Page 100 of Dizzy

Dawn is the bomb.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a big-haired biker bitch. Or a nagging fishwife in curlers.

But Dawn is four and a half feet of pure fluff. Short, puffy gray-blonde hair. Apple shape, huge boobs, and a sweatshirt with a white kitten wearing a Pilgrim hat sitting next to a pumpkin,. And Brick is freakin’terrifiedof her.

We pull up, and she comes out to the porch, wiping her hands on a towel. Her hands go to her hips, and he scrambles off the bike so quick, he has to do a hop-step to get his balance.

“This is, uh, Fay-Lee. Jed called while I was on my way to the liquor store, asked me to pick her up.”

Dawn’s eyes narrow. “What does Jed want with a girl her age?”

“Ain’t like that, Dawn. Jed’s tryin’ to be decent. She was in some trouble. He wanted to help her out.”

Dawn eyes me from head to foot. “What kind of trouble?”

Brick shrugs his shoulders, flustered. Eventually, he says, “Man trouble?”

Dawn looks at me, raises an eyebrow. What do I say?

“Yeah. Man trouble.” It’s not a lie.

“And Jed’s helping?” She raises her eyebrows even higher.

Brick shuffles his feet.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. After a moment, she seems to make peace with the obvious fact her husband is feeding her a line of bullshit.

She brightens and clicks her tongue. “And where is her jacket?”

I guess that means we’re good. I get off the bike as she huffs and puffs down the steps—she’s carrying a lot of extra weight, and her knees don’t seem too good.

She grabs my hand and starts chatting a mile a minute. “And no helmet? I swear, that man. And not even a call to hold dinner. I’m not to blame if it’s dry. Do you like lasagna?”

She hustles me up the stairs. Brick’s still sputtering, trying to spin something approximating a story, but she’s not paying him any attention. Me neither. Dawn is like a radio station. I’m tuned in, so I have no choice but to follow along.

“I hope you like tea.Someonesaid he’d bring home milk two days ago, andsomeonestill hasn’t bothered.”

Brick hangs his head and fully gives up on explaining himself.

Dawn urges me into a half-bath. “Wash up, now. I’ll cut off the edges, and it’ll still be salvageable. Fewer leftovers forhim, but if he’s worried about it, he could come home on time, right?”

And she laughs, bustling off down a hall. The food smells amazing. Garlicky.

The house is small. The carpet’s worn, there’s a lot of wood paneling, but it’s clean. The toilet lid and tank have matching pink shag covers.

I take a breath, splash some water on my face. I check the medicine cabinet, easing it open slowly so it doesn’t creak, but there’s nothing but an extra hand soap.

I check my phone. Eighty percent. No new calls or messages. Not for a day or so. Rab was blowin’ up my phone, and then he stopped. What does that mean?

It means that I am stuck in the middle of some deep, deep shit.

Panic rises in my chest. I need to run. Wait for Brick and Dawn to fall asleep and then steal his bike and go.

Rab knows his people have me, and they must want me alive for now, but what happens when they move to use me against Steel Bones? I’m no snitch. But I also don’t wanna die for folks who haven’t decided yet whether they’re gonna kill me or not. And what do the Raiders do to me if I refuse to go along with this little charade?

I should take the bike. But how far will I get with no cash and two MCs after me? I amfucked.

“Coming?” Dawn hollers.

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