Foxy Valentine's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

Foxy pulled off the coveralls and looked up at the ball. Ricky uncoiled a rope. Pinky checked the door. They had maybe ten minutes before the crowd arrived. Then the far doors swung open, and Foxy's chance slipped away. Bad Mamma Jamma walked in slow. His purple suit gleamed. His gold cane tapped the floor. He was her ex, the man who bought her warehouse to lock the outcasts out. He grinned like he already owned the night. "Foxy Valentine. Sneaking around my club." Foxy stepped in front of Ricky and Pinky. Her hand hovered near a stacked crate. "I came for what's mine." "The ball?" He looked up at it, then back at her. "Tell you what. Have dinner with me. One night, my VIP booth. You say yes, the ball is yours." Foxy's jaw tightened. She knew his games. But she saw Ricky's eyes flick to the rope, then to the ceiling. A silent question. She caught it and understood. Keep him talking. Keep him looking at me. "Fine," Foxy said. "One dinner." Bad Mamma Jamma laughed and offered his arm. "Now that's the Foxy I remember." He led her toward a raised booth wrapped in velvet, his back to the room. Foxy went with him and never once glanced up. He sat her down and snapped for a server. Plates arrived. A tall glass of something pink. He talked about his empire, his clubs, the money. Foxy nodded and sipped and kept her eyes on his gold sunglasses. Behind him, high in the shadows, two shapes moved along the rafters. Ricky climbed hand over hand, his boots braced on a beam. Pinky clung beside him, pink jumpsuit catching no light in the dark. She reached the chain first. Her fingers worked the clasp. The ball tilted. Ricky caught its weight against his chest and held. "You always did like the finer things," Bad Mamma Jamma said. "I like what I earn," Foxy said, and raised her glass. Above, the chain came free without a sound. Ricky lowered the ball into a canvas sling and swung it down toward the loading dock. Pinky followed him along the beam. They dropped out of sight through the dock door. Bad Mamma Jamma leaned close. "So. Tomorrow night?" Foxy stood up. "Look up." He did. The chain hung empty. His grin fell. He shot to his feet and shouted for his men. Foxy was already moving. She ran for the dock. Ricky's truck was loaded, the ball wrapped safe in the bed. He'd thrown open the truck's rear doors, and Lady Supa Bad and Miko had already stumbled free and vanished. Pinky waved from the cab. "Go!" Foxy shouted. Ricky gunned it. The truck roared off with Pinky and the disco ball inside. Foxy stood alone in the empty dock, breathing hard. Behind her, Bad Mamma Jamma's voice cracked through the warehouse. The ball was gone. But so was her ride, and every guard in the building now knew her face.