“I’ll watch for you on the track, Kane,” Rico replied.
The sailor grunted again and began to walk away. He had only made it a few yards before turning around. “If you get your hands on anything else you think is primo . . .”
“You’ll be my first stop,” Rico said. “You know I know.”
“Right,” Kane replied. He noticed Valerie and eyed her suspiciously as he walked by but didn’t bother to greet her.
Valerie watched him go, recognizing his ornery expression from the poster in the tavern. She ate the last of her sandwich as she continued toward Rico.
Rico finished counting his money, then looked up as she approached, glancing at her apron. “I see you took my advice.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Valerie said. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to say sorry about last night. I was kind of . . .”
“A snot? Yeah, you were.” Rico pocketed his cash, then squared up with the car’s engine compartment. He reached into a toolbox on the fender and extracted a socket wrench, but when he glanced back at her, he paused. Putting his free hand out, he brushed his fingertips along her face. “Oh honey, that bruise looks like it hurts. You want me to see if I can find something to cover that up? You’re turning so purple you’re an eggplant.”
Valerie covered the bruise with her hand and tried to rearrange her messy hair to cover it. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Rico said, but he didn’t push the issue. “Whenever you need it, you let me know. I’ll fix you right up.”
“What are you doing with this old Commander?” Valerie asked, eager to change the subject.
Rico looked up in surprise. “You know cars? Most people always assume it’s a Rogue Challenger.”
“No. Challenger only came with square headlights and has a narrower hood profile,” Valerie replied. “I have a Rogue fastback at home. Well, used to anyway. I wrecked it. I’ll probably have to part it out.”
“That’s all this one is good for too,” Rico said. “But at least with the tournament coming to town, everything is in demand. Seems like just about everyone is trying to build a war car right now.”
“Do any of these run?” Valerie asked, noting the array of junkers scattered around the back lot.
“Nah. None of these. But living this close to the junkyards has its perks. One of these days I’ll have my own rally ride fixed up, then I’ll roll out of here and never look back.”
“Whose is that?” Valerie said, pointing to a primer-gray Rockwell Vulcan parked outside the warehouse next door. It seemed to have all of its parts.
“Oh, that’s your boy, Damon’s, ride.” Rico gestured toward the loft apartments above the warehouse.
At that moment, the ground-floor door to the warehouse opened.
“Speak of the devil,” Rico said.
The dark-haired swordsman stepped outside, locked the door to the warehouse, then made his way over to the Vulcan. He was dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and heavy boots and was carrying a longsword by its scabbard. His eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses. He looked up and caught sight of Valerie just as he was reaching the door to his car. He gave Rico a nod.
“Hey,” Valerie said.
The swordsman unlocked the car door and deposited his sword inside.
“Hope you enjoyed those beers last night,” Valerie added, unable to help herself.
Damon leaned on the doorframe momentarily, then walked over to where she was standing. “Surprised you’re still here this morning. Figured you would have caught the first train home.”
“I have debts to settle,” Valerie said.
“Uh huh.” Damon nodded. He ignored her glare and eyed Rico’s handiwork. “That a five liter?”
“Nah, three point eight,” Rico replied. “Cracked case. Love to get my hands on a five-oh, though.”
Valerie studied Damon’s muscled chest and arms. Several long scars lined his forearms. It was clear the sword wasn’t just for show. “You’re a hired sword? You fight people for money?”
Damon glanced at her, but his expression was unreadable behind his dark sunglasses. “You don’t need to worry about what I do.”
The idea that had been slowly coalescing in her mind finally took form.
“What if I want to hire you?”
Damon shook his head. “You can’t afford me.”
“You haven’t even heard the job.”
“I can guess,” he replied. “You want me to enact revenge on all the people who have wronged you? Solve your problems with cold steel and spilled blood? Because that’s what everyone wants. You’ll have to get in line.”
“Actually, that’s not what I’m after,” Valerie said. “I need . . . I need someone to fight in the King’s Tournament.”
Damon lowered his chin and peered at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “The King’s Tournament. What do you know about sponsoring a tournament team?”
“Plenty,” Valerie replied. “My dad was a tournament champion. Il Orso Nero. The Black Bear. And my brother fought too.”
“I think we know who Il Orso Nero was,” Damon said.
“Hang on. I didn’t know this,” Rico said. “Your dad was Il Orso Nero? I still have a poster of him in the garage. He was one of my all-time favorite melee drivers.”
“Having a famous father won’t get you into the King’s Tournament,” Damon said. “And a tournament isn’t just about the fighter. You’d need a war car.”
“I have a war car,” Valerie said.
Damon raised an eyebrow and glanced around the lot. “In your . . . imagination?”
“No.” Valerie scowled. “Here. In the city.”
“Like a legit battle ride?” Rico asked.
“It’s a Guardian 770,” Valerie said. “It was my dad’s.”
“Oh sweet Mary,” Rico said, his hands finding his face and involuntarily smearing grease on his forehead. “For real?”
Damon studied her. “You’re serious. You want to sponsor a tournament team? Who would be your driver?”
“I’d drive,” Valerie said. “I know how to handle it.”
“You’d need a mechanic,” Damon said.
Valerie pointed to Rico. “I’m looking at one right now.”
Rico rubbed his hands together. “Work on Il Orso Nero’s Guardian? Oh, hell yeah. I’d be in for that.”
“You know you’d have to put the car up as collateral,” Damon said. “Unless you’ve got a serious stack of cash laying around or something else worth the price of admission.”
“I know,” Valerie replied. The thought hadn’t actually occurred to her, but she couldn’t back down now.
“What makes you think you’d stand a chance against the other teams in this thing?” Damon asked.
“Because I don’t need to win,” Valerie said. “I just need to get in front of the king. Even a finalist team gets to do that, right?”
Rico nodded. “Sure. Finalists all get to go to the masquerade. Why are you trying to talk to him?”
“Jasper Sterling killed my brother. Unless I find a way to get revenge myself, I need the king to give me justice.”
“Oh, damn,” Rico muttered.
Damon pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and crossed his arms, surveying her. Valerie locked eyes with him, refusing to blink. There was something about the way he was staring at her, as though he was reading her face. Whatever it was he was looking for, she didn’t flinch.
“So you’re not after the prize? The spot at the Round Table?”
“I have no interest in becoming a knight,” Valerie replied. “I just need to get in front of the king and tell him what happened to my brother.”
“What makes you think he’d side with you?”
“Because King Logan is a just king,” Valerie replied. “And I need justice.”
Damon stared at her for another long second, then finally broke eye contact. “Okay. I’ll tell you what. If you’re serious, you show me the car, and we’ll talk about put
ting together a team. What time are you off work?”
“Eleven.”
“Fine. I’ll see you here at 11:05. Bring the car.” He lowered his sunglasses back over his eyes, then walked to the Vulcan.
Once Damon had driven away, Valerie finally turned to Rico. He was staring at her with an open mouth.
“What?”
“You seriously have Il Orso Nero’s Guardian? You’re not making this up, right?”
“I’m not making it up. Only problem is, it’s in the impound right now.”
Rico’s expression darkened. “Wait. What impound?”
“One right outside the city walls. It got towed there last night.”
“Oh no. That’s not good. Did it belong to a guy named Bernard Ipswich?”
“Yeah. I think so. Why?”
Rico shook his head. “Sorry to tell you this, honey. But that car is gone.”
12
Guardian
“What do you mean, ‘gone’?” Valerie sputtered. “He said I only had to pay him fifty more crowns, then I could have it back!” The ground was shifting under her again just when she thought she had found her feet.
“He knew you didn’t have the money? How long ago did you leave it there?” Rico asked.
“Last night,” Valerie replied.
“All I know is that Bernard Ipswich moves more stolen cars than anyone in the city. If it’s not chopped and parted out already, it will be soon.”
“That bastard,” Valerie spat. She looked around to orient herself. “I need to get down there.”
“It’s a long walk to the impound,” Rico said.
A worker trolley dinged its bell as it made its way around the corner.
“Hey, wait.” Rico dug into his jeans pocket. “I have a couple of punches left on my city pass. If we hitch a ride, I can save you some time. I’ll have to go with you, though. It’s got my name on it.” He flashed the pass. The name Ricardo Cabrera was printed on it, and Rico’s teenage face grinned back from the photo.
“I still don’t have fifty crowns,” Valerie said.
Rico reached into his pocket and brandished his recently acquired cash. “I can spot you the money. Consider it a loan.”
“You’d do that?”
“Flag down that trolley,” Rico said. “Let’s go get your car.”
Valerie tried to judge the height of the sun in the sky as they stepped off the trolley at the corner of the impound lot. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to stop asking me for the hundredth time,” Rico said. “Your car is gone. You’ll be late getting back to work, and Janet will murder you. You just have to live with it.”
“I’m not sure what you’re doing counts as helping,” Valerie replied. She cursed inwardly and pushed her way through the gate. The woman behind the desk was the same lady she had dealt with the night before. Her eyes widened as Valerie walked through the door. “Oh, wow. You’re back.”
“I have the money,” Valerie said. “Where’s my car?”
The woman blanched. “Um, you might want to hurry. He didn’t think you would be back so soon.”
“He said I had two weeks,” Valerie replied.
The woman shrugged.
Valerie rushed past the desk and through the back door of the office.
Rows of old wrecks made a maze of the back lot, but her path ahead was clear. Her car was sitting in the open at the far side of the lot, but a wrecker was hooking up to the back of the vehicle, preparing to pull it onto a trailer. Bernard was directing the driver of the wrecker. “Get it good and tight, then haul away.” He looked down and started counting a wad of cash in his hand.
“Hey!” Valerie shouted. “Hey, that’s mine!” She broke into a run.
Bernard turned at the shout and his eyes widened.
“Put that down!” Valerie shouted.
The driver of the wrecker looked to Bernard for help.
“Pull it up!” Bernard shouted.
The wrecker driver activated the winch and started hauling the Guardian up the inclined ramp of the truck bed.
“Stop!” Valerie shouted, rushing up to the car and gripping the door handle.
Bernard tucked the wad of money behind his back and held a hand up to her. “Calm down, there’s no cause for alarm.”
“Give me back my car!” Valerie demanded.
“I can’t do that. It’s been purchased by a private collector.”
“You can’t sell my car!” Valerie objected. “It’s mine!”
“Actually, an addendum to your impound contract states that failure to pay the necessary fees in advance makes the car liable for resale. You never asked to have that section of the contract waived, therefore—”
Valerie’s fist struck him right in the mouth. Bernard reeled backward, losing his grip on the cash in his hand. Bills fluttered to the ground and immediately began to blow away in the wind.
Valerie stood shaking with fury. She looked down at her closed fist. She hadn’t intended to hit him, but it had just come out of her.
It felt good.
She moved to the controls at the side of the wrecker and slammed the release lever.
“Hey!” The driver kicked open the door to the cab and started climbing out.
He was too late. The Guardian was rolling, gaining speed as it thudded back to the ground and onto all four tires. Valerie raced after it. As the car slowed to a stop, she scrambled under the bumper and released the tow cable from the frame.
Bernard and the wrecker driver stormed after her, and Valerie retreated to the passenger side of the car, keeping it between them.
“You little brat. You assaulted me,” Bernard said. “I’ll have you whipped for that.”
The wrecker driver moved around the front of the car. He was taller than Bernard with a neck thicker than Valerie’s leg. She took one look at him and realized there would be no winning a physical confrontation with him. She yanked open the passenger door and leapt inside, locking the door behind her.
Bernard shouted and lunged for the driver’s side door, but Valerie hit the lock just before he could yank the handle. She fished the keys from her pocket and held them up with a smile.
Bernard’s face reddened. He shouted something to the wrecker driver, but it was drowned out by the snarl of the Guardian’s engine as Valerie slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.
Clutch. Shifter. Accelerator.
The Guardian leapt into reverse. Bernard’s lost bills flew into the air in a colorful tornado as the car passed over them.
The wrecker driver was shouting. Bernard chased his airborne bits of cash.
Valerie spun the car around, shifted into gear, and raced for the gate, spotting Rico lingering on the pavement halfway to the office. She skidded to a stop beside him and flung open the passenger door. “Get in!”
“Oh my God, are you stealing it?” Rico asked as he scrambled inside.
“They’re the thieves,” Valerie said. “Let’s go.”
As soon as Rico had his feet inside, she stomped on the accelerator again. The door slammed shut and Rico searched for the seat belt.
“Hold on to something!” Valerie said. She pulled the handle on the ceiling of the car, and the protective metal grate slid forward to cover the windshield. Then she shifted into third and put both hands on the wheel, aiming straight for the gate.
“Oh God. Oh God,” Rico sputtered.
Bernard was waving wildly in the rear-view mirror. Then she noticed the clerk from the office standing next to the gate.
“They have tire spikes,” Rico said, pointing to a row of holes in the pavement. “She’s going to stop us.”
Valerie pressed harder on the accelerator and shifted into fourth.
The clerk’s hand was at the gate controls. Valerie locked eyes with her.
“Come on. Come on,” she whispered.
Rico finally found the safety harness, snapped it together, and braced himself.
They’d passe
d the point of no return. There was no stopping an impact now.
The clerk threw the lever.
But instead of spikes erupting from the pavement, the lever sprung the lock on the gate. The center of the gate fanned outward, opening just in time for the Guardian to go blasting through. Sparks flew from the car’s armored fenders as it knocked the gate open the rest of the way.
“Yes!” Valerie shouted. She cut the wheel hard and braked once she was through, fishtailing across the dirt road before spinning to a stop, facing the office. She gave the horn a few joyous blasts.
The clerk at the gate was grinning and gave her a wave.
Valerie whooped, then she shifted back into gear and gave the car the gas. A rooster tail of dirt and gravel erupted from beneath the rear tires as they found traction, and she aimed the car up the street, racing away before Bernard and the wrecker driver could even think to follow.
“Yes, yes, yes!” Valerie shouted, pounding the steering wheel.
Rico still looked petrified, but his death grip on the door started to relax. “Oh God. If you could feel how puckered my butt cheeks are right now . . . I think they were hanging on to this seat for dear life.”
“I knew we’d make it,” Valerie said.
“You just took years off my life.”
“Yes!” she shouted again, unable to keep the grin off her face.
Valerie raced along the coast road to Tidewater and made the turn up Cannery Lane toward the tavern. “What time is it?”
“No idea,” Rico replied. “But I can tell you, you won’t be early.”
Valerie kept her foot on the gas and only hit the brakes when they were directly in front of the tavern. The car skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust and came to rest right in front of the Twisted Tentacle’s sign.
“You’re parking it here?” Rico asked. “Bad enough you’re late. No need to advertise it.”
“I already lost this car once. I’m leaving it right where I can see it.” She retracted the windshield armor, then climbed out.
Janet wasn’t anywhere in sight when she walked through the front door of the tavern. That was a relief, but Ruby, the bartender, was eyeing her suspiciously.
Sword Fight Page 12
