Василиса Чмелева – The Universal Passenger. Book 2. The Straw City (страница 5)
The food arrived suspiciously fast.
"Think something’s off here?" Oscar whispered conspiratorially, sipping his juice.
"Not sure yet," I muttered. "Alright, time to make that call."
I walked over to the wall-mounted phone and picked up the receiver. As the dial tone buzzed in my ear, I patted my pockets for the scrap of paper with the number.
"Damn it!" I slammed the receiver back down hard enough to make the waitress flinch.
"What’s your problem?" Oscar hissed, darting over. "You’ll scare off the regulars—they don’t like loudmouths here."
"Must’ve left the number in my pants pocket," I growled. "Probably soaked through after the lake. The ink’s gone. Perfect."
"Relax! Even if it’s ruined, we’ll just go back to the stop and tear off a fresh one. Easy!" Oscar said, trying to sound upbeat.
"I wanted to sort out the bike today, Oz," I sighed, rubbing my temples. The exhaustion was hitting hard.
"Well, well!"
A lanky blond man sidled up to us, his sharp green eyes glinting with amusement. His features were gaunt—deep-set eyes, a long nose that came to a pointed tip—giving him the look of a smug fox who’d just caught wind of prey.
"What do you want?" I asked unfriendly, in no mood for small talk.
"Don’t take me for a spy, but I happened to overhear you’re looking for a bike."
The guy’s voice was grating, with a shrill, nasal quality. And at the end of every sentence, he spoke louder, like he was trying to puncture my eardrums. His gaunt, bony face reminded me of a cartoon Grinch—every muscle tensed into this smug, mocking expression.
"So, what do you say, friends?" the guy pressed. "Still in the market for a bike?"
"Yeah!" Oscar nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely interested."
"Perfect!" The guy clapped his hands. "I’ve got one parked right outside the diner, and I’m ready to sell."
"Why the sudden urge?" I asked skeptically.
"Been wanting to upgrade for a while now."
The guy leaned against the wall and gazed dreamily through the diner's small window:
"My buddies all traded their worn-out nags for flashy cars. Can you believe it? Meanwhile, I'm still stuck with this old bike—can't even upgrade to a newer model."
"Trying to keep up with the pack?" I remarked sarcastically. "Is it really that important?"
"Damn right it is, my friend," he shot back without hesitation. "See, they're always—always—one step ahead of me. And it's just not fair!"
"Maybe you should get new friends if it bothers you that much," I snorted, amazed by his petty envy.
The guy practically radiated toxic, utterly pointless bitterness.
"That's not the solution, pal," he said, shaking his head. "But if you buy my bike, I can finally get mine."
"Alright, let's take a look at it first," I agreed.
We stepped outside, and my eyes landed on a perfect retro-styled naked bike. The black steel beast, with its spoke-like alloy wheels, gleamed playfully in the sunlight, completely out of place in this backwater.
"You're joking," I laughed, turning to the guy. "This is a brand-new model—a real speed demon for serious riders."
"There's always a newer model coming out, buddy," the guy drawled blissfully, picking his nose without a hint of shame. "So, whaddya say? Taking it?"
"I'd love to, but I don't have the cash on me right now," I admitted reluctantly, hating to concede defeat. "Maybe you could hold onto it for a bit while I scrape the money together?"
The guy dug around in his nose for another moment, then flicked something (which I decidedly did
"Take it now."
"But I can't pay you right now," I repeated, as if explaining to a particularly slow child.
"I know the boy—well, his grandpa, really. A man of his word, plus he’s into bikes too. You’ll pay me back, no doubt," the guy grinned.
I glanced at Oscar, but he just nodded confidently, looking utterly unfazed.
"Let’s take it?" the kid urged. "I don’t wanna walk back."
"How do I find you?" I asked the guy.
"Everyone around here knows me," he said, tilting his chin up. "Just ask for Kurt—they’ll point you my way."
With that, he sauntered back into the diner. I grabbed the helmet and handed it to Oscar.
"Put it on."
"But it’s too big for me," he whined.
"Safer this way if you're riding with me."
Grumbling, the kid obeyed, clamping his arms around my waist as I fired up the bike. Easing forward, I reminded myself to take it slow—this beast of a machine wasn’t exactly child-friendly.
Chapter 3
I didn’t want to go back to the lakeside cabin, but disappearing over the horizon with the kid wasn’t an option either. So I decided to cruise the highway for a while before dropping Oscar off—hoping his grandpa hadn’t returned yet and started panicking about his missing grandson.
After bumping through backroads onto the main highway, I headed in the opposite direction from Oscar’s place. The kid, who’d apparently never ridden anything faster than a bicycle, clung to me like a barnacle, his grip only fueling my urge to go faster.
As we passed the red cliff that gave the diner its name, I pulled over. Oscar still had a death grip around my waist. I had to knock his shoulder three times before he dared open his eyes.
"Off you get, Oz," I said, peeling him off me like a stubborn koala.
Oscar wobbled onto solid ground and yanked off the helmet, its visor fogged from his frantic breathing.
"It's beautiful here," I remarked, trying to ignore the flustered kid and giving him a chance to recover from the trip.
"I don't know why they call the rock red," Oscar spoke up.
I laughed. Even in a stressful situation, the kid stayed true to himself and kept nitpicking.
"I love trips like this. Always have," I continued. "New experiences spark new ideas for my paintings. I think when I get back home, I’ll sketch these landscapes."
"But you don’t like it here," the kid stated, and I thought I heard a note of reproach in his voice.
"I don’t like the feeling of being trapped," I corrected him. "Once I sort out all the absurd things going on here, I might even come back."
"I'm gonna go… somewhere," Oscar mumbled, leaving his helmet on the motorcycle seat.
"Where is there to go?"
"Got stuff to do!" the kid threw back and stepped behind the jutting base of the rock, which curved around us like a protective embrace.
"If you needed to take a leak, you could’ve just said so. What’s there to be shy about?" I clicked my tongue and leaned against the stone support next to me.
The stone fortress seemed impregnable at first glance. On either side stood steep, sheer cliffs, devoid of any approaches (except for the possibility of going around them in a circle). The smooth, small surface of the ledges offered no chance of finding a way up. Yet, a barely noticeable narrow path stretched toward the summit. I tilted my head back, trying to trace where it led.