Chapter 3 1 - PART 2

I drove my car, trying to convince myself that my current plan was a good one, but deep down, I knew my first plan was the right one. It involved calling my father right after Roxy left, but now I felt that the new plan was nothing but garbage.

The reason I hesitated to involve my father was because he and his wife Lily had already disowned Payton a while back. It happened shortly after they returned from their Jamaican vacation and lost all the island holiday bliss when they walked into their living room and caught sight of their daughter on her knees, head between the legs of a shirtless man with his jeans wide open. He was passed out, his head lolling on the back of the couch, while Payton, in her drugged-up state, remained completely oblivious to the fact that her activities were getting her nowhere.

And let me tell you, the state of their living room was a complete disaster, much like the rest of the house.

As you can probably gather from this story, I was reluctant to bring my father into any situation involving Payton, especially since this wasn't even the worst tale I had about her. It was just the final straw for Dad and Lily. They were currently enjoying a carefree and Payton-free life, and I had no desire to disrupt that peace.

Thus, I refrained from calling Dad.

Instead, my thoughts turned to Payton's boyfriend, Tank. As a member of a biker gang, Tank possessed a rugged exterior, embodying the very essence of toughness. Yet, despite his rough exterior, I had the chance to meet him, and surprisingly, I found myself rather fond of Tank. He had a great sense of humor and genuinely cared for my sister. In his presence, Payton displayed a somewhat improved version of herself. Not a complete transformation, mind you, but at least she became more tolerable.

Admittedly, Tank's past was likely marred with felonies, but here's the ironic twist: he happened to be a positive influence on Payton, and such influences were exceedingly rare – almost nonexistent, in fact – during the last twenty-five years. Given the not-so-subtle hint from Roxy, Payton's sole friend, that her current predicament was worse than the usual, I realized I had two tasks ahead of me. Firstly, I needed to take action to address Payton's situation. And secondly, since we were talking about Payton here, I thought it might be best to call in some reinforcements or, even better, lay the problem at their doorstep.

Enter Tank.

I hopped in my car and drove over to the auto supply store located on Broadway, where I managed to snag a parking spot on the street. Even before I got to know Tank and discovered that this store was probably a front for some shady biker gang activities, I was already familiar with it. The store was called Drive, and I had frequented it quite a bit, mainly because I could find an excuse to shop just about anywhere. But Drive was pretty awesome. They had some seriously cool stuff in there. I even purchased my windshield wiper fluid from there. Last year, I bought new car mats, and let me tell you, they were the bomb! Supreme car mats, the best I'd ever had.

Now, I must admit that back in my twenties, during one of my many phases, I was trying to pimp my ride. So, you know what I did? I went to Drive and got myself a fluffy, pink steering wheel cover. And to add some extra flair to my car, I bought a glittery, pink Playboy Bunny thingie to hang from my rearview mirror. Ah, those were the days!

Everybody in town knew that Drive had a triple-bayed garage in the back, but it wasn't your typical garage for regular cars and motorcycles. Oh no, it was exclusively reserved for the assembly of custom-built cars and motorcycles, and let me tell you, these creations were the epitome of coolness. In fact, Drive's reputation reached far beyond our little town; it was world-famous! People from all over the globe sought their services, and no wonder why – they crafted automotive and bike masterpieces that would make your jaw drop.

I once stumbled upon an article in 5280 magazine that showcased this remarkable place. Reading it, I learned that even movie stars and renowned celebrities couldn't resist the allure of Drive's offerings. They lined up to purchase their fantastic cars and bikes, and I must admit, just looking at the pictures made me yearn for one too. Alas, my bank account didn't boast hundreds of thousands of dollars, so that dream was currently residing a bit further down on my List of Things I Want. It sat right under a luxurious Tiffany's diamond bracelet, and directly under that, a pair of those stunning JiMSy Choo shoes that I simply couldn't get out of my head. One can only hope, right?

I parked my car and strolled down the sidewalk toward Drive, hoping my outfit was up to snuff. I had fashioned my hair into a girlish ponytail, tied up at the top back of my head. For attire, I chose a pair of low-rider jeans, along with some low-heeled boots that had a biker vibe. And of course, I donned my biker jacket, although it wasn't quite like Roxy's. Mine was a distressed tan leather, with some fancy quilting around the high waist area, and it boasted a cozy lining of short, warm fur. But the unique feature was the six-inch tuft of fluffy fur at the sleeves. I personally found it super cool, and the deal I snagged on that jacket was nothing short of red-hot.

However, there was a tiny bit of uncertainty gnawing at me regarding the fluffy fur. I mean, I didn't think bikers were overly concerned with animal rights, but I couldn't help wondering if they might take it as an affront to their brotherhood. There was this tiny fear that they might decide to garrote me or something!

But hey, you know what they say – nothing ventured, nothing gained! So, with a deep breath and a pinch of courage, I ventured forth into Drive, hoping that my outfit would blend well with the biker ambiance and that I wouldn't be met with any unexpected surprises.

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and confidently entered the vast, cavernous store. My gaze immediately fixed on the long counter at the front, where a solitary cash register stood, despite the fact that this place could often get jam-packed with customers. Since I didn't have Tank's cell phone number, my primary objective was to inquire if anyone at Drive knew how I could reach him. I didn't exactly anticipate coming face to face with Tank, the towering, brawny, and fully tattooed guy with long, flowing blond hair, standing on the other side of the counter. On his side, there was another burly biker dude, three more on the outside, and to my surprise, all eyes turned toward me the moment I stepped inside.