Page 45 of Wicked Pickle

CHAPTER 15

SYMPHONY

“Should we bust out of here?” Marietta asks. “I’m imaging them putting us in a leaky dungeon under the bar.”

I pace the small space. “It’ll be fine.”

But I don’t know that. Not really.

“We’ve been in here half an hour!” Marietta bangs on the door. “Let us out!”

Then it opens. She backs away in surprise.

It’s Diesel. “We got everybody settled, but there’s no way you can go back out there without stirring them up again.”

“Oh, gosh,” Marietta wails. “This is all my fault.”

“You’re not the first one to cause a riot,” Diesel says. “But I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Our car is out front,” I say, but Diesel shakes his head.

“No, there’s always a crew standing around outside. They’ll see you. I’ll have to drive you out.”

“Don’t they need you to work?” I ask.

“Nah, they’ve got it handled.” He steps aside. “Let’s go before anybody gets a wild hair to come back here.”

We follow behind him through the kitchen and stockroom, boxes stacked all around. He’s slowed down by a row of locks on the back door.

“I don’t think that’s allowed by the fire code,” Marietta says, but I shush her.

When we’re out back, the cool night air tickles my bare arms. Diesel takes off across the gravel to a truck. There aren’t many cars back here, although I spot his motorcycle.

I hurry to catch up with him. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere else,” he says. “We’ll bring you back to your car when the bulk of the crowd has left, or we close, whichever comes first.” He opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

I glance over at Marietta, whose wide eyes glint in the dark. I step up first and scoot to the middle. She gets in beside me.

Diesel strides around the front and slides in behind the wheel. “I want the two of you to get down as we circle the building. The last thing I need is for some of them to give chase.”

“They’d do that?” Marietta asks.

“I’ve seen them take off like a swarm of bees.”

I glance at Marietta. “You wanted your biker. You got a whole hive.”

She sinks down in the seat.

The engine roars. I wonder if this truck is Diesel’s, too, or maybe his brother’s. But I’m not going to ask. Not about where we’re going, either.

It’s time to shut up and do what he says.

We bump along the back side of the bar.

“Get down,” he says. He snatches a ball cap from the dash and pulls it on, bringing it low over his eyes.

Marietta folds herself forward, head between her knees. I can’t bend as gracefully, especially with the gearshift in front of me.

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