Foxy Valentine's Arc

Chapter 5 of 9

Foxy hugged the disco ball to her chest and edged toward the door. Pinky went first and cracked it open. The street outside looked empty. Too empty. Foxy's arms burned under the weight of the glass. She could not run with it. She could barely walk. But standing still meant getting caught. So she counted to three and stepped out into the light. They made it four steps before the trap sprang. Jenkins peeled off the wall where he'd been waiting. He was the thin bald man who had tailed Foxy for days, always a step behind, never quite giving up. Now he had backup. Two more of Bad Mamma Jamma's men closed in from the sides. Foxy spun, looking for a gap. There wasn't one. "End of the road, disco queen," Jenkins said. He almost sounded sorry about it. A woman dropped down between Foxy and the door. She landed soft as a cat. Black leather, a long braid, a mask over her eyes. Foxy had never seen her before, but she knew trouble when it stood in her way. This was the outlaw Bad Mamma Jamma had hired, and she moved like she'd done this a hundred times. "Hand it over," the woman said. "I don't ask twice." Foxy tightened her grip. "You'll have to take it." So she did. The masked woman moved fast. She hooked Foxy's arms, twisted, and the ball rolled free. Jenkins caught it. Foxy lunged after it and two men grabbed her instead. She kicked and swore. It didn't matter. They had her pinned. Then Pinky screamed. Foxy jerked her head around. The masked woman had Pinky by the wrist, dragging her toward a waiting car. Pinky dug in her heels and clawed, but the woman was stronger. "Foxy!" Pinky cried. "Don't let them—" A gold cane tapped the pavement. Bad Mamma Jamma stepped out of the car in his purple suit, dark glasses hiding his eyes. He was Foxy's ex, the man who bought the warehouse out from under her, the man who ran half of Funkytown. He smiled at her like they were old friends. "Careful, Foxy. You'll wrinkle that pretty top." He nodded at the disco ball in Jenkins's arms. "I'll take my property now. And a little insurance." He glanced at Pinky, still fighting. "She'll be safe. Long as you stay out of my business." The men shoved Foxy to the ground. By the time she scrambled up, the car doors were slamming. She saw Pinky's face in the back window, wide and afraid. Then the car pulled away with her friend and the disco ball both. Foxy stood alone on the empty street. Her arms still ached from carrying the thing she no longer had. She'd fought for that ball for five days. Now it was gone, and Pinky was gone with it. She wiped her mouth and stared after the car. Getting the ball back was one thing. Getting Pinky back came first.