Page 46 of Rock Chick Rescue

I really didn’t want my dad to know I was working in a titty bar and I really,reallydidn’t want him to see me in my Smithie’s uniform.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“Jet, I didn’t want to drag you into this but I have no choice.” He looked down the hall, clearly in a panic.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

He started pulling me down the hall, toward the fire exit at the back. “We gotta go.”

I jerked my arm out of his hand and said, “I can’t go. I’m working. Tell me what’s going on.”

He didn’t have a chance to tell me as we both heard someone at the other end of the hall say Dad’s name.

Dad shoved me behind him and we both looked down the hall at Slick.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Slick said.

At that, I realized that Dad hadn’t spent the last two days looking for Slick and sorting this out as he promised. Dad had spent it hiding from Slick.

“We got things to talk about, you and me,” Slick said.

“Fine. Sure. We’ll talk. We’ll go back in the club,” Dad replied.

Dad was positioning his body in front of me so Slick couldn’t get to me.

“Not in the club, here,” Slick returned. “This conversation should last about two seconds after you give me the thirty grand you owe me.”

Oh…dear…Lord.

Thirty thousand dollars?

I felt my stomach drop to my toes.

Dad put his hands out, palms up. “I don’t have it on me, Slick. Who carries that kind of cake around? I’ll go get it and—”

“Yeah,” Slick said, looking beyond Dad to me. “You go get it and I’ll just take your pretty little girl with me and we’ll have some fun while you’re gettin’ it.”

My heart fell to my toes to keep my stomach company.

“Slick,” Dad said.

Slick pulled out a knife. “No more talkin’.”

Then everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to think.

Dad pushed me back, yelling, “Run!”

I would have run (maybe), but instead I teetered on my slut shoes (this time, a pair of forties-style black sandals with peekaboo toes and a thin ankle strap) and fell down hard on my behind.

Dad charged forward and I saw the flash of a knife.

I didn’t think. I got to my feet, screaming at the top of my lungs, and ran forward too. Dad had jerked Slick around, grappling with the knife, and Slick’s back was to me. I jumped on it, wrapping my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and squeezed as hard as I could.

Slick disengaged from Dad, ran backwards and slammed me into a wall. My head flew back and cracked against the plaster.

“Don’t hurt my girl!” Dad shouted and lunged forward again.

“Go, Dad! Get out of here!” I yelled.

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