Bad II the Bone Read Online Free Page B

but firm hand on The Mouth’s shoulder.
   Turning, he saw the Chiny Gal gracefully leap into the air as if gravity had reversed itself, à la Matrix, heard the rustle of her clothes, felt the air part as her right leg hurtled towards his jaw in a perfect flying roundhouse kick.
   His recollections ended abruptly.
   The force of the blow lifted him off his feet, twisting his body in mid-air and deposited him head first between a cash register and Perspex charity box. His tense arms tangled around the leads of the monitor, tearing it out of its housing and bringing it down with him to the ground with paper napkins and straws.
   Suzy watched him slide limply out of sight and turned to look at his friends-in-arms her Wusu stance loose but no less effective. They backed away ever so slowly only giving a fleeting look of concern over to The Mouth bleeding and battered on the other side of the counter before they scuttled away.
   “Yuh bitch, yuh!” was one outspoken sentiment from an old lady who sat watching her grandson eating. Some swore incredulously; a small smattering of hesitant applause spread around the restaurant and voices of support for her actions grew.
   Contrary to what you would expect, the adulation did not improve Suzy’s frame of mind. She lowered her head and cursed herself.
     Turning away amidst the confusion she collected her helmet and her Fillet-o-Fish and disappeared.
     
     
     
    Gridlock, Tottenham Court Road
    10.45am
     
    Ramona Cleopatra Jones, Patra to her sisters gave the Kawasaki Ninja some revs and punched the warm fuel tank between her legs with a gloved fist. The Bluetooth wireless rig in her ear blinked as she spat the words with venom.
    “ Can you believe this bullshit?”
     It was Suzy on the other end of the line and she sounded excited and concerned but not as excited and concerned as Patra was at this very moment. She stood helplessly on her kick stand and surveyed the gridlocked traffic of Oxford Street, the fallout from a 24 hour Tube Strike. In front of her was a winding construct of multi-colored steel made from vans, buses, cars and trucks, undulating their way along like a sun drunk sidewinder, its multiple exhaust haze distorting the buildings in the West End’s commercial centre as it went along.
   “You did what? That nigga deserved every bruise his ass got,” Patra nodded her head and belted out her signature laugh. “I’d loved to have seen that beat down. Y’s trippin you say, whaddup?”
   The earpiece that hugged her earlobe blinked with the comment and a flurry of high pitched mobilespeak that made sense only close up, made her shrug leather clad shoulders and nod in agreement, her focus firmly engaged in the traffic madness of the West End.
   “Okay, okay I’ll be there but her ass better be on fire ‘cos I’m bringing the water, yuh heard me.”
     Patra looked behind her and realised every degree of a three hundred and sixty rotation was tight, the sun was reflecting off bonnets and obscuring her view but the blaring horns and the shimmering heat curtain being flung into the sky said it all.
   Motherfucking gridlock.
   “Gotta go Suzy but I’ll be there, I promise sugahh.”
    Pulling the helmet onto her head, Patra glanced at her carrier unit and knew this delivery was going to be tight, if not impossible but savored the odds.
    As fate would have it though, the outcome of this particular ride would decide the future of all female dispatch riders who joined the chicken shit outfit of Pathos Couriers.
   By 1.45 she should have been regretting her outburst of indignant wrath but the snide comments, the disrespect and the downright sexism had gone beyond male banter to victimization. By accident, Patra had walked into the midday drivers’ coven. Their little fantasy session was in full swing, describing her as a horny bitch best suited to be riding cock instead of a motorbike.