Amira seems delighted to have found someone else she can talk more easily to. She signs something too quick for me to catch, but whatever it was makes Princess laugh properly for the first time.
It would be a lie to say the sound of his laughter doesn't light up the entire goddamn street for me, my stomach flipping over several times at the genuine grin that spreads across his face afterwards. He issobeautiful, it's insane.
"Come on then," I say, looking around at the others, my mouth twitching up into a smile. "Let's do this thing."
With all of us working together, and the very present threat of Paul Winters finding us fucking around with his car, it doesn’t take long for us to relieve the ugly Porsche of its tyres.
Once we’re ready, I lead the way to a small garage on the other side of downtown with the tyres stuffed into large gym bags that my friends and I dug up from one of our many scavenges of uptown’s rubbish bins. It’s mental the stuff some people would rather throw away than try to fix. There’s probably a metaphor about wealth disparity waiting to be scratched out of that.
Since it’s late, the front of the garage is all closed up, but knowing the owner, she'll still be inside working on her latest project. There’s a side entrance around the side of the building. I knock on the weather-beaten wooden door, blue paint chipped and with roughly three dozen iterations of the words ‘fuck off’ spray painted on it.
I can feel Princess getting anxious next to me. It’s just us with the bags of tyres, since I told the others to play lookout at both ends of the alleyway between the garage and the empty hardware shop which sits beside it.
Without preamble the door bangs open to reveal a tall, Black woman with a shaved head and a vast array of piercings. Despite the cold weather she’s wearing nothing but a pair of oil-stained cut-offs and a black vest with the words “Be Gay, Do Crime” emblazoned across the chest in pink glitter.
When Rebel clocks who it is, her mouth splits into a toothy smile. “Hey there, Knight!” Her voice is thick and gritty, like she has smoke trapped in her lungs. Princess whips his head around to look at me, clearly recognising the name ‘Knight’. I try not to flush under his newly intensified scrutiny.
Rebel slides a glance over at Princess, her eyes narrowing slightly, before her gaze moves to the bags. “You back to do more street piracy?”
“Found myself a new potential crew member,” I say, jerking my chin at Princess. “Turns out he’s a bad influence. But to be fair, I did meet him mid-crime, so I guess that’s on me.”
Princess makes a sound of strenuous exasperation, viciously elbowing my arm and glaring at the side of my head.
“This is Rebel Lowe,” I tell him, grinning.
Rebel is busy laughing at us. She has a good laugh, throaty and brazen.
Princess blows out an annoyed breath and spears Rebel with a fierce look of determination. “We’ve got some high-end tyres to sell, can you help us with that?”
Rebel smiles archly at him. “Proper intense little thing, ain't ya?” She seems charmed by it, like he’s an adorable bunny made of razor blades. When Princess continues to stare obstinately, waiting for a real answer, Rebel steps back from the doorway and gestures for us to come in. “Alright, serious business man, let’s talk.”
Bags of tyres clutched tightly in my hands, I stride in past Rebel. Princess hesitates a moment before following me.
Rebel’s garage workshop is large enough to fit around three cars in at once, or alternatively about six motorbikes. Most of Rebel’s work comes from bikers. There’s a half-dismantled Valkyrie sitting in the middle of her shop, which is likely what she was fiddling around with before we came and interrupted her.
At the front of the shop is a metal desk covered in bits of engine and paperwork smudged with oil and dirt. Rebel rests against the desk and crosses her arms. She waits for me and Princess to drop our bags before speaking.
“First off then, boys, is there anything I need to know right up top about these tyres?”
I exchange a meaningful look with Princess. After a handful of seconds he nods at me, indicating I should take the lead on this.
Turning my attention to Rebel, I give her the information she’s really asking for. “We took ‘em from Paul Winters's ugly-arse Porsche.”
Rebel stills, her back straitening slightly in response to his name. “Oh?” She snorts. “Was Satan’s car not available? Thought you’d steal from his conduit on earth instead?”
There aren’t many things Rebel is afraid of, and she’s trustworthy, more so than most adults I’ve met in my life. But tangling with the Winterses would make any sane person balk.
“We need fast money, and these tyres are worth a lot.” It’s not exactly a good reason to steal from Paul Winters directly. There are plenty of other rich arseholes in this city who’s tyres we could have stolen. I dart a quick glance at Princess. He’s standing there with an unrepentant glower on his face, completely unmoved by Rebel’s condemnation of his recent life choices. This kid is fearless. Or bloody insane. One of the two.
Rebel notices my look at Princess and turns her focus on him, eyes shrewd and curious. “You gonna tell me why you need the money so desperately?”
“Will the answer affect your decision to help us?” Princess asks before I can open my mouth.
Rebel seems unbothered by the bluntness, although that’s not a surprise. She tips her head forward, still watching Princess. “It might.”
Princess looks ready to challenge her over that, like he can scold her into helping us. I give his arm a sharp dig with my elbow. He levels another glare at me, but I ignore him, taking over from him instead and launching into the story about sick kids needing medication.
Rebel, while being no pushover, does have a soft spot for street kids. Once upon a time, she was one of us. It’s why she makes deals with me where other black market dealers won’t due to my age. She’ll help us out with the tyres if she knows it will benefit some kids who have nothing and no one else.
