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Shorty sprinted toward the truck. She dove into the driver’s seat. "Come on, baby, start for me."
Shorty looked at him, her eyes wide. "No cops. The rally is tomorrow. If we report it, they impound the investigation. We lose the spot."
"Hey!" the guards shouted, running toward the car. "Stop right there!"
"My windshield!" Victor screamed. He slammed on his brakes, wiping frantically. The three sedans behind him had to swerve to avoid rear-ending him, causing a pileup of expensive luxury cars.
"The Docks," Shorty replied. "Warehouse 12. That’s Vulture territory."
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