Ricky's Business by Ryan Field Page B

wasn’t ready to leave. He wanted an explanation from Chad.
     
But when the guy pulled a gun from his pocket and waved it in front of the window,
     
Leyland pointed and said, “This guy’s not playing, Ricky. Get the fuck out of here.” Ricky turned, hesitated for a second, then looked back and forth. There weren’t many
     
people on the sidewalk and the street was empty. So he put the car in first gear and sped out of
     
the garage, leaving the guy standing on the sidewalk waving both arms above his head.
     
When they were a couple of blocks away, Ricky slowed down and asked, “Who was the
     
asshole with the gun?” Ricky was from the suburbs; if people had handguns they were kept in
     
locked safes.
     
“He’s my boss,” Chad said.
     
“This is my best friend, Leyland,” Ricky said. “Leyland, this is Chad.”
     
Leyland just nodded and smiled. He was still gripping the seats, his face had reddened,
     
and there were beads of sweat dripping down his cheeks.
     
“Nice to meet you, Leyland,” Chad said. “Hope you don’t mind a little excitement in
     
your life.” Then he reached forward and turned on the radio. He didn’t seem the least bit upset
     
anymore. His hands were stable and he sat back in his seat and smiled.
     
“Where are we going?” Ricky asked Chad in a low voice.. Though he didn’t resent Chad,
     
he wasn’t too thrilled about this new state of affairs Chad had gotten him into.
     
“Don’t know,” Chad said.
     
“Are we heading in the right direction, at least?” Ricky asked, with a hint of sarcasm.
     
“Just keep driving.”
     
This sounded like an order, and for some reason Ricky couldn’t explain, it made him
     
clench his teeth. “This guy, the one you said is your boss. He’s really your pimp, isn’t he?”
     
Chad looked at him and sighed. “Wow,” he said. “You’re brighter than you look, Ricky.
     
You figured that out all on your own.” Ricky let that one go; he knew he’d sounded stupid by asking. He pulled up to a red light
     
and stopped. A huge black SUV pulled up beside them on the right and the driver lowered the
     
window. It was Carson, Chad’s boss. He’d been following them and they hadn’t known it. He
     
pointed the gun and said, “Pull the fuck over now.”
     
“Oh, fuck me,” Chad said. Then he lifted his hand, gave Carson the middle finger, and
     
shouted, “You’re a big man, Carson, waving that gun around like that. What are you gonna do
     
now, kill us all?”
     
“Oh, this is rich,” Leyland said. His face had turned a pale shade of grayish white by then.
     
“I’m supposed to be working on a project for school, at home in my quiet suburban New Jersey
     
neighborhood, and I’m being chased by Carson the pimp through midtown Manhattan.”
     
The light changed and Ricky smiled. He’d never felt this strong or confident in his life.
     
He heart raced with excitement; he clenched his jaw and focused on the road. He knew the
     
Porsche could leave the huge SUV in the dust. He looked back and Leyland and said, “I can take
     
him. I know it can.” Then he hit the gas, sped through the red light, and headed toward the West
     
Side Highway.
     
Carson the pimp followed them, through side streets, back alleys, and down main venues.
     
Because they were in Manhattan Ricky had to play it safe so he wouldn’t hit any pedestrians or
     
slam into any other vehicles. But he knew how to maneuver the Porsche well. When he made a
     
fast right into a dark alley and the SUV followed him, Ricky kept the car steady and balanced
     
while the SUV banged into buildings and trash cans. At the end of the alley, Ricky slipped
     
between a taxi and a bus and made a hard left onto Eighth Avenue.
     
“I’m going to puke,” Leyland said. Ricky ignored Leyland. His goal was to reach the Lincoln Tunnel, but he had to lose
     
Carson first, so he took Carson in a few more circles, turning down narrow one way streets