Page 5 of Ship Outta Luck

Of course I did. It was on the calendar.

Where the hell did he come from?

My nails scratch against the door handle before finding purchase, and I leap from the car. Some part of my brain registering gratitude for abandoning my heels in favor of sandals.

I cover my mouth, taking in the sight.

Clutching his head, the man grabs at something lying on the ground next to him. Looking more pissed off than anything.

“Holy shit,” Charlie says, crouching next to him. “Oh no.” Her voice is oddly flat.

His eyes narrow as I approach, and for some reason, he’s scooting back from Charlie, eyes darting between us.

“Are you okay, sir?” Frantic, my voice escalates to a pitch probably capable of breaking glass. “Are you hurt?”

Stringy blond hair pulls back from the man’s face, and I wince at the scrape on his head, blood trickling from the wound. His pants are ragged where his hip hit the crushed-shell parking lot.

“Sir, may I render aid?” I crouch, trying to help the man to his feet, but he swats my hand away.

“Fuck you,” he spits out, a thick Russian accent nearly rendering the words incomprehensible. He presses up onto hishands, sitting up. The man mutters something in Russian that I don’t understand at all. Obviously, seeing as how I don’t speak Russian.

“May I render aid?” Charlie snorts. “What the hell, June? Who says that?” she says covering her face with a palm.

“It’s not funny.” I glare at her. “Stop laughing. Nothing about this is funny, Charlie. It’s what they taught us to say in that safety training. Remember? That weekend course with all the liability stuff?”

She laughs at me while I turn back to the man. “Sir, would you like me to call 911? May I administer first aid?”

Another snort erupts behind me, and I shoot a disbelieving look at Charlie’s silently shaking figure.

How is she laughing at a time like this?

Still covering her face, Charlie holds a hand up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Hitting this guy must have been too much for you. I think you’re in shock, Charlie.” I shake my head, glad one of us is at least trying to help.

“Get away from me, you bitch.” He barks something else out in Russian, stumbling and wincing as he stands.

“Sir,” I gasp. “I understand you’re upset, but it’s good that you are talking?—”

“June, June, stop it,” Charlie says, and I turn back to her. “He’s being so mean to you.” A tear runs down her cheek, eyes crinkling in the corners.

Is she still smiling?

I glare at her.

“Charlie, I am pretty sure you’re in shock.” My hands shake at my sides, my heart doing its best impression of a hummingbird trying to take flight. Heck, I think I might be in shock. “I’m going to go get my phone and call 911. Sir,” I call over my shoulder. “Stay where you are. Help is on the way.”

“You stupidfuckingsuka.”

Surprised at the venom, I turn back to him, only to see him running away. Well, more hobbling at a high speed, something shiny and black dangling in his hand.

“I thought hit-and-runs were where the driver ran away,” I say, cocking my head.

“June, stop it.” Charlie snorts, pulling me back toward the truck. “Come on, he’s fine. Those margaritas aren’t going to drink themselves.”

“Seriously, what the heck is wrong with you? How can you think about margaritas at a time like this?” I spin back to her. “You hit a man. You ran him over.”

Charlie’s hand is firm on my shoulder though, and she just shakes her head as she guides me back to the truck. She holds the door open for me, gesturing to it, and I relent, climbing into the truck.

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