The summer was a scorcher, the kind of heat that makes asphalt melt and tempers flare.
Jake spent five bucks on a buzzcut that made him look like a reformed criminal, squeezed into a cheap suit that cost more than his car, and slipped into a pair of dress shoes that were already pinching his toes. He was cruising in a beat-up 2002 Volkswagen Jetta borrowed from Old Man Li, puttering towards the towering skyscraper of Allure Corp.
Stuck at a red light, Jake wiped the sweat off his brow and loosened his tie. "Who the hell invented neck nooses anyway?" he muttered, glaring at the traffic. If it weren't for the interview, he'd be in flip-flops and basketball shorts, looking like a hobo but actually feeling like a king of comfort.
Finally, the light turned green. Just as he was about to hit the gas, his passenger door was wrenched open. A middle-aged guy with a shiny bald head and a grin full of nicotine-stained teeth slid in.
"Hey buddy, you heading to Beifa Road?" the guy asked, already making himself at home.
Jake blinked. The guy clearly thought he was an Uber driver.
Before Jake could say "no," Baldy waved a hand dismissively. "Money's not an issue. Just get me there." He nodded at a scrawny guy standing on the sidewalk holding a massive duffel bag. "My buddy's got the merch."
Beifa Road was right behind Allure Corp. Jake sighed. Might as well be a Good Samaritan. He popped the trunk, the scrawny guy tossed the bag in, and they were off.
The ride was dead silent. Baldy and Scrawny stared straight ahead, but Jake noticed their Adam's apples bobbing nervously.
"18 Beifa Road?" Jake asked, checking the rearview mirror.
"Yeah."
"That's a condemned building, isn't it?"
Baldy just nodded. Suddenly, the trunk started thumping. Rhythmic thumps. Definitely not a washing machine.
Oh, hell no. That's a person.
Jake kept his cool. They were still in heavy traffic; he didn't want to start a shootout at a Starbucks. But once they hit the deserted industrial area near the old factory, he slammed on the brakes.
"Alright, spill it. What's in the trunk?"
No answer. Instead, Scrawny launched himself over the center console, throwing a punch that looked like it was learned in a bar fight.
Jake ducked, grabbed Scrawny's wrist, and using the guy's momentum, slammed his face into the dashboard. "Ever heard of personal space?"
Baldy joined the fun, pulling out a length of piano wire and wrapping it around Jake's neck. "Say goodbye, taxi boy!"
Jake gagged, face turning purple. Thinking fast, he floored the gas pedal. The Jetta shot forward, then he hit the brakes again. Baldy flew forward, slamming into the steering wheel and honking the horn loudly.
"Honk if you love Jesus!" Jake gasped, then slammed his elbow back into Baldy's gut.
Baldy wheezed, and the wire loosened. Jake grabbed the back of Baldy's head and smashed it into the side window. Crash! Glass everywhere.
Scrawny, recovering from the dashboard kiss, tried to strangle Jake. Jake responded by putting the car in reverse and flooring it. The car skidded backward, and Scrawny was thrown into the backseat like a ragdoll.
Minutes later, the car was totaled, and both goons were unconscious on the pavement. Jake, bruised and sweaty, lit a cigarette. "Note to self: next time, take the bus."
He walked to the trunk and popped it open. The duffel bag was torn open, and a woman with messy hair and a face that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover stared up at him.
Jake unzipped the bag the rest of the way and cut her bonds.
"Thanks," she said weakly, then promptly slapped him across the face.
Jake caught her hand mid-swing. "Whoa! I just saved your life, not asked for your hand in marriage. Sheesh, tough crowd."