Foxy Valentine's Arc

Chapter 3 of 9

Foxy and Pinky reached the old ballroom by dusk. Jenkins was somewhere behind them, sweeping the streets with two more of Bad Mamma Jamma's men. Foxy had no room to think, no door to close, no place to hide. She needed to get inside and off the street fast. She pushed open the tall doors and pulled Pinky in after her. The ballroom was huge and dim. Dust floated in the last light. High above, chained to the ceiling, hung the disco ball. It was the very thing Foxy had come for. It threw soft glints across the empty floor. A voice creaked from the shadows. "Nobody touches my ball." An old man shuffled out, hunched, gray hair hanging in strings. His suit hung in tatters. This was Mr. Boo-Thang, the collector who had guarded the disco ball for ten years. He owed Foxy nothing, and his pale eyes made that clear. "I'm not here to steal," Foxy said. "I'm here to buy. And I need a place to sit while I do it. Men are hunting me out there." Mr. Boo-Thang studied her. He glanced at the doors, then locked them with a rusty bolt. "Then you're safe in here," he said. "But the ball's not for sale." Foxy's chest tightened. Behind that bolt, Jenkins couldn't reach her. She had her safe place at last. But the treasure she came for still hung out of reach. "Everything's got a price," she said. The old man's face twisted. He turned toward a dusty window and pointed across the way. "There's a coffee shop down there," he said. "A waitress works the counter. Brown eyes. Laughs at everybody's jokes but mine." His voice dropped. "I've watched her three years. Never said one word." Pinky clapped her hands. "Oh, you poor thing! You want a date." "I want her to see me," he snapped. Then softer: "Get me one evening with her. Just one. Do that, and the ball is yours." Foxy looked at Pinky. Pinky was already grinning, glitter catching the last light. Charm was her whole game. "We can do that," Foxy said. "I've got the smoothest wingwoman in Funkytown." Mr. Boo-Thang held out a bony hand. Foxy shook it. The deal was sealed. The safe room was hers. The old man's bolt kept Jenkins out. But the price of that door was a promise Foxy hadn't planned to make. To win the disco ball, she now had to turn a creepy, silent old man into a suitor a stranger would actually want. And the waitress had never once looked his way. Foxy leaned against the locked door and let out a breath. She had shelter. She had a shot at the ball. Now she had to make a lonely old man loveable by tomorrow night, or walk out with nothing.