“So? Have you not been seeing the people milling around? They’re shady old docks, that happens from time to time.”
“Yeah, but this one in particular. I can see the name on the side of the ship. It’s the Canary Islander. That ship hasn’t been in use in...well, years. It was deemed unseaworthy back before the union was busted. Yeah, I can see at least three people down there.”
I hand Cherry the binoculars, and she nods after peering through them for a few moments. “You’re right. Recognize anyone down there?”
“No — and that’s what worries me,” I say, squaring my jaw thoughtfully for a second. “I don’t like this. Come on,” I say, standing up and stowing the binoculars.
“What, are we just gonna leave now?”
“Naw, where’s your investigative spirit?” I say, giving a cocky grin as I pull my kutte back on and start walking towards the bike. “We’re gonna go pay them a visit right now.”
Cherry looks hesitant for a moment, but as I give a nod for her to follow me to my bike, she steps forward, picking up her shoes and heading after me.
“Good thing I think you know what you’re doing,” she half-laughs.
“That’s my girl,” I say as she clambers onto the back of the bike. As I rev up the engine, I feel her slip her hands around my waist as she considers what I’d just said.
“I think I like the sound of that.”
38
Cherry
The back streets leading up to the coast are only dimly lit by the moon’s eerie glow as we park the motorbike and start walking. There are lamp posts here and there, but most of them have long burned out, never to be replaced by the public officials who regard this area of town as a sort of lost cause. And the bulbs that remain with just a spark of life only flicker weakly, lending less light and more ominous atmosphere to our nocturnal mission.
We parked a few blocks away just off the road because the motorcycle engine is not exactly stealthy — you can hear it coming from miles away. Anyway, this time of night there aren’t a whole lot of vehicles or people passing through this area, so we’d stand out even in my much quieter rental. Not to mention the fact that both the local cops and the feds will definitely keep an eye out for motorcyclists at this point. They know we’re onto them, and if they’re smart they also know that we won’t give up just because they rattled the Club up a little bit with those interrogations. And we can’t risk blowing our cover, not tonight.
We’re going in to check out the abandoned docks where we heard suspicious sounds earlier, to find out what the hell could possibly be going on there. I mean, they are abandoned, so nothing should be going on there at all.
Leon and I are walking softly, keeping close together, our eyes peeled, searching for any hints of danger or discovery. I feel like I’m still glowing from our moonlit tryst earlier, but I try to keep my head calm despite the giddy butterflies flitting around in my stomach. It’s ridiculous how even in a high-stakes, gritty situation like this I am still so distracted by how much I like Leon. How intensely his touch affects me.
He makes me come alive like nothing else does.
And he takes me to places I’ve never been — even though we’re physically in the same town we both grew up in. It’s so strange to me how new and unfamiliar my hometown is when I’m traipsing through it with Leon. He gives me a new perspective on everything, showing me both the dark, terrifying underbelly of the city and the passionate, defiant camaraderie of those who fight against it. It’s just like a movie, and he’s the star.
Which might just make me the love interest.
Well, if that’s the case, I sure as hell hope I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t feel like one, not anymore. At Leon’s side I feel powerful, like an electric current is buzzing through my veins and heightening my senses. With one simple touch of his hand, I transform into a spy, a secret agent, an action heroine. I love it.
Gone is the Cherry LaBeau of New York City, the girl who holed up in her loft and dashed off shallow, insignificant gossip and fashion articles for a paycheck. Gone is the high-maintenance, high-life, high-rise Park Avenue princess who was afraid to get her hands dirty. I don’t resent that girl, and I know deep down she will always be a part of me, and I will look back fondly on those years I spent prancing through the Big Apple without a care in the world. But now there’s a new Cherry, and she’s one tough broad. She can run with the wolves. She fights for what’s right, even when it’s hard. She isn’t afraid of getting down in the mud and getting filthy when need be.