Strangers Drive

Street tools

  

Chapter One

JAMES

“F*** you,” she spat, her voice sharp as a blade.

James blinked, caught off guard. “What did you say?”

“Go screw yourself.” Her eyes blazed, daring him to respond.

“How dare you?” His jaw tightened, heat rising in his chest.

“I dare, you piece of trash.” She leaned closer, her voice dripping with venom.

He’d been warned about her—rumors of a mouth like a nuclear blast—but he hadn’t believed it until now. “Someone needs to wash that mouth out.”

“Come and try, you jerk.” She smirked, unfazed, her arms crossed defiantly.

“Don’t tempt me.” His hand twitched, half-raised, itching to make a point.

“Keep that paw off me, creep.” She stepped back, her glare unwavering.

“What did you just call my hand?” James’s voice rose, incredulous.

“Screw you and your claw.” Her lips curled into a mocking grin.

“You’re impossible,” he snapped, frustration boiling over.

“And you’re a walking disgrace.” She tilted her head, sizing him up like he was nothing.

“Yes, you heard me,” she continued, her voice taunting. “If you want to get laid, drag your sorry butt to the next street. Plenty of easy pickings there.”

James’s face burned. “I was only trying to be your friend.”

“And what, sneak into my pants later?” she shot back, her eyes narrowing.

“No!” he protested, his voice cracking with exasperation.

“Get lost, you hulking piece of trash. You’re making me mad enough as it is.”

“What? Did you just call me trash?” James’s hands balled into fists.

“No, I called you a bee, buzzing around and irritating me, you dumb fool.” Her smirk widened.

“What the heck?”

“Go to hell and find out.” She waved him off dismissively.

“I’m out of here,” James muttered, turning away.

“Been telling you that for ages, dumb butt,” she called after him.

James walked away, oblivious to the middle finger she flipped at his back. The cold night air bit at his skin as he trudged down Strangers Drive, the town infamous for its bustling commerce—and its darker underbelly. At twenty-two, an orphan who’d seen more than most, James couldn’t help but wonder how far he’d come in his short life.

The street buzzed with life, its shops glowing under neon signs. Displays of goods lined the sidewalks, from Humphrey’s butcher shop to Mrs. Lin’s herbal store, which competed with Ugo’s rival shop. Ugo, an African vendor, boasted “manpower” elixirs that promised to make men last longer in bed. James shook his head at the thought.

Then there were the gangbangers, swaggering through the market, extorting “protection fees” from traders. Rumor had it their leader, a Chinese man named Mr. Tin Lang, claimed to be the founder of Strangers Drive itself.

As James passed the street the girl had mocked him about, his cheeks flushed. Women stood under dim streetlights, their revealing outfits leaving little to the imagination. “Handsome, come get a feel of this!” called a girl no older than him, flaunting herself boldly. James shook his head, wondering if this was the ugly side of Strangers Drive.

His dream was to own a grocery store, to build something of his own. Working for Mr. Lang paid the bills, but James wanted more—a future, a family to love and care for him, something the orphanage had taught him to crave.

He stopped at a hamburger stand, the smell of grilled meat drawing him in. “One burger with a diet soda,” he ordered.

“You the new kid working for Mr. Lang?” a voice asked.

James turned to see a man in his mid-fifties, tall with a bald head and puffy cheeks that wobbled as he spoke. His round belly strained against his apron.

“Yeah,” James said, nodding.

The man extended a hand. “I’m Mr. Brian. This is my joint.”

“Nice place,” James replied, shaking his hand. “I’m James.”

“Thanks, kid. It’s rare to see young guys like you working an honest job in this f— messed-up town.” Mr. Brian caught himself, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry about my language.”

James chuckled, thinking of the girl’s venomous words. “It’s fine. I’ve heard worse.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Brian raised an eyebrow.

“Haven’t you noticed? Most young guys here are either gangbangers or drug addicts.”

Mr. Brian nodded grimly. “That’s the bad side of Strangers Drive, alright.”

“I’m hoping to open a grocery store someday,” James said, his voice tinged with determination.

“That’s a solid plan. You’ve got a good heart, kid. Don’t let this town sidetrack you.”

“Thanks. I won’t,” James promised.

“Alright, enjoy your burger. See you around, James.” Mr. Brian waved and shuffled back to his work.

James took a bite of his burger, watching the chaotic pulse of Strangers Drive, wondering if he could carve out a place in this wild, broken town.

Chapter Two

Christabel

“Get your f***ing butt here now, girl!” Mr. Tin Lang’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

Christabel froze, her stomach twisting at the sound. She sighed heavily. What does he want now? She was exhausted from dealing with him, his demands, his threats. One day, she vowed, she’d stick him good—end him for real and finally be free.

“Coming!” she muttered under her breath, adding, “You old rotten bastard.”

When she reached him, Mr. Tin Lang’s hand lashed out, a backhand slap stinging her cheek. “When I call, you run, you piece of trash,” he snarled, his eyes glinting with malice. “I own you, so act like a good dog.”

"Yes, boss," Christabel said, her face sour with resentment.

"I didn't hear you, you piece of trash," Mr. Tin Lang sneered, taking a menacing step toward her.

"YES, BOSS!" she roared, her voice echoing defiance.

"That's better, my smart little dog," he mocked, his tone dripping with condescension. "You're doing great."

Christabel's cheeks burned with shame, but she held her tongue, biding her time. One day, she vowed silently, I'll make him pay.

"Are you plotting against me?" Tin Lang asked, his hand clamping onto her shoulder with a vice-like grip. Christabel stifled a wince as pain shot through her arm. "That's good. I like that fire in you. I've got a job for you, and I don't want the cops sniffing around, or we'll all be staring down the gas chamber."

"Yes, boss," she replied, her body tense, bracing for a blow.

"Good girl," he said, flashing a grin that revealed crooked, yellowed teeth. "I need you to transport a consignment out of Strangers Drive."

"What kind of consignment, boss?" she asked cautiously.

He smacked the back of her head, hard enough to make her ears ring. "You know the usual. Don't question me again."

"Yes, boss," she muttered, eyes downcast.

"You'll figure out a way to keep the cops off your trail," he continued. "I don't want to lose my wares—or you, my little dog."

"Yes, boss."

"You've got one week to prepare for a safe delivery. I'll tell you the destination later. Don't cause any trouble, and no fighting."

"Got it, boss," Christabel said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

"Where's that fat pig, Fatty?" Tin Lang asked, glancing around the dimly lit room.

"Probably at the brothel, boss," Christabel replied.

"That slob better not be sampling my wares," he growled, his expression darkening.

"No, boss," she said quickly. "Fatty couldn't tumble a fly if he tried."

"Fine. Go fetch him and get back here," Tin Lang ordered, dismissing her with a flick of his hand.

Christabel stormed out of Mr. Tin Lang's office, her eyes blazing with fury. How dare he treat me like trash? she fumed. Me, Christabel, the diamond of Strangers Drive? He'll pay for this.

With murder in her heart, she hurried toward the brothel owned by Tin Lang, her mind racing with plans for revenge.

Fatty was having a blast at the Innocent Inn, sampling every drink and dish that came his way. He laughed, knowing he was plastered, but he didn’t care one bit. He wanted to let loose, and deep down, he felt this might be his only chance to have this much fun. While dancing with a stripper, he felt a sharp jab in his ribs. Swearing, he spun around, ready to confront the offender. How dare they? He was a Tin Lang man—feared and respected. He swung his meaty fist but froze mid-swing, cursing again as he saw who it was. Christabel stood behind him, her face a mask of murderous rage.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Fatty stammered, lowering his fist. “I could’ve smashed your head in!”

“Shut your mouth, you fat pig,” Christabel snarled. “How dare you raise a fist at me? Me, Christabel!”

“Sorry,” Fatty mumbled, eyeing her warily. He knew how dangerous she was. He’d seen what she did to her enemies—people bigger and stronger than her—and he’d sworn never to cross her.

“You’d better be sorry, you piece of shit, or you’ll be eating your own,” she said, her voice icy.

“Sorry,” he repeated, the buzz of the night draining away under her chilling glare.

“Did you sample any of the wares?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Only Nikky,” Fatty admitted, glancing around nervously.

“That’s a big mistake, you idiot,” Christabel snapped. “The boss wants to see you. And I quote: ‘If that fat fool samples my wares, I’ll kill him.’”

Fatty cringed, fear gripping his heart. He grabbed Christabel’s arm. “Please, don’t tell him! I don’t want to die over some fling!”

“How dare you touch me!” she growled, yanking her arm free. “Do that again, and I’ll kill you myself.”

“I won’t,” Fatty said, bowing his head.

“Let’s go. The boss is waiting,” Christabel said, turning sharply and leading the way out of the Innocent Inn.

Fatty and Christabel trudged back toward Mr. Tin Lang’s office, a few streets from the Innocent Inn. Fatty’s stomach churned—not just from the liquor he’d secretly sampled but from the dread of what Mr. Tin Lang would do if he found out. He stole a glance at Christabel, and his heart sank. Her eyes burned with a murderous glint, a look that promised violence. In Strangers Drive, where life flickered as fragile as a candle, Fatty knew she’d killed before. Hell, who hadn’t?

His thoughts scattered when Christabel stiffened and slowed to a stop. Fatty’s pulse quickened, expecting another gang fight, but he followed her gaze. A kid their age sat at Mr. Brian’s joint, casually munching a burger.

“What’s got into you?” Fatty asked, his voice low.

Christabel took a step toward the kid, her body tense. Fatty reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She whirled, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled.

Fatty yanked his hand back. “Sorry,” he muttered, then added, “but the boss is waiting.”

“Let him wait,” she spat. “I don’t give a damn about him. His karma’s coming soon enough.”

Fatty nodded toward the kid, who sat oblivious, back turned, still eating. “Who’s he?”

“A nobody who pissed me off,” Christabel said, exhaling sharply. She turned, following Fatty toward Mr. Tin Lang’s office, but not before vowing to track down that “fucking James” and make him pay for haunting her thoughts.

When they reached the office, Christabel knocked twice. A gruff voice called, “Come in.” They stepped inside, where Mr. Tin Lang stood by the window, peering out. He turned, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Fatty. “Finally.”

“Good evening, boss,” Fatty stammered.

Mr. Tin Lang moved like a viper, slamming a fist into Fatty’s gut. Fatty doubled over, wheezing, as the liquor and everything else he’d consumed that night spilled onto the floor.

“How dare you sample my wares?” Mr. Tin Lang sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. “I could smell the booze from here.”

“Boss, I paid for it,” Fatty gasped, clutching his stomach.

“You’d better have, you fat fool, or you’d be shark food by now, you disgusting pig.”

Christabel stood motionless, her face a mask of indifference. But deep down, pity stirred for Fatty, and her resolve hardened—Mr. Tin Lang would pay dearly for how he treated her and his underlings.

Tin Lang’s eyes flicked toward Christabel as he landed another punch on Fatty, watching for any crack in her composure. Not a muscle twitched. Satisfied, he nodded and sank into his chair, leaving them standing.

“You’re both my dogs,” he said, his voice cold. “You bark when I say bark. Understood?”

“Yes, boss,” they replied in unison.

He cupped his ear. “I don’t hear you.”

“YES, BOSS!” they roared.

“That’s more like it,” he said, his yellowed teeth flashing in a predatory grin. “Now, Fatty, I called your sorry ass here because you’ve been useless lately. How do I use you?” He didn’t look at Fatty, instead focusing on clipping his immaculate nails—a stark contrast to his rotting teeth.

“I’m useful, boss,” Fatty croaked.

“How useful?” Tin Lang snapped. “All I see is a fat pig wasting my resources.”

“Boss, I’m not wasteful,” Fatty protested. “Christabel can vouch for me.”

Tin Lang’s gaze flicked to her. “Is he useful?” he asked, his tone sharp.

Fatty licked his dry lips, his heart pounding as he waited for Christabel’s response. He’d already written himself off, certain that Mr. Tin Lang would have his head.

Christabel, unfazed, met her boss’s gaze with defiance. “He’s useful, boss,” she said, her voice steady. “Fatty’s the only one who can fool the cops on the highway.”

Fatty exhaled sharply, unaware he’d been holding his breath so long it felt like an Olympic record. He kept the thought to himself, his eyes darting nervously.

“Is that so?” Mr. Tin Lang drawled, clipping his nails with a casual flick. He blew on them, flashing a toothy grin that revealed his rotten teeth.

“Yes, boss,” Christabel replied, shifting her weight to one foot, her tone unwavering.

Tin Lang leaned back, his grin widening. “Well, fate’s a funny thing. I’ve got a shipment headed to Corona City, and it’s marvelous to know our Fatty can outsmart the cops, eh?”

“Yes, boss,” Fatty stammered, glancing at Christabel for reassurance.

She shrugged, her expression cool. “If he pulled it off once, he can do it again. He knows what’s at stake.”

“The fat pig better,” Tin Lang said, his grin turning menacing. “One problem’s solved. Now, about that delivery to Corona City—are you up for it, Fatty?”

“Yes, boss,” Fatty mumbled, sweat beading on his brow.

“Good boy.” Tin Lang’s voice dripped with mock pride. “I knew buying you from that orphanage was a smart move.”

“Thank you, boss,” Fatty said, his voice barely audible.

“Here’s the plan,” Tin Lang continued, leaning forward. “You two will take the shipment to Corona City. Once you’re in the city, head to the parking lot of The Seducing Goddess. Leave the car there, walk to the door, and hand the keys to the blind man by the jukebox.”

“Yes, boss,” they said in unison, their voices tense but obedient.

“Good. Now get the hell out of my office, you worthless pieces of shit,” Tin Lang barked, waving them off with a dismissive flick of his nail clippers.

To be continued