Iris~~
Colorado Springs is like the first real city I've been in since Baltimore. With the traffic congestion, the people going in and out of stores, and birds landing on garbage cans, life seems to be everywhere. It's marvelous.
Marvelous until my stomach grumbles. "Can we get some lunch?"
Erik turns left, and we pass by a bike store. "We can eat when we're dead."
Typically, people eat to avoid dying, but okay, Erik, let's starve to death just so we can eat.
As we walk our surroundings turn . . . skeptical. I'd usually say sketchy, but this somehow feels too serious to say sketchy. Erik told me we're going to see his friend. I thought Brydan was his friend, and he's how I got into this mess with the Society in the first place. The abundance of trash-ridden backstreets with figures shrouded in shadows has me stepping closer to Erik. He turns down one of these streets, this one running along a warehouse that looks surprisingly clean compared to the spray-painted designs on the brick wall on my other side.
A man wearing a ski hat sneers at me.
"A friend? Really, Erik? What kind of friends do you keep?"
After giving the man a nod, he continues onward. "You've met my family." Erik climbs a set of concrete steps leading up to a metal door on the warehouse. He knocks, and a slot in the door slides open. A pair of hazel eyes peek—no, glare out at us.
"Here's to the foolish," Erik says.
The slot is slid back in place, and a lock clicks and another and another. There's a pause. I wait for the door to open. Another lock.
Another, particularly loud one.
At this point I don't know what to do with myself. My arms feel too long. The position I'm standing in can't look natural.
Two more locks.
"Who are these people?" I whisper.
"Cautious."
Another lock and a loud creak, and the door opens. No one stands in the doorway; meaning there's no one to block the view of the blue and white checkered floor that sweeps across the open expanse of the warehouse. White support bars rise from the floor to the ceiling. Luxury cars are scattered—that's not the right word, there doesn't seem to be a pattern, but they seem strategically placed throughout the warehouse. Between everything I've seen, I'm fairly certain none of this is legal.
A group of three men and one woman stand over to the left, all dressed in blazers. One of the men has a white cane that seems stylish but I'm almost convinced a knife is hidden inside it.
The door shuts with a clank. Behind us another man in a ski hat starts the process of engaging each of the numerous locks.
I lean toward Erik's ear. "How legal is this?"
"It's allowed if you know the right people."
"By the right people, you mean you, don't you?"
He winks.
One of the men from the group approaches us. His clothes and facial hair are clean cut, and he appears young but older than Erik. "Well, if it isn't Erik Blackwood." He holds out his hand, and Erik clasps it firmly.
"Arthur."
Arthur looks at me. "Who's this? A relation of yours?"
"This is Iris, a friend of mine."
Arthur offers me his hand, and I shake it.
"Frankly, I'm surprised he even called me his friend," I say with as much humor as I can muster, but I'm being serious.
"Erik is a little slow to make anything official even when it comes to who his friends are." He eyes Erik from top to bottom. "What brings you to my town?"
"I need a new car. I want the best handling, and I want speed."
Arthur signals for someone from the group to step forward. "I have a few in mind for you. Do you have cash?"
"You know I do."