A Racer and A Thug

Let's Go

Lucy's POV

I seriously think I'm lost.

Never a good sign, especially when you can't recognize any street signs around, I mentally kick myself. I got sidetracked when I thought about my father and school and my family, now I'm lost. One of the reasons why I don't like thinking about them.

I wandered into a completely new neighborhood and couldn't really find my way back anywhere. I don't have a phone so I couldn't call anyone, not like I have anyone to call. It was probably around 10 pm or so, and I can't even find a familiar street. This day is ending pretty badly.

I started to pick up the pace as I walked. I don't like staying in unfamiliar territory, especially if that territory belongs to a street racing gang. I'm not saying I'm afraid of them, but there's only one of me and many of them and I can't take on that many guys at once. Sure the rumors say I'm awesome but in reality I'm just me, and I can only do so much.

I then stopped and looked up at the sky. The sky wasn't fully black because the lights from the city reflected off the clouds and gave it an eerie red and orange color. A few cars passed me by and lit up my side of the sidewalk before leaving me in the dark again. As I walked I could pick up the noises and smells of a bar. Good because I was in need of a drink.

Sure, I'm still 18 but I'm respected in this little section of the city, regardless if I've been in certain places or not, people instantly seem to know about me. I've built quite the reputation on me. So if I want a drink, no one puts up a fuss about it. If the most feared gangster wants a beer, then by golly she'll get a beer.

I walked in the bar and the fun atmosphere came to an abrupt halt. The waitresses and waiters all stopped either between tables or on their way to get an order. The people at the tables all looked to see who walked in but soon turned away for fear of offending me cause they were staring. The men at the bar eyed me with distaste but then continued to drink their beverages. The bar owner stopped wiping a corner of his waxed counter and looked at me for a good thirty seconds before continuing his cleaning. At the back of the bar, men that were gathered around a pool table stared ahead in my direction, some whispering to one another.

I casually walked up to the bar counter. My black boots hitting the floor with a slight THUNK and my whip swaying with every step. I didn't look anyone in the eye as I took a seat at the corner counter where the bar keep was wiping.

"What can I get ya?" He asked. He seemed to be in his late forties, his once black hair now had streaks of grey near the edge. He also had a black moustache with grey strands here and there. He wore a black t-shirt and brown pants, his left sleeve would ride up whenever he wiped which exposed a faded tattoo.

"Whatever beer you got," I answered in a bored tone. A minute later a cold beverage, that resembled the color of apple juice, was in my hand. By now, the mood had shifted from tension to relaxation and soon people were talking while someone fired up a jukebox.

Now, I was never one to drink but I felt like drinking now. I was lost, tired, and quite frankly I felt like doing some partying before school. Though I didn't know anyone in this bar, they knew me and so people were less likely to approach me. I had no complaints.
.............

By my third drink I started to get a buzz. I spent most of my time at the pool table, treating the lives of these drunken fools. But they didn't seem to mind, the atmosphere lighted pretty quickly after a while. I was joking with a biker gang that was passing through the city on their way to another country.

"So you're heading somewhere called Bosco?" I asked, a little in a drunken tone.

"Yep," a muscular man, by the name of Brian, with a large brown beard answered. He was dressed as your typical biker, leather jacket and blue jeans with a red bandana on his head. "We going there for better lives. Most of us just left the joint" 'joint' meaning prison. "And we want a fresh start."