.

  "Sue Zay," Jae leaned across the table and placed his hand over mine. His skin felt good, and I was thankful that my head wasn't spinning. "Our meeting yesterday was serendipitous. Not only am I looking for someone with your talents; part of the reason we are here in the valley is that we think our enemies are trying to target your mother's company. There are just too many tasks for my small team right now. We desperately need your help, and I feel confident that it will end up benefiting your mother as well."

  "That really isn't a deciding factor for me. In case you didn't notice Friday night, we don't exactly get along."

  "I suspected as much. But you still met her for dinner to celebrate her birthday. If you didn't care, then you wouldn't have been there that night. If you hadn't been there that night, then Pavel and I would be dead." His words seemed sincere, and his blue eyes burned into mine.

  "Let's say I am interested in working with you. I have school, friends, and a life. I don't want to be spending every second working for you. I don't need the money." The last part was a bit of a lie. My dad's trust gave me enough for school and a tiny amount of cash to live with. Most of that money went to parts for Funakoshi, gas for Funakoshi, and race admission costs. What little I had left over went to rent and maybe sometimes food.

  "You can work for me as a free
lancer. I'll discuss a job with you, and you can decide if it is something you want to do. We'll discuss payment before you accept the job."

  "But if I don't take a job, would it screw up your plans? How much illegal shit are we talking about here?"

  "It might screw up my plans, and then I can offer to pay you more. At this point, I think the only illegal activity I'd ask you to engage in is breaking traffic laws. I am confident you already commit many of those crimes daily." He smiled, and my heart fluttered. He was guessing that I was sold, and I was guessing that he was right.

  "I think I start to go through withdrawal if I don't break a traffic law every fifteen minutes." I laughed, and the handsome man chuckled with me.

  "I'm going to go give Emma and Pavel their dinner. See ya, Sue Zay." Caleb nodded to me and then walked out of the kitchen with two plates.

  "Can we talk about the first job?" Jae raised an eyebrow. Fuck, why was he so hot?

  "Yeah, but I'm not committing to anything."

  "I think you might after I show you the job." Jae's smile was large, and I enjoyed the brightness of his perfect teeth.

  "Fuck. Okay, show me what you want me to do."

  Chapter 8

  "Look at that greasy motherfucker," I sighed. "I can practically smell the lard from over here."

  "Sue Zay, I doubt that is possible. You are across the street and your helmet is on," Hogan said and shook his virtual head.

  "It is figurative. So, who is this guy anyways?"

  "Should I attempt a facial recognition scan? Didn't Jae say that, for now, it was better if you had limited info about who you were following?"

  "Yeah...." I sighed again and studied my target. The man really was all shades of nasty. Even his très chic suit did little to overcome the sheen of yellow sweat on the man's face, his pimply complexion, and his awful comb over. Dickbag's head looked like a tortoise with pubic hair pasted to half of the shell.

  "He is nervous. So are his bodyguards." The four men had stepped out of restaurant at eight forty-five AM on the nose, just as Jae had said, and were waiting for their self-driving pod to arrive.

  "Does that mean you want me to run the facial recognition?" Hogan asked again.

  "Naw, but keep that ugly mug on file. I might want to know who he is one day. This job sounds too easy for the amount of money Jae is paying." The handsome Asian had explained this assignment simply. I just need to wait outside of this expensive breakfast cafe in the heart of Palo Alto for the man who matched the picture Caleb sent me, attach a tracker unit to whatever self-driving car he got into, follow the car to the destination where Slimebag got out, confirm the address, and then Jae would wire a shitload of money into my account.

  "He did warn you not to be seen," the blond man said with his stretched-vowel accent.

  "Not to be 'made,' Hogan. We are secret agents now. The correct term is 'made.' Get with the fucking program."

  "Made," Hogan repeated the word and his accent inspired me to giggle. "Incoming call from Stacey Jones," he said.

  "Accept, keep outgoing video off." There was a beep, and the pretty redhead's face filled a small spot on the side of my helmet display next to Hogan's image.

  "You up yet?" she asked while she stifled a yawn with her hand.

  "Yeah, some shit went down last night. The handsome Asian dude called me, and we had dinner."

  "Oh shit!" she gasped. "Are you still at his house? Is that why the video is off?" her voice was a whisper.

  "No," I sighed. "I wish, but maybe something even better happened. I'm actually doing a job for him right now."

  "Uhhh... a job? Like, you aren't pulling tricks on a street corner are you?" she laughed.

  "No. I'll explain later today. I should be done in a few hours."

  "Kay, you wanna ride over to Kate Tee's house together? Where you at now?"

  "I don't know where I'm gonna be when the job ends. I'll call you when I finish, but don't wait on me. Head over there if I am running late."

  "Gotcha, Babe." She winked at me and blew a kiss. "Be careful, okay. His cock can't possibly be worth dying over."

  "He is paying me ten grand."

  "Whoa! Okay, we need to talk about this when you get to Kate Tee's place-"

  "Shit, I gotta go. Talk later. Love ya!" The pod pulled up to the four men. Two of the goons took the front seats and my target sat in the passenger-side rear seat next to his other guard. The self-driving car was a cream-colored executive model, and from the way it sat on the road, I wouldn't have been surprised if it was armored.

  "Kay!" Stacey Jones blew me another kiss, and the video terminated.

  "Here we go, Hogan. Get your dick ready." The pod sped away from the curve, and I fired up Funakoshi. The ancient engine let out a roar of anger when I woke him and then purred when I twisted the throttle to angle after them.

  "My dick ready?" the AI asked with confusion.

  "To fuck. Goddamn it, why do I have to explain everything to you?"

  "Because you didn't program me well?" Hogan's handsome face smiled on my screen, and he tipped his black crocodile hat.

  "Alright Mr. Snarkie-Pants, enough wise cracking from you. Get the autopilot ready." I distanced Funakoshi a few car lengths behind and to the left of the target pod. I didn't know what strategy would be best to attach the tracker device to the car, but I figured that the goon in the rear left seat would probably keep his eyes on their asset. Wait, is that what bodyguards called the person they were protecting? Asset? I needed to download some cool spy movies to watch tonight. I should be speaking the fucking lingo.

  "I'm ready. The autopilot will balance your motorcycle," Hogan informed me.

  "Alright, here we go." I felt a small sizzle of fear flutter in my stomach before my adrenaline squashed it like a butterfly. I'd done much harder moves on the back of Funakoshi without even using the autopilot. This would be a breeze.

  I sped up a bit to get another car length closer to my target. It moved into the right lane, and I smiled at my luck before I closed the distance, flipped on the autopilot, and grabbed the tracking device from the front pocket of my riding leathers. The thing was the size of my thumb and coated in a sheer plastic wrapper. There was a small handle coming out of one side. I pinched it between my thumb and pointer finger of my right hand while I ripped off the wrapper with my left.

  Funakoshi was only two feet away from the rear of the car, right behind the D pillar, and I readied myself for the placement. I checked the digital display of the speedometer and saw our speed: 45 miles per hour.

  "Do it," I told Hogan, and the motorcycle accelerated to the self-driving car that Mr. Greasy McBaldy sat in with his goons.

  I leaned down off the seat with my right shoulder a few inches off the speeding asphalt, reached out my arm, and pushed the popsicle-looking device up on the underside of the pod's bumper. The thing latched easily, and I did a sit-up so I could return to the correct position on top of Funakoshi. I didn't look back to see if the goons in the car had spotted me, that would have been too obvious, instead I flipped off the autopilot and gunned the engine to move a few car lengths ahead of them.

  "They are going to make a right onto the 82 north," I guessed three seconds before the pod's turn signal flared on my rear display and confirmed my suspicions. I angled Funakoshi to the right and took the turn onto the small highway ahead of my target.

  "Where do you think they are going?" I stayed in the slow lane and let their pod pass me.

  "The airport?" Hogan asked.

  "Hmmm, maybe, but then they would have taken the 101," I said.

  "San Francisco?" The Australian AI guessed again.

  "Could be. Fuck, I don't really want to go all the way up there."

  "But you want ten thousand dollars?" Hogan seemed to chuckle on my screen.

  "Muuhmm," I grunted to the AI and kept my eyes on the pod. Then something caught my eye, and I focused my vision on my rear display.

  "Ugh. Now is not a good fucking time. Damn i
t." A group of bosozokus were coming from behind me. My 'people' normally weren't out at this time in the morning, unless they were on their way to bed after a night of heavy riding.

  They were hauling though, and the group of six riders caught up to me almost as soon as I uttered my words. The gang wore matching green leathers with yellow Japanese symbols embroidered on their shoulders, backs, and motorcycles. They all rode electric bikes, except for the guy who seemed like their leader. His was a hydrogen build, and the machine looked to be top of the line. As if on cue, the guy on the hydro turned to me and raised his middle finger before he popped into a wheelie. Then the other five riders slammed on their horns while he balanced next to me.

  "I don't have time for this bullshit!" I shook my head at the wheelie rider, but he couldn't hear my words. Their leathers were immaculate, and their bikes looked to all be brand new, or at least, never laid down. I didn't recognize their uniforms, so I wondered if these were just weekend warriors on their way home from breakfast. Plenty of corporate wage slaves liked to pretend that they were bosozokus on the weekend. Or maybe these guys were from out of town.

  "I believe they want you to do a stunt," Hogan commented. I had never programmed any 'motorcycle hand signal' language into his vocabulary, but there was no mistaking that the guys were lifting their hands up in the air like slides. When they saw me shake my head, they flipped me off again and beeped their horns like a pack of horny elephants.

  I ran the edge of my left hand across my throat, shook my head again, and then waved my fingers to dismiss them. They should have gotten a clue and took off, but their bikes closed in around me. It was a coordinated movement, and I realized that they all must have been communicating with each other through their helmets.

  There were many types of bosozoku gangs in the United States. They ranged from pretty harmless groups of men and women that might get together every month to wear matching outfits and do some racing around the town to groups that would commit robberies, mayhem, and chaos wherever they traveled. I had guessed from the clean bikes and uniforms that this group was the former, but their aggressive posture made me wonder if they wanted to tip me off my bike. It was something I'd done plenty of times when motherfucking assholes had tried to fuck around with me while I rode.