Jaked, page 4
"No." I glanced down. "I mean, no I don't think so, but–"
Suddenly, a huge, lurking form appeared just outside the driver's side window. It was the man from the white car. "You cocksucker!" he bellowed. "Get the fuck out of the car. Now."
Jake spared the guy half a glance. He held up a hand. "Hang on," he said through the glass.
"I'm not gonna fuckin' hang on," the guy said. He reached for the door handle and gave it a useless tug. "Get the fuck out."
Holy crap. Seeing the guy up close, I realized something. I'd seen the guy on TV, hawking some popular sports drink. Wasn't he a famous linebacker or something? Desperately, I searched my memories and came up with only one word.
Chainsaw.
That was the guy's nickname. But it couldn't be. Famous football players didn't go around rear-ending people for no good reason.
Did they?
No. They didn't. It had to be someone else.
I lunged for Jake's arm. "Don't get out," I said.
"Why not?" Jake asked.
"Oh for God's sake," I said, "look at him. The guy's huge. And he's totally ticked off."
Jake was grinning again. "Yeah. I know."
"Why the hell are you smiling?" I scanned his head for injuries. Either he'd suffered one hell of a bump to the head or he'd totally lost it.
I whirled toward the back seat. Trey was holding out a camera, capturing, from what I could tell, Jake and the guy just outside the car. Trey was grinning too.
Obviously, they'd both lost their minds. I gave Trey a pleading look. "Aren't you gonna do something?" I said.
"Yeah. Totally," Trey said.
"Well?" I said.
His eyebrows furrowed. "Well what?"
"Well, what are you gonna do?"
"I'm doing it," he said.
I gave him an exasperated look. "Taking pictures?"
"Video," he corrected.
"How is that helpful?" I demanded.
When he answered with only a shrug, I gave up and turned my attention to the guy outside. He was leaning down, hollering spit-laden obscenities through the glass. His face was red. His fists were clenched. He looked like he'd kill the next person he came across.
Apparently, that was supposed to be Jake.
In spite of the commotion, Jake looked oddly unconcerned. "Trey, you ready?" Jake asked.
"Yup," Trey said. "Whenever you are."
My heart was pounding. "Ready for what?" I asked.
Neither guy answered.
With an expression of near-boredom, Jake calmly pressed a control-switch on his armrest. Slowly, the driver's side window slid down. Jake looked up at the big guy, who'd grown suddenly quiet, as if he were utterly surprised that Jake would do something so stupid.
That made two of us.
"Can I help you?" Jake asked.
The guy found his voice. "Yeah," he said. "Get the fuck out of the car, asshole."
Jake looked at him with mild curiosity. "Hey, don't I know you from someplace?"
The guy's eyebrows furrowed. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"
With that same cocky grin, Jake turned toward Trey, who was still holding out the video recorder. Jake said in a loud stage-whisper. "I think somebody's angry."
What the hell? Was he taunting this guy on purpose? I had to stop him. I reached frantically for the armrest, seeking the control-switch to roll up Jake's window. I pressed the first switch I came across, and then stifled a gasp as my own window began to slide slowly down.
"Shit," I muttered and reached for the next control over. I pressed it. Nothing happened. I pressed it again. Nothing. I looked desperately toward Jake. Suddenly, a giant fist shot through his open window. It caught Jake on the side of his face. Jake's head jerked sideways. I stifled a scream.
Jake made a sound. A laugh? No. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
Chapter 8
Frozen in shock, I stared dumb-struck at Jake. A thin stream of blood trickled from his nose. He made the sound again. Another laugh. This time, I was sure of it. What the hell was wrong with him?
Again, Jake turned toward Trey. "Yup," Jake said. "He's angry alright."
Still holding out the recorder, Trey gave a quick, happy nod.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" I yelled, not even sure who I was yelling at. Trey? Jake? The maniac outside?
It didn't matter. None of them were paying me the slightest bit of attention. When the guy's fist flew inside the car again, Jake bobbed his head to the side and gave a low chuckle. "Missed me," he said.
With a guttural roar, the guy reached in with two meaty arms. He grabbed Jake's torso, and yanked Jake up upward, like he wanted to rip Jake right out of his seat.
"Stop it!" I screamed. Frantically, I lunged for Jake as he practically flew out the car window and disappeared from sight.
Gasping for breath, I reached for my door handle and pushed. Nothing happened. I pushed harder. I whirled toward Trey. "Why won't it open?" I yelled.
Trey gave a silent shrug.
"What's the matter with you?" I screamed. "Put down that thing and help, will you?"
Trey, video-recorder and all, swiveled in my direction. What the hell? Was he filming me?
"That's not helping!" I yelled.
Something thudded against the driver's side door. I whirled to see Jake's back pressed against the driver's side glass. The other guy, obviously crazed, was swinging wildly – sometimes hitting, sometimes missing as Jake dodged to the right and to the left.
The guy pulled Jake off his feet and slammed his body onto the hood of the car. Jake rolled to the side. The other guy dove on top of him. I watched in stunned disbelief as the guy grabbed Jake by the shirt to lift him up for another impact.
But then, Jake bucked upward. He spread his arms wide. Like lightning, Jake slammed his fists into the guy's ears. The guy struggled backwards, and Jake kneed him in the groin. With a sound that wasn't quite human, the guy slid off the hood and disappeared from sight.
I heard a scuffling sound from somewhere in the back seat. I whirled around to see Trey, still holding out that stupid recorder. Carefully, he climbed over the center console and into the driver's seat.
I glared at him. "What are you doing?"
"Better view up here," he said.
"You dipshit!" I said. "Go help him."
The guy snorted. "Like he needs my help. Now shush, I’m working, alright?"
"Did you just shush me?"
"Shh!" he said.
"Oh for God's sake." Turning, I craned my head to see what was going on outside. Around us, the small crowd had somehow tripled in size. Again, I tried the door. Again, it didn't budge. I whirled toward Trey. "How come the door won't open?" I said.
He put a finger to his lips.
"If you shush me–" I said.
"Shh!"
"Damn it," I muttered.
Like some sort of crazed bird-watcher, Trey kept his camera trained toward the front of the vehicle. Why, I had no idea. We couldn’t see a damn thing from here inside the car.
Still, I knew something had to be happening, because the crowd was going absolutely nuts. Some were cheering, some were hollering encouragement, and a few of them were holding out their phones to capture whatever was going on.
Was I the only sane person in the world?
Craning my neck, I hollered toward the crowd just outside my car window. "What's happening?" I called out to no one in particular.
A tall guy near the front said, "Fight."
"No kidding!" I yelled. "Who's winning?"
The guy shrugged.
With a low curse, I tried the door-handle again. Nothing happened. Frantically, I unbuckled my seat belt and pushed myself up to crawl out my car window. I was maybe halfway out when two bodies thudded against the front bumper.
I ducked back inside and watched in open-mouthed horror as Jake and the big guy faced off. Jake's shirt was torn and splattered with red, but the rest of him looked surprisingly unscathed. In contrast, the stranger's face was a bloody mess. The guy was swinging wildly as Jake bobbed and weaved, avoiding blow after blow.
And then, Jake reached out. He grabbed a handful of the guy's shirt and somehow managed to toss the guy forward, sending him sliding, face down, across the hood of the car.
The guy kicked back, catching Jake in the chest. When Jake reeled backward, the guy crawled forward until his face, leaving a trail of blood across the glass, was mashed against the front windshield mere inches in front of me.
"Oh my God," I said, whirling toward Trey. "Do something!"
Holding the camera-phone steady in his right hand, Trey reached out with his left. He hit a switch near the steering wheel. A stream of water squirted across the windshield's glass. A moment later, the wipers started moving back and forth, whacking the guy in the face.
"That's not what I meant!" I screamed.
In front of me, the wipers were still going strong, leaving a trail of soggy blood as the guy sputtered and tried to swat the wipers aside.
From the driver's seat, Trey started to snicker.
"It's not funny!" I said.
And then, as if my prayers were answered, I saw the flashing of police lights. On the hood, the big guy was still sputtering. Beside me, Trey was still filming. In front of the car, Jake was still standing.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God.
And then, through the blood-smeared glass, Jake's gaze zoomed in on me. When he caught my eye, he gave me that same cocky grin I'd seen a million times in my memories.
Oh yeah. I'd seen that smile before. It did the same thing now as it did back then. God, he was such an ass. But I couldn’t help it. There was a part of me that wanted to smile back.
Chapter 9
A few minutes later, I was standing outside the car along with Jake, Trey, and the stranger, who was throwing a massive hissy-fit. Two policeman – one about my parent's age, and one not much older than me – were trying to sort through the whole ugly mess.
Around us, the crowd hadn't moved. I could see why.
The big guy was yelling, "Arrest this motherfucker, right now!"
"Sir," the older policeman said in a bored tone, "I'll tell you again. Let's keep it clean, alright?"
"And I'll tell you again," the stranger said. "Arrest him now, or you'll be hearing from my lawyer." The stranger turned to Jake. "And you'll be hearing from my lawyer too. Got it?"
"Yeah?" Jake said with a look of polite interest. "What does she look like?"
"Who?" the guy said.
"Your lawyer."
"It's not a 'she'," the guy said. "It's a 'he.'"
"Oh," Jake said. "Then forget it."
"God, you are such a pig," I said.
"No law against that," Jake said. He turned to the younger of the two cops. "Is there?"
"No sir," the policeman said.
"Sir?" I said under my breath.
The officer turned to face me. "What's that?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Nothing."
When the older officer went to retrieve something from the police car, the younger officer lowered his voice and said, "I know I shouldn’t ask, but can I get your autograph?"
"You arrest him," the stranger said, "and then we'll talk. Maybe get you some good seats too."
"Sir," the officer said, "I wasn't talking to you."
I looked around. Then who was he talking to?
"Got a pen?" Jake asked.
Grinning, the officer pulled out a pen and small notepad. He thrust it in Jake's direction. "Can you make it out to Seth?"
"You got it," Jake said.
As I watched, Jake scribbled something onto the officer's notepad and handed it back.
"This is such bullshit," the stranger said. He pointed back toward his own vehicle. "Look at my car. It's a fuckin' mess."
I turned to look. It was a mess. The front grill was smashed in, and the gold hood ornament was dangling sideways from the crumpled hood. While we'd been talking, Trey had sidled away from Jake and was now circling the stranger's vehicle. Trey stopped near the back of the car and studied the license plate. He grinned.
I returned my gaze to the stranger. His car wasn't the only thing that was a mess. The guy looked like he'd been put through the ringer, literally. His shirt was ripped, his hair was soggy, and his face was swollen and smeared with streaks of blood.
I glanced over at Jake. His bloody shirt looked nearly shredded too, but his face was surprisingly unscathed. It seemed odd, considering he'd taken at least one punch to the face, and probably more. I squinted for a better look. Other than a scrape across his cheek, he looked the same as always.
My gaze traveled from his full lips to his dark eyes. Catching my eye, he gave me a wink. My stomach fluttered, and I felt myself swallow. I gave my head a quick shake. I wasn't a teenager anymore, so there was no need to act like one.
I was done crushing on Jake Bishop, no matter what he was doing to my insides. With an effort, I pulled my gaze from Jake's and zoomed in on Trey, who'd just returned from checking out the stranger's car.
Trey cleared his throat and tapped the guy on the shoulder.
The guy whirled on him. "What?" he bellowed.
"Your tags are expired," Trey said.
"Huh?" the guy said.
Trey pointed toward the guy's vehicle. "The license plate. The sticker says last year."
"Fuck off, pipsqueak," the guy said.
"Sir," the older cop said, returning from the police car, "for the last time. Cut the profanity." He glanced toward the guy's car. "And," he said, pulling out a citation book. "Did you know your plates are expired?"
"Told ya," Trey said. "So who's the pipsqueak now?"
"Get bent," the guy muttered.
The older cop finished writing a ticket and handed it over to the big guy, who snatched it out of the officer's hand and said, "I'm still pressing charges."
Across from him, Jake laughed. "For what?"
The guy glared over at him. "Assault, vandalism, reckless driving." His gaze narrowed. "Being a douche."
"I haven't been called that before," Jake said.
"Actually," Trey said, "you have. Just yesterday, in fact."
"Yeah, well." Jake reached up to rub the back of his neck. He turned to the younger officer. "Are we done here?" He turned to flash me a quick grin. "I've got to get my girl back home."
I swallowed. His girl? I knew he was joking, but my stomach did that fluttering thing again just the same.
"Yeah, we're done," the officer told Jake. "Unless you want to press charges?"
"Hey!" the stranger said. "Aren't you listening? I'm the one who wants to press charges."
Jake gave a low chuckle. "Is that so?" He flicked his head toward Trey. "Show him," Jake said.
Grinning, Trey held up his video recorder.
The stranger's gaze narrowed. "What the hell is that?"
Now Jake was grinning too. "Guess," he said.
The guy looked heavenward and closed his eyes. "Fuck," he said. "Not again."
"Not what again?" I asked.
"I'll show you later," Jake said.
From somewhere in the crowd, a female voice called out, "Jake! Jake! Over here!"
Jake turned to look. So did I. The voice belonged to a buxom blonde in a tight white T-shirt. She was bouncing up and down and waving at him with both arms. "I love you!" she called.
As we all watched, she started tugging at the bottom of her T-shirt. She'd lifted it just above her navel when the guy next to her yanked the fabric down and gave her a murderous glare. Gripping her forearm, he started hustling her off toward a nearby building – some three-story apartment complex called The Meadows.
I sidled closer to Jake. "Who was that girl?"
Jake shrugged. "Got me."
I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. "Well, she obviously knows you," I said. "In fact, almost everyone does. Why is that?"
His gaze held amusement and maybe a hint of something else. Flirtation? "Not everyone," he said.
I felt my tongue brush my suddenly dry lips. "That's no kind of answer," I said. "Seriously, who was that girl?"
He flicked his gaze to the apartment complex. "You wanna ask her?" he said. "Be my guest."
I glanced toward the building. "You think I won't?" Obviously, Jake didn't know who he was dealing with. I turned to march away.
Jake gripped my arm. "Don't," he said.
I turned to face him. "Why not?"
"Because," he said, "you're staying with me."
"So much for being your guest," I muttered.
"Listen," he said. "You are my guest. And you're gonna stay my guest. At least 'til this blows over." He glanced toward the building. "This other stuff, it's all bullshit."
I crossed my arms and stared up at him. "You said it. Not me."
"I'll fill you in when we get home. Alright?"
"Home?"
"My home," he said. "And yours too, until we get a few things worked out."
Chapter 10
A couple minutes later, things were mostly settled. No one was pressing charges. No one was going to jail. And no one was telling me anything. When the police officers returned to their cruiser, the big guy turned and started stalking toward his own vehicle.
Neither Jake, nor Trey, moved. They weren't the only ones. Around us, the crowd was still waiting. For what, I had no idea.
Shivering in the cool morning air, I glanced toward Jake's car. "What are we waiting for?" I asked.
"Maybe nothing," Jake said. "But you never know."
Trey lifted his video recorder and aimed it toward the stranger. As we all watched, the guy reached out to tug on the driver's side door. Nothing happened. With a string of profanity, the guy tugged harder. The door still didn't budge. He pressed his face to the glass and peered inside.
"Fuck!" he yelled. He stalked around to the passenger's side door and gave it a tug. Again, nothing happened. Muttering to himself, he circled back to the driver's side. He glanced in our direction. When he saw us looking, he yelled out, "Get the fuck out of here!"
Next to me, Jake chuckled. "You couldn't make this shit up," he said.
I glanced toward the stranger. "What do you mean?"
