Blood in the Ozarks

30. Take Me to Jail

My itinerary was set. First stop was the hotel to grab a second gun and any other equipment I thought I might need. Not to get Ortega out of jail. I didn't plan to take him by gun point. But for my third stop of the evening. We were going back to the fiend den.

The fiends deserved to be warned about the threat to their pack. If Ortega's guy was right, there could be someone trying to pick off their pack starting with the weaker points. Now that they'd killed Lynda, no one in their Pack was safe.

And really between fiends, werewolves, and someone dropping bodies at my door, I should be carrying more than a single handgun and an elastic hair tie in terms of defense.

Once I grabbed everything I thought I might need from my room, I returned to my rental car with its bashed in hood. I slid into the driver's seat and adjusted myself so I wasn't awkwardly sitting on the barrel of a gun. And once I was good and comfortable, I slipped the key in the ignition.

Rain drops began to sprinkle down from the darkened sky. Small splatters hit the windshield as I started the car. The engine roared to life, and then promptly died.

I tried again and the engine gave a short rev before dying once more. The rain hitting the windshield grew steadier, the fat drops coming down in a continuous stream.

Pretending I knew anything about cars, I checked the buttons and knobs around the driver's side. Nothing stood out to me as amiss. I took the key out, put the key back in, and...nothing. My engine was dead.

My guttural scream filled the car as I slammed my fists against the steering wheel. The sound was louder than the rain against the car's exterior. Nothing could keep a lid on my frustration. Tears pressed against my eyelids and I wasn't sure I could hold them back. Hadn't I been through enough?

But then out of the side window, I spotted a miracle.

Ortega's bike was still parked a few feet down from the car. The jigsaw puzzle of a bike sat in the rain practically begging me to take a ride. And who was I to deny Frankie from reuniting with his owner?

I got out of the car and threw the door shut behind me with a new plan.

A young Tommy Ortega had once taught me how to hotwire a motorcycle. And a car. OK, a few cars. So as long as the bike's engine wasn't dead, I'd be back on the road in no time.

Since Frankie was a custom build, all I had to do was find the right wires and--. The engine roared to life.

I hastily threw my hair up in a bun, securing the damp strands with an elastic that had been on my wrist. Then I climbed on the bike seat and kicked off as thunder clapped overhead.

The rain lightened up as I drove through town, but I was already soaked from standing in the parking lot trying to get the bike to work. Despite the rain I kept going. I was determined to get Tommy out of jail so he could take what he knew to the fiends and we could find the real killer.

As I drew closer to the stoplight on Main Street, the rain began to stop entirely and the clouds finally broke apart. With one hand I wiped at the water droplets clinging to my eyelashes only to see a somewhat familiar face in front of me.

The preaching man was back on the corner spewing his message into the streets. His words were muffled from the distance between us. But as I grew closer the light changed to red, asking me to stop and listen to his vitriol.

Leaning into the turn, I flew past him not waiting for the light. Let them throw me in jail. I was headed there anyway.