Page 2 of Dance of Devils
I pump the gas pedal three times. No idea if that actually works, but I vaguely remember Derrick swearing by it when I was little. Then I take another breath, hold it, slip the key back in, close my eyes, and turn.
With a sputter and a violent belch of blue-gray exhaust, Pearl wheezes to life.
“That’s my fuckinggirl!” I crow. “That’s what I’m fuckingtalking about! Who’s a sexy little bitch?!” I cackle like a lunatic. “You!You’rea sexy little bitch, Pearl!”
“Oh yes youare, girl!”
I jolt, whirling to see two guys in mesh tops and eyeliner, hand-in-hand, who are clearly on their wayhomefrom their night out at five-fifteen in the morning.
They grin at me with drug or alcohol-fueled smiles. The one with snow-white dyed hair untangles himself from his partner and cocks a hip.
“Yas! Pearl, girl, you are a motherfuckingqueen. Gogettoday, bitch!”
Okay, they thinkI’mPearl, and that I was just giving myself the world’s cringiest pep talk ever in my shitty little car.
Which must looktragicallypathetic, when I think about it.
I flash them a weak smile. “Thanks!”
“Make it the day you deserve, Pearl!” the other guy calls after me as I shift Pearl into gear and pull away from the curb.
The day I deserve. I’m not sure I’m a believer in karma or fate or any higher power, but if I was, I’d ask whoever the fuck is in charge what I ever did to get the hand I've been dealt.
Was I a serial killer in my previous life? Or the person who decided women’s pants weren’t allowed to have pockets?
Whatever.
I head over to Hell’s Kitchen. Unlimited, un-metered parking spots in New York are few and far between, and I’m not the only person out here living out of their car. So I want to get to my new location and score a spot before the morning rush hour starts getting insane.
“Hey.”
I start to get out of Pearl, and glance up to see a woman mean-eyeing me as she steps out from between two buildings. She looks close to forty, but in the year I’ve spent homeless in this city, I’ve learned that the streets age you. She might just be a few years older than my twenty-three.
Regardless, she looks pissed as hell.
“I was saving that spot.”
My brows knit. “Sorry?”
“That parking spot,” she spits. “My man is heading over with the van. That’s our spot.”
I force a politely confused smile to my face, even though I know exactly what she’s talking about.
“Well, I have to get to work, so?—”
She starts to laugh. “Please. I can spot people like me a mile away.” She steps closer, walking around the front of Pearl. I’m still only halfway out of the driver's seat. “Let me give you some advice, sweet cheeks,” she says. “One, you’re trying too hard with that shit in the back.” She nods past me at the mess that I strew across the back seat when I’m parking Pearl.
“Normies walk by and see a shitty car. People like us?” She grins a rotten-toothed, meth-y smile. “We see something might be worth breaking into. Got it?”
I swallow tightly. “Got it.”
“Second piece of advice.”
Fear jolts through me as she suddenly flicks her wrist, revealing a vicious-looking switchblade. Her eyes bore into mine.
“Get thefuckout of my parking space.”
My shoulders sag.
