But by now Tina had gotten out too and we stood on the curb looking at each other. What to do for transportation? St. Venetia is a walking city but the Roma enclave was too far to walk, plus not exactly safe. So I looked around, spotting a little red Mini parked at a stop sign, sprinting over before it could zoom off.
“Stop,” I yelled, coming to a halt beside the driver’s side window. “Stop,” I repeated, a little more commanding than I meant to. A young man was inside, maybe about twenty or so, looking up at me with confusion.
“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his head, craning his neck to look around. Because by now, Tina had run up as well and stood next to me, panting with exertion, a beautiful flush running across her chest.
“We need your car,” I said peremptorily. “Get out.”
“What?” sputtered the young man, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “Make me,” he retorted.
I almost yanked open the door and hauled him out right there, but Tina intervened.
“We just need to borrow your car for a half day,” she said breathlessly. “For children in need. Please,” she added.
But the guy wasn’t budging.
“No,” he said flatly. “I don’t know you, I have no idea who you are, this is crazy.”
It was then that I drew myself up, tall, imposing, fixing him with a stare.
“For the country,” I commanded, meeting his eyes, and something clicked. I think the man finally recognized me as Kristian, Crown Prince of the Kingdom, and got out of the car slowly.
“Sire, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, but I can’t just give up my car either,” he mumbled, looking down.
And it was then that I took a signet ring off my finger, handing it him.
“As security for your ride,” I rumbled, dropping it into his outstretched hand. “We’ll expect it back when your car is returned.”
And the man gasped because the ring was solid gold with a ruby flanked by two emeralds, clearly worth far more than his Mini. He gaped, unable to make any sound, his eyes glued to the ring.
“Sire, how do I find you?” he asked shakily.
“Leave your address at Miss Carroll’s and my office will find you later,” I growled before holding the passenger side door for Tina. “My lady,” I said with a slight flourish and the brunette smiled at me, dazzling, before slipping into the car.
“Thank you,” she breathed when I got into the driver’s seat. I fingered the car keys before shooting her a grin. This was going to be tougher than it looked because I wasn’t exactly an experienced driver, I’d ridden in the back my whole life. But her words and those beautiful brown eyes pumped me up and I revved the engine, suddenly energized.
“No worries,” I said, glancing at her mischievously before testing the accelerator, the little car springing into the intersection with a jolt. Tina’s answering laughter rang in my ears, the peals melodious and sweet, and I knew we were going to have a good time … even as we made our way into the ghetto.
TINA
Ghetto isn’t the right word because the Roma are people with pride, even if they don’t have much. They took care of their enclave, sweeping the streets clear, making sure that houses got a coat of fresh paint even if the roofs were saggy, the porches blown through in some places. I liked it, I liked the homey feel, like people were actually neighbors.
“Here we are,” rumbled Kristian, slowing to a stop in front of a corner bodega nestled between a house with a chain link fence and a deserted lot. The place wasn’t much to look at, a sad little sign outside proclaiming “Fresh Produce and Meats,” neon lights in the window selling different brands of cigarettes and the latest lotto games. But a burly man stepped out as we stopped the car.
“Prince Kristian, Lady Christina,” he said, bowing at the waist. “Welcome to my business, The Aleatro.”
And we were whisked inside. The interior was dingy but I could tell the merchant did his best. Florescent lights lit up the interior and the store sold everything from laundry detergent to corned beef sandwiches. A cat skulked in the corner, purring, and I pointed to it.
“Are you allowed to have one of those?” I asked hesitantly. “I thought city regulations prohibited cats on premises.”
Alonzo chuckled, his big belly shaking.
“Ah no, not exactly,” he admitted, “but I need a cat to keep the mouse problem at bay. You’re not going to tell city officials are you?” he wheezed, looking at us worriedly. “About the mouse problem or my cat?”
And I understood the dilemma. Either way he cut it, there was no good solution. His bodega was either overrun with mice, violating city regulations, or he kept a cat, which violated a different set of regulations. So he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and I shook my head, saying nothing.
But Kristian intervened.
“I’ll get an exterminator here, courtesy of the Palace,” he said. “They’ll need to look around, make sure there are no holes in the walls, that kind of thing, but you’ll be able to keep your cat at home without worrying about the mouse issue.”