GB96 s2 - Working Girl Part 8

“Let’s just go by there,” you suggest.

It’s another muggy Gurlberg night. You’re packed into Stef’s truck with her and Ellen. You’ve just been to see Executive Decision at the theater in Beibstown. It was pretty good, but it’s still not that late and you aren’t that tired.

“We are not going in there,” Stef says firmly.

“I’m not trying to go in there,” you assure her. “I just want to see.”

“Why?”

“I just…” you begin, but you aren’t sure what to say. The truth? The truth is that you’ve been thinking about selling some weed on the side. After all, you know the people who do it, and that’s proof enough that it can’t be that hard. You don’t really know how to get started, but you’re confident that you can handle it. “I just want to see.”

“Fine. Weirdo,” Stef says. She’s annoyed, and maybe that’s because she’d rather go home to your place with you than screw around out here. But Ellen’s been acting a little weird too. You aren’t sure. If Stef is horny, she’s not showing it the usual way.

In any case, nothing is more than a few minutes away in Gurlberg; it’s not exactly LA. You turn a corner and come into view of the old bar that is serving as the… hideout? No. Base? Front? It’s where the Free Bois Motorcycle Club is. They bought the place and opened it up.

Gurlberg has streetlights, but you’ve found the one stretch of street where everything looks dark. Stef eases to a stop, a thoroughly bitter expression on her face as she gazes at the building in the gloom. All the windows are covered with something, so you just see golden lines to indicate that lights are on inside. Even from halfway down the block, you can hear Alice in Chains playing in there. The tiny, cracked, overgrown lot is full of cars and several more are parked on the street.

This place is a dump. It’s awful. Yet it appears to be popular. Maybe because the Free Bois have the weed.

But Stef isn’t looking at the building. She’s looking at the row of motorcycles out front. You watch her twist in her see to look behind the truck, then check her mirrors.

“Stef,” you say uncertainly.

“Whoops,” she replies.

“Huh?”

“Whoops. Whoops,” she says, sounding very strange as she puts the truck in gear. You don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. You shriek and grab on; Ellen grabs onto you with a startled curse as Stef pulls away from the curb and puts her foot down to make the truck lurch forward. She jerks the wheel to bash the nearest motorcycle, sending it tipping into the next… and the next. They’re still crashing to the ground as she puts the truck in reverse, gets clear, and roars away from the bar.