She was easy. Some were. Open and inviting, waiting for you to take what you wanted. If you had the balls. And if the owner was inside the corner market for long enough.

Easy? Under the right circumstances, they all were. Open? The fool left her unlocked. Inviting? She was. In a I've been neglected and mistreated kind of way. The gathering dust. The broken tail light. And the banged up front right fender. She needed to be saved.

And Fats thought himself the hero of the story. How could he see it any other way? He believed no-one loved them like he did. The way they moved. Effortless. Beauty in motion. Showing off for all to see, who cared to see.

And those that knew their worth, like Louis, saw more than just the exterior. He saw their inherent value, too. A one night bump and grind. And upon handing her over to Capazzo, a pocketful of money.

If they were women, these guys would be seen as sex traffickers. The buying and selling of pleasure givers. Men sought them. They paid for them. Their hunger for the right one fueled the market. And some like Del Rossi helped to make it happen.

Fats only needed them for the one job, or the one self indulgent ride and then they were moved on. Parts, maybe. In tact, hopefully. But plucking her was his focus, his responsibility. What happened beyond that wasn't.

If his thoughts lingered too long on what came next, he bugged himself out. It had happened before. When he saw Lucy. And Suzanne. They were too good to be stripped of their dignity, for the game of greed.

But this one, she had to be swept away. Louis had seen her months earlier, upon first arriving in Chicago. Less dust. And minus the dings. So when she rolled into the carpark out front of the coffee shop he was in, there was no question.

Just a flurry of statements rolled through his mind. Pluck her. Fuck that it's daylight. This prick doesn't deserve her. She'll be better off. Take her for a ride. Show her what it's like to be loved. If only for a day. She deserves it. You deserve it.

The voices weren't always bad. They just had an inherent 'let's do something crazy' tone. The kind that seduced you into action when needed, or kicked your ass to get the fuck moving.

They rallied emotion that just had to be acknowledged. And the more it was pushed away, the more Louis fought his inner dialogue, the more the fire burned. Till he just had to let it go. To let it all go.

A slap of a twenty on the table and a nod to the waitress and he was moving. The door chimed as he pushed his way out of the cosy little coffee joint and onto the paved sidewalk. Early afternoon had a sting to it. Sunlight to hungover eyes, wake the fuck up.

He squinted at her a moment as he flicked up the collar on his jacket and brushed his fringe out of his eyes. Then his heart told him to stop fucking about. With a strike of bliss. He loved it. The potential for calamity.

He cared little for the now returning owner, who was a few meters away and strolling down the sidewalk toward the car. Louis only had eyes for her. He smiled as his footsteps brought them closer together.

And without a second thought he popped the handle and slid into the drivers seat. To the surprise and bewilderment of the driver. Who was first, second and third guessing. Apparently he was pissed.

"What the fuck?! Hey! Get the fuck out of my car!"

His voice was off somewhere in the distance as Louis kicked over the ignition. He heard him. He just didn't give a damn. And if he had to, he would've beat him into a fetal ball of understanding. It was better this way.

The gear clicked into reverse. Dusty boot pressed down onto the accelerator. Squeeling wheels and she was ass out and onto the road. Another click as the gear shifted into first. Brown dusty boot back at it. And they were off.

Louis immediately felt better about being him. He wound down the window as they left her previous partner behind and the world passed by in a blur around them. He hung his free hand out the window, as his bandaged right hand kept her steady.

Sometimes a pull had ulterior motives. Sometimes it wasn't about the car, but the potential profit, or the job it was being used as a prop for. But now and then, it was simply about her. Fiona. A sexy Ford V8 Cabriolet.