The Charger's engine rumbled in the tight space as we skated through the small streets of LowDown’s financial district. Here, the roads were narrow and the buildings short. The architecture was far older and more elaborate than in the residential areas. Stone gargoyles hung at rooftop corners, gothic windows, barred with wrought iron, were decorated with large ornate arches, and the colors of their facades were soft beige and greys, all matching. But, like with much of the LowDowns, everything looked... tired.

The streets were run down. Chain-link fences barred empty fields, and across cracked sun-baked roads, big floor-level streetside windows were boarded up with graffitied plywood or blocked with cheap iron bars. The windows were all dark as if the power had been cut off to the whole sector. Every once in a while we passed a lit window whose user hid behind musty curtains, but beyond that, it felt like a ghost town.

Down a side street, we found our mark. The Rosewood Citibank sat atop a small set of stone stairs, planted in a row of long-dead financial buildings. It was almost two in the morning, so the bank was far past closed. Outside the building was an ATM whose screen had split down the middle but still functioned, casting a glowing light with crack in it across the street.

The roads were empty, and besides the constant city noise in the background, all was quiet. There were barely any cars parked on the sidewalks, so the Charger would’ve stuck out sorely if we parked it too close to the bank. I came to a stop some yards away.

Here we are... about to make a stupid mistake, or a great one. My heart was pumping. A part of me was terrified. Prison, death, or riches, what waited for us? Another part loved the thrill. This shit is why I'm alive. I could hear Mackie's words in my head.

I knew he was just as excited as I was. The air was electric between us.

Biker headlights appeared down the street behind us. They stopped at the end of the road, and one of the bikers walked up to our car. I rolled the passenger window down.

“What the fuck took you assholes so long?” The skinny guy I’d ridden with, Mofo. He was pissed.

“We had to find a hot ride cus two tweakers stole bikes instead of a car. You might remember that,” Mackie said. I was surprised by his boldness. The tweaker ignored the comment though, seething with anger.

“We’re here and ready to do this. We good to go?”

“Yeah. Your boys doing work?”

“The riot’s started. Cops have been blockading streets for hours.”

“Alright. We’re set then.”

“About fucking time,” the man spat, walking back down the road. As I rolled the window back up, I noticed how quiet the city was. No sirens or gunshots or chaos. The riots were far from here, but I figured there would be some sign of them. Then again, maybe it was just that far away. The city noise, even at its most peaceful, was pretty loud.

“Hey, give me your coat?” Mackie broke out.

“What? Why?”

“To cover my arms and shit. I didn’t think about it till now.”

“No way. It doesn’t even fit you.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s just to cover up. I’ll give it back later.”

“No fuckin way. You’ll rip it up with your freakish body.”

“For fuck's sake. What is with this fucking coat? You'll get it right back. Did your poor little mammy give you this thing?” He mocked. A friend had, actually, though I didn’t say that. Mackie got weird when I mentioned other friends.

“Fine. You rip it, you’re buying me a new one.”

“I’ll buy ya twenty more after this.” I struggled it off and he struggled it on. Meanwhile, three bikers rode up to the front of the bank.

“Alright. See ya on the other side.” Mackie left the car and trailed behind the others.

The rain had died down. Only sparklets fell over the windshield now, gathering together excruciatingly slowly before trailing down the glass in long streaks. The murky sky glowed sickly overhead. Red, purple, and orange mixed and mushed together, the light from Midcity poisoning the night. Despite the sky’s ill luminescence, the streets here were dark. Its lone street lamp was a cracked ATM screen flickered in the silence, lighting the street faintly in ghostly corporate blue.

It felt dead here, like I was the only person kicking around in the whole city. Boarded windows and gated doors. Empty streets pooled with oil-slick puddles, rippling slightly at the touch of rain. Dark clouds hung above, but no thunder. I felt stuck in a cheap horror flick.

My heart skipped a beat when a patrol car passed down the street behind me. With floodlights activated, the cop scanned the sidewalks, empty windows, and abandoned lots. Shadows cut through chain-link fences, casting strange thin shapes over dirt and dry grassy emptiness. Before I could even duck my head beneath the seat, the cop car was gone.

Just a routine patrol. That was strange. The police should’ve been focused on the riots. Why would they waste their time on patrols so far away?

It wasn’t the strangest thing in the world. The city had a million cops. A few routine checkups should be expected even this far away from the havoc. Nothing to worry about. Biker raids were messy things.

There wasn’t much else to do, so I flicked on the radio.

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I flicked the station.

Welcome back to K- WXH 54.90. Tonight is a hot one with temperatures in the mid-nineties. Stay hydrated, folks. Keep those ACs on if you have them. The weather advisory board has issued heat wave warnings across the city, and curfews are in effect for Rosesquare, and neighborhoods west of Monty. Heat shelters are open in your neighborhoods. Don’t be ashamed to stay the night. They are safe places to wait out the heat. Stay cool out there, folks.

In other news, a local Church Hill boy turns hero after defending his mother from two armed assailants. Guess how old he was. You’ll never believe it.

Next up on the hour are some more tunes. First up, Say Hello To Me, Nighttime, by Miss Scarlet. An old one but a classic. Stay with us for the hour…

I turned the radio off.

Odd, no mention of any riots. An unsettled feeling rose within me, a growing suspicion that there were no riots, no distractions. This was it. This was how they'd fuck us. Fucking gangers.

These guys were gonna wait till we had the money then waste us and dump us in some Lowdowns garbage can. And I bet Mackie already suspected that. I knew it. Fuck you, Mackie.

I thought it was a long shot gangers would trust anybody but themselves with money. I’d bet wherever Mackie was told to deliver the cash, they’d be waiting for us there.

Fuck that. Once Mackie’s in the car, we’re off. We just have to make sure we aren’t gonna get gunned down in the street first.

I checked the road behind me, suddenly wary, half expecting to see a gang of bikers descending on me. I felt naked without my coat, too… without the gun in its pocket.

They wouldn’t hit us until we had the money anyways. So I just sat on edge, plotting our next move.

Nothing happened for a while until it all happened at once. I sat on edge out front while Mackie and the boys did whatever it was robbers did when robbing banks. The gangers still needed us to drive the money to safety so they wouldn’t risk killing Mackie beforehand. At least, that’s what I thought until…

The bank front lit up, light flashing through the windows from inside before the crack of gunfire followed, muffled by glass and stone. The noise startled me. Nobody was supposed to be inside except a security guard or two, and they wouldn’t risk their lives for a couple of old bucks.

Suddenly, another shot.

Shit. My heart dropped. What’s going on? Was it Mackie? Did they get him? A ganger exploded through the front door. I leaned over the steering wheel to see.

He stumbled down the steps, injured, crashing into his bike. Both fell to the asphalt. What the fuck is happening? Come on, Mackie. Come on.

Just then, Mackie rushed through the door, followed by the other two gangers: the beefy woman, Della, and another I didn’t recognize. That one was carrying a smoking shotgun.

The beefy woman ran down the steps to the fallen ganger by the bikes. Meanwhile, Mackie, carrying three black rucksacks, bolted to the car.

The Charger shook as I engaged it. Opening the door, he jammed himself inside, his weight rocking the vehicle. He tossed the bags into the back.

“Fucking bikers. There's no riot. There’s no plan. And they blew away the security guard so now the whole fucking police department's coming down on our head. Get us the fuck out of here, Sleeper." I shifted gears, ready to kick off and leave them behind, but then the back door of the Charger opened. In jumped Razor. She pushed cold steel against my temple.

“Don’t fucking move.” My blood went icy. Mackie and I both froze.

Razor stuffed another duffle bag into the back seat. “Wait right there. Where you running off to Mackie?” She asked, frantic and pissed. Her eyes were bloodshot and her gaze darted around without focus…

"Chill, bitch." Mackie said, looking at her gun with worried eyes. "We’re just doing our part of the plan. Put the gun down."

“Shut the fuck up, you lying skeeve. The plan’s changed, now. Driver boy, sit right there. Don’t move, Mackie, or I swear I’ll blow his fucking head off.”

“Put it down, you crazy bitch.”

“We gotta go,” I interrupted, suddenly aware of the cops.

“We’re staying right here. Until Mofo gets in…” The feeling of death descended upon me. If those other gangers got in the car... we'd be killed for sure. I flicked my eyes over to her crew. The other two were stumbling their way over to our car, the skinny one barely able to stand. Every second was precious.

“They’re fucked. Leave 'em,” I said. Do not mistake this for boldness. The one thing I did not want to do more than die was go to a LowDowns prison.

“Fuck you! They’re fucked? You’re fucked.”

“Look at em, Razor. They’re taking too long. The cops are gonna be here any second. Put the gun down and let's get out of here. They got bikes...”

“Fuck you, Mackie. You fucking coward. I knew you were a pussy.” She rammed the gun under his chin, pushing his face against the passenger window. I could smell her week-old body odor.

“I’ve always hated you," she spat through gritted teeth, "I’m gonna do you first.” Blood pumping, gangers approaching, cops already inbound, a split decision would decide our fates. I had to act, or die.

I jumped my hand over to Mackie, reaching into my coat pocket. In one fluid motion, I withdrew my nine-millimeter pistol, and just as she turned her head to see me, I planted a round between her eyes.

The gunshot popped my ears, and the flash lit up the interior of the car. Her head shot back, the rear windshield turning red. Her body slammed back against the seat, head drooped over the head rest as if she'd just passed out on it. The back window dripped with her blood and brains.

Without a second thought, I kicked the car into first gear and squealed down the street, upshifting as I passed the other two gangers. Della dropped her comrade when she noticed us passing by, running for her bike and abandoning her brethren. Mackie looked astonished as he laid eyes on Razor's corpse.

“Oh fuck, Sleeper. You killed her. What about Rigger and the Rippers?” They'd put hits out on us.

“Fuck 'em. They’ll be dead in a week.” I threw the gun into his lap.

“Fuck yeah!” He shouted, pumped up, “I love you, man.” The ganger’s headlight sparked on behind us. It was easy for her bike to catch up to us in these small neighborhoods.

To alleviate this, Mackie poked his head through his window, pistol out, wind ruffling my jacket collar, and fired a few loose shots behind us. The bike headlight shrunk back, I noticed in the side mirrors. The rearview window was utterly engulfed in blood. Then the biker disappeared altogether, calling off the chase to escape the cops.

We'd escaped the bank, but it was just beginning. Sirens blared streets over. Cop lights flashed over the small rooftops, red, blue, and orange casting shadows in alleys. This way. That way. My car rumbled, jolted, and kicked forward, around corners and through alleys. The police couldn’t keep up with us. They never even saw our vehicle, at least until a flying unit buzzed over the rooftops, shining a spotlight over our car.

“Pull the car over,” a rugged voice said over the loudspeaker. My blood was boiling. My heart was pumping like overworked pistons.

They didn’t know it was us who robbed the bank, but with the bags and the corpse in the back seat, it would be easy to puzzle it together. No chance to pull over, officer. Sorry.

Losing the flyer would be difficult but not impossible. There were plenty of overpasses that were no-go zones for flyers. There, they’d have to rely on street cars again to track us down, which would be no match for the Charger.

I’d have to get on the maxway to really lose the ground units though, or else they’d box me in some tiny neighborhood. And once I was on the maxway, they’d send out more flyers and a chopper. It’d be dangerous, but I could hop exits to lose them until I reached a safer neighborhood. Then, we could disappear.

That’s what the plan was. And with this speed and maneuverability, it would be almost too easy…