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“I think I am in love.” I yelled.
“Really, that’s new.” She said
“With your bike, drive.”
“Helmet.”
“Il casco è sopra. Check. Go straight.”
That was way too close, damn SCD. The Special Crime Department had been following me since, Tuesday. As if being the next victim on a serial killers list, and the suspect to a number of recent robberies was anything new. I mean seriously you’d think they would’ve learned by now, it’s in my nature to create chaos. After all I was named after the Nordic-Germanic goddess of death at sea, Ran, and with being a natural fire element and all, I don’t know you’d just think it’d be obvious to them that I am the mistress of chaos. Ditching them was never a big feat it wasn’t like they were experts or anything.
“Left here.”
The good sign is no one appears to be following us. Which means I can return the artifact, get my pendant, and go on with life. All’s good that ends well. Right? Of course that is right, everything was going to be just hunkey-dorey in the end.
“Lights.”
“Action. Camera.” She mocked. As we pulled into a deserted pic-nic ground. Better not to be seen, not that it would matter in this case, we’d be heard. Even with the soft pure of Sara’s bike we were going to be heard. Sure enough, as soon as we hit the switch and slipped off the bike, dorky chief mobster guy stepped into our immediate vision.
“You got it?” He huffed.
It, haha, it! Yeesh, what is it? Ah, this is good.
“Yeah I got It.”
“Where?”
“Why?” I giggled.
“Hey, don’t get funny. Where the hell is it?”
“Watch your language dorky.”
“Just give it here okay.”
“Please.”
“Yeah, yeah please.”
That’s better let me just find out where I put your little vile or gunk. Oh, there we are.
“Yeah okay dorky, now do you have my pendant?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy to pull a fast one?” Not with that waste line.
“Show it to me, dorky.”
He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out the sterling silver cross. On closer examination it had a rose over the x in the cross and the bottom was pointed, sharp enough to prick your fingers on. Dorky, was rather stupid for slipping it into his pocket, he could’ve been the high pitched dorky. I handed over the vile of gunk while he dropped the pendant into my open palm. Deals a deal, and this was a done deal.
The engine got and we were headed back, back to home. Okay not really home. More like the living area, or the hell hole. Sara took great pride in the little flat we split rent on, I on the other hand could care less about the rustic, leaky, old, damp flat. It was a flat rented out to artist, I don’t think you were actually suppose to live in it. But sometimes worst came to worst and you got stuck in little flats. I suppose the reason Sara took heroic measures to make it feel like home was because she thought of it as her studio, her top of the line, flawless studio. Sara was a photographer, I don’t really consider that an art, but I guess I am wrong. I say was, because she doesn’t take pictures anymore, no, now she draws. Not to be mean but I think her drawings look like teenage doodles, but that’s just me, and apparently not everyone feels that way seeing as how she sells pieces of crap for six hundred dollars daily.
Sara was the reason we were forced to rush back to the hell hole, parties are a big artist thing. And Sara had a party to go to. A smashing bashing pumpkin party, please don’t ask me, I stayed away from her artsy friends.