Page 2 of Fearless
"No, we don't." Jandro was already making himself comfortable on the cot along the cell wall. "Not really, anyway."
"Yeah we do, bro. They gotta give us lawyers and trials and shit."
"Have you listened to the radio lately? People are disappearing and jack shit's being done about it. They'll keep us here as long as they damn well please."
"Dude, we'll be fine. I mean fuck, we didn't evendoanything!"
"Exactly my point." Jandro raised his pointer finger to the ceiling. "We're sitting in a jail cell for what? Stealing? Assault? Running a traffic light? No, Rory. They had no reason to arrest us and therefore, no reason to let us out. That's the way the world's going."
The door down the hall opened before I could retort. Expecting to see the deputy, I called out, "Yeah, thought you'd come back, dickwad!” much to Jandro's chagrin.
Instead, some kid, no older than us, came swaggering up to our cell wearing a smug, punchable smile. I hated him instantly.
He wore some kind of prep school uniform, shirt untucked and navy tie loosened around his neck. His blonde hair was cut close to his scalp, not a single strand out of place. Add in his perfectly aligned, white teeth and baby blue eyes, it was clear this kid lived worlds apart from me and Jandro.
"See something you like, punk bitch?" I challenged, pressing up against the bars.
"Stop it, Rory," Jandro groaned from the cot.
I ignored him, naturally.
"You want some of this?" I squeezed my dick through my pants, not taking my eyes off of the preppy dipshit. "If I squint real hard and pretend, I might even mistake you for a girl."
"I don't want to suck your dick," the kid said. "Just wanted to see what all the chatter was about upstairs," he nodded toward the hallway leading out. "Seems you all pissed off the deputies."
"What, and someone letyoucome down here and risk getting your hands dirty?" I mocked.
"My uncle's the sheriff," the kid grinned. "And trust me, my hands are way dirtier than he knows."
"Don't think you can impress us with your slum tourism," Jandro piped up.
"Aw, don't let the uniform fool you,hombré.” The kid ran a hand through his blonde hair, a few strands coming loose. "I got connections you guys can't even fathom."
"Please," Jandro muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Just stop talking and don't ever call mehombréagain."
"Fair enough. I'll prove it. You two want outta here?" That got our interest and the kid's eyes sparkled with glee. "I'll post your bail. You can walk out of here in an hour, tops."
"In exchange for what?" I crossed my arms.
The kid paused, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his pressed slacks.
"Can one of y'all fix a vintage motorcycle?"
"For real?" I coughed out a laugh.
"It has sentimental value, okay?" He glowered at me. "It was my grandfather's before he passed. I've tried fixing it myself, watching videos and shit, but something's not clicking."
"Make, model and year?" Jandro asked, sitting up from the cot.
"Harley Road King, 2020."
Jandro let out a low whistle. "That was a damn good year. Hard to find parts nowadays, but I can probably scrounge 'em up."
"You can fix it?" The kid's blue eyes grew wide with hope.
"Depends on what's wrong, but yeah, most likely."
"That," I pointed over my shoulder at Jandro, "is the best damn bike mechanic you will ever fucking meet. We ride on weekends sometimes, and if you really can get us out of here," I leaned against the bars, "we might let you tag along once your granddad's steed is running again."
