Page 20 of Factory Thief

Victoria blanches. “That’s three hundred miles from here.”

“Are you up for a drive?”

She sighs, and I notice the dark circles under her eyes. “You didn’t get any sleep last night, did you?”

She shakes her head.

“Why not let me drive?”

Victoria frowns. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on, if I wanted to run, I’d have done it while you were in the shower.”

Victoria sighs. “All right, fair enough. But we’re not taking the truck.”

We leave the truck where it is and walk behind the motel. A battered, rusted cyclonic fence isn’t much impediment for us as we cross into the parking lot of a skin joint calledRoxie’s. Victoria moves through the parking lot, checking every car door until one of them opens.

“Here we go.”

“You want to steal this antique?” I ask, pointing at a battered relic from the 90s.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

She slips behind the wheel and busts the ignition switch off with two swift blows from the butt of her gun. In mere seconds she hotwires the engine, and it turns over.

“Drive,” she says, settling into the passenger seat.

I know I should be focused on staying out of jail, but all I can think of is how I might be able to get her out of those clothes.

JACK

The car is badly out of alignment, making the wheel continuously pull to the left. Apparently, it’s been a problem for some time as the tires bear irregular wear. Combined with the way the engine knocks every time I accelerate over fifty miles per hour, I’m not sure this mistreated antique is going to make the three-hundred-mile trip to San Jose.

Not that I can fault Victoria for wanting to ditch the truck. She was right, it was too hot. The clerk at the gas station saw it, not to mention it’s probably on security footage as well.

I try not to think about how long it’s been since I took the trip. Over a year and a half, at least. Part of me wonders if Grandma’s house is even still there. She bequeathed it to me upon her death, along with enough money to pay the property taxes for a few years.

It’s still legally mine, as far as I know. Being incarcerated shouldn’t have changed that. What worries me is that it may have been occupied by vagrants or gangbangers. Or burned down completely.

There’s nothing to do but make the drive and see for myself. Or should I say, see for ourselves.

I glance over at the slumbering Victoria, her dark locks hiding her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. Some pair we are. Not exactly Bonnie and Clyde. A lot more like Tom and Jerry, really.

I carefully extend my finger and brush her hair away enough that I can see her face. Dark circles lurk under her eyes. She passed out almost as soon as we pulled onto the highway. Victoria’s got to be exhausted.

Damn, but she’s fine. I wonder why she became a professional thief instead of a model. Then again, Cali is filled with beautiful women who can’t find work as a waitress, let alone modeling or acting.

I have to wonder how much of what she thinks of the Factory is true. There are many organizations in the world, and most of them are out to perpetuate their own existence first and foremost. Even charitable organizations donate mere pennies from every dollar they receive. The rest goes to ‘administrative costs’ and such.

Thus, I doubt the Factory is as good natured as she makes them out to be. I don’t know why they busted me out of prison—or should I say, had Victoria bust me out—but I have to assume it’s not in my best interest.

It all boils down to me getting that flash drive. With that in my hands, I can, at least, prove the Xtera corporation was lying about their drug trials. Even if I can’t prove I was framed, I can at least gain some measure of justice.

A measure of revenge, too. I will never forget how they stole a year and a half of my life and ruined my reputation. My own family won’t speak to me any longer. Society washed their hands of me.

So be it. Let them think I’m worthless. I can still expose Xtera for the frauds they are.

Victoria mumbles something in her sleep and huddles up, turning her back to me as she scrunches herself on the seat. I reach in the back seat—I’m blessed with long arms—and rummage around until I find a jacket I can drape over her.

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