Pitbabe S2, Chapter 6 pg1

pg1

    Chapter 6

   ALAN:

   This building used to make me nervous every time I visited. It’s so tall you can’t see the top even if you crane your neck, with dark blue glass reflecting sunlight like stained glass in a cathedral, gleaming as if someone polishes it hourly. The tiled floor I’m standing on is the same—spotless. If I looked closely enough, I might even see the wrinkles on my face reflected back. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the entrance hall is massive, adorned with crystals that sparkle under the warm yellow lights. I like looking up at it and imagining what would happen if it fell. Naturally, I pray it doesn’t fall on my head, because that wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

   Everything here is nothing like my garage. No rough concrete floors, no scattered toolboxes, no stench of engine oil. The soft classical music playing in the background can’t compare to the deafening roar of engines that rattle your eardrums. That’s why I always feel out of place walking in here, like a tiny cockroach sneaking into the kitchen of a five-star restaurant, darting under tables and cabinets, careful not to get squashed. Or, if spotted, my fate wouldn’t be much different. But after coming to this towering palace more often, that feeling—like the air here isn’t meant for breathing—has slowly faded. I think I’m getting used to this place now.

   “Excuse me, sir,” I was about to walk past the front desk toward the elevator when a voice stopped me. It belonged to a receptionist who seemed half like a security guard, somehow. He was dressed in a pitch-black suit, pressed so perfectly there wasn’t a single wrinkle, the seams so sharp they looked like they could cut. The man had dark skin, looked impeccably clean, and had a friendly enough face, though not quite friendly enough for me to want to be buddies.

   “Yes?”

   “May I ask who you’re here to see?”

   “Oh! Totally forgot, my bad,” I said, giving him a slight bow before pulling my wallet out of my bag. I rummaged through the stack of cards for a moment until I finally found the pristine white card with the Beyond Group logo in the top left corner. “Here it is.”

   “Oh! My apologies, sir,” the guy at the desk said, looking slightly startled after seeing the card. He quickly bowed to me, as if I’d just revealed myself to be the company president or something. “Please, go right ahead.”

   “Thanks.”

   I gave him another small bow before heading straight to the elevator, tapping the card on the scanner. The number 35 appeared on the screen, and the elevator began its slow ascent, the numbers on the display climbing steadily. My ears started to feel muffled by the time we reached the sixteenth floor. The changing air pressure and the silence in this narrow metal box made me wish the numbers would hurry up and hit 35. I glanced at the card in my hand and thought back to the receptionist’s reaction. I didn’t recognize him at all. He might be new, because I’m pretty sure the person who used to work the desk was a beautiful woman. She’d recognized me and always greeted me with a smile instead of asking for my card ever since I got it.

   From the owner, I’d only had to use it once—the first time I came here. After that, I became a regular by default. I couldn’t help but think this silly card must carry some serious weight. Otherwise, a scruffy garage owner like me wouldn’t get to experience what it’s like to be treated as someone important.

   Finally, the elevator doors slid open. I stepped out, turning left as my body remembered the way. Just a few steps, and I reached the door I was aiming for. The secretary at the desk, busy with her computer, looked up at the sound of my shoes on the floor. Her name’s May. We’ve met enough times to chat casually. She gave me a wide smile the moment she saw my face.

   “Hello, Alan,” May stood up from her desk to greet me. Though we hadn’t talked much, I’d taken a liking to her from the moment we met. May was a petite woman, probably no taller than 163 centimeters, with a cute face but a lively, energetic vibe. She always tied her long, jet-black hair neatly into a ponytail, which I thought suited her perfectly. “Pete’s free right now. Go right in.”

   “Thanks,” I smiled at May. She walked over and knocked on the boss’s office door three times before opening it without waiting for permission from inside.

   “If I wanted a really fast racecar, which model should I buy?”

   No greeting whatsoever—that was the first thing Pete said the moment I stepped into the room.

   “A racecar?” I looked the big-shot businessman up and down, unsure how to tell him that the suit he was wearing made his question sound so absurd I nearly burst out laughing. “For who?”

   “Me.”

   “For?”

   “Driving.”

   “Huh?”

   “I said driving.”

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