Billy Asbo gets taken for a ride
The streets of London had seen better days. Darkened clouds hung low in the sky, heavy with the threat of endless rain. The rain, when it came, was acidic, a byproduct of decades of unchecked pollution. It dripped from the tangle of air-conditioning pipes that snaked around every building, turning the city into a grimy, industrial labyrinth. High-rise blocks loomed overhead, their facades crumbling, as if the concrete itself was succumbing to the despair that permeated the city. Among the ruins of Victorian architecture, their once-majestic facades now decayed and forlorn, a few stubborn souls still clung to life.
Billy Asbo hunched his shoulders against the cold drizzle, his black leather jacket offering little protection. The rhythmic slap of his sneakers against the slick pavement matched the beat of his heart—a quick, anxious tempo. He kept his head down, his black sun glasses pulled low to obscure his face. Last Ghosts, his band, had been outlawed. Music had been outlawed and Gov-Fed’s police state couldn’t tolerate rebellion, and music had always been the purest form of it.
A shadow flickered in his peripheral vision, and Billy’s heart skipped a beat. The unmistakable view of a Gov-Fed Patrol car had caught his eye. He risked a glance. The car was crawling along the street, its searchlights sweeping across the decrepit buildings like a predator hunting its prey.
“Not again,” Billy muttered under his breath, his hands curling into fists. He quickened his pace, though he knew it was futile. The patrol car was inching closer, its lights starting to dance over the puddles that dotted the street.
Out of nowhere, a taxi screeched to a halt beside him, its tires sending a spray of filthy water over the pavement. The car door then flung open with a loud creak.
“Get in!” a woman’s voice barked.
Billy hesitated for a fraction of a second, but the approach of the patrol car made the decision for him. He dived into the cab, slamming the door behind him. The interior was no cleaner than the streets outside, the seats worn and the smell of stale cigarettes clinging to the air. The cabbie, a slim young woman in a blue 1950s dress with a red bow in her hair, gunned the engine and peeled away from the curb, tires squealing.
“Boy, am I glad to see you. I thought they had me for a second.” Billy said, sinking back into the seat as he tried to catch his breath.
Alina Coco flashed him a wide grin in the rearview mirror, her bright red lipstick somehow pristine in contrast to the grimy surroundings. “Not every day I get to rescue a rock star. Especially one as dashing as you, Billy Asbo.”
Billy gave a faint laugh, but the sound was more nervous than amused. “You know who I am, then?”
“Oh, everyone knows who you are,” Alina replied, her eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the rain-slicked road ahead. “Last Ghosts might be banned, but your face is still on every underground poster in London. So, Billy, how about a date after this little joyride?”
The suggestion caught Billy off guard. His attention flickered to the side mirror, where the ominous shape of the patrol car was rapidly closing in. “I’m flattered, really, but now might not be the best time to chat about a night out with me.”
Alina just giggled, swerving the cab to avoid a pothole that could have swallowed a small dog. “Darling, if not now, when? Besides, a date with you would be the best thing ever!”
A sharp turn threw Billy against the door, and he grimaced. “Let’s survive first, yeah?”
The Gov-Fed patrol car was relentless in its pursuit, its sirens now piercing the air. It veered left and right, mimicking Alina’s every move, intent on cutting them off. Billy could feel the tension coiling in his chest, each screech of tires driving it tighter.
Alina was unfazed, her hands steady on the wheel. “You know, I’ve always liked a bit of danger. Gives life some spice, don’t you think?”
Billy glanced at her, a mix of disbelief and admiration flashing in his eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted with a wink. Then her tone turned more serious. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, though. You just hang tight.”
Billy couldn’t help but smirk, despite the situation. “You’re mental. I like that.”
The taxi sped through the maze of London’s backstreets, a blur of grime and rust, with Alina navigating the city’s decayed veins like a seasoned driver in a death race. The patrol car was persistent, but it was no match for Alina’s intimate knowledge of London’s forgotten alleyways.
“You know,” Alina said casually as she executed a hairpin turn that would have made a stunt driver proud, “I’ve always had a thing for musicians. Especially ones who can still make a girl feel something in this soulless city.”
Billy swallowed hard, more from the sudden lurch of the cab than her words, though they lingered in his mind. “Not sure I’m the boyfriend type, if you haven’t noticed.”
Alina laughed, a sound as bright as her lipstick. “Who said anything about a boyfriend? I’m talking one night, maybe two, tops. See where it goes.”
Billy could only shake his head, caught between terror and amusement. “You’re relentless.”
“Like the Gov-Fed back there,” she shot back, nodding toward the mirror where the patrol car was still in pursuit.
Another quick turn, another narrow escape as they sped past the crumbling remains of a once-grand Victorian theatre. Its name was long gone, but Billy could almost hear the echoes of music from its glory days.
“Alright,” he said, leaning forward, the adrenaline making his decision for him. “You help me lose these guys, and I’ll take you out. But only if we get out of this alive.
Alina’s grin widened. “That’s the spirit!”
The rain began to pour harder, turning the streets into rivers of oil-slick water. Alina didn’t slow down, her grip on the wheel firm as she guided the cab through the chaos. The Gov-Fed car wasn’t so lucky; a particularly deep puddle caught its tires, causing it to fishtail and slam into a lamppost. The impact was followed by a shower of sparks and a small explosion that Billy could see in the distance.
Alina whooped, a sound of pure triumph. “That’s how it’s done! Didn’t even break a sweat.”
Billy exhaled slowly, his body finally relaxing now that the danger had passed. He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “I’ve got to hand it to you. You’ve got style.”
Alina turned onto a quieter street, the remnants of the chase left behind. “So, where to now, Mr. Asbo? Somewhere safe, I reckon?”
Billy looked out the window, the ruins of London passing by like a silent film. “Yeah, there’s a place I know. South of the river.”
Alina nodded, understanding. “And after that? Dinner? Drinks? A moonlit stroll through the ruins?”
Billy couldn’t help but smile, a genuine one this time. “Alright, you win. But only because you saved my life.”
“Good enough for me,” Alina said, her eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror.