Chapter 5: The Siege on Lincoln Avenue

Crowds were gathering on Lincoln Avenue.

Sweat and perfume mingled in the air. A kid with a Yankees cap shoved past, eyes glued to his phone. People pressed against storefronts, drawn by the rumors, by the billionaire’s big promise. Not far away, the deli owner was peering around.

His baseball cap was pulled low, but I could see the envy burning in his eyes. When he heard the billionaire announce on the livestream that I’d get the inheritance, his honest face twisted, his eyes burning with jealousy.

Even the friendliest faces can sour when real money’s on the table. I pretended not to notice, focusing on waiting for Jason.

I kept my phone in hand, eyes flicking to the time every few seconds. Three minutes later, with over a dozen people clustered nearby,

The crowd buzzed with nervous energy—phones held high, strangers whispering. I suddenly took off, bursting through the crowd.

My sneakers squeaked on the pavement as I zigzagged. With everyone watching, I jumped into a delivery truck parked on the corner.

It was a battered mini produce truck, painted in bright colors, with a Safeway logo.

The inside smelled like lettuce and cardboard. The cargo door slammed shut.

I heard the clang echo, sealing me in. Jason floored it, driving off Lincoln Avenue.

He whooped, the engine coughing as we lurched into traffic. …

Everything happened as I’d planned.

The play unfolded perfectly—like a trick I’d rehearsed a hundred times. Witnesses snapped photos of the truck and posted them online.

Within seconds, hashtags were trending, GPS pings lighting up all over the city. Countless pursuers—like hyenas—sprang into action, along with tipsters along the way.

It was like being chased by a swarm of angry bees, each with a cell phone and a tip to sell. Before we left the city, Jason was caught up to.

A black SUV swerved into our lane, honking, then pulled back. This time, he was busy driving, no time for TikTok.

He muttered curses under his breath, both hands gripping the wheel. He just noticed, oddly, that luxury cars ahead kept swerving to block him.

Beamers, Benzes, a white Cadillac—each moved just slow enough to be obvious. I guessed—they wanted to negotiate.

If I had to bet, they’d try the friendly approach first—money talks, violence is risky. Before things got violent, they’d try softer tactics to get the coin.

I could imagine the text messages flying: "Let’s talk, we can split it." But Jason, clueless, got annoyed, gripped the wheel, and rammed straight into them.

He always did have more bravado than brains. The luxury car spun out, sliding several yards.

I saw its driver throw up their hands in horror. He always boasted about his driving skills.

He’d won third place in a demolition derby once, and never let anyone forget it. The truck was heavy, so the luxury car had to give way.

Physics doesn’t lie. He smugly rolled down the window and flipped them off: "So what if you’re rich? I’m not giving way."

His voice rang out, pure defiance. But the next second, his truck shook.

A thud echoed through the cabin. On the other side, a heavy SUV pulled up, its driver coldly bumping into him, squeezing him from the lane.

The SUV’s headlights glared in the mirrors, white knuckles on the wheel, the taste of metal in my mouth. The SUV’s paint scraped ours, metal shrieking. "Oh, you’re all together now, huh."

Jason’s voice was tight, pissed. He slammed the wheel, cursing, "Think you can bully me because you’re rich? If you’ve got guts, race me for real!"

He floored it again, leaving the SUV behind.

For a second, I was airborne in my seat, the truck jumping a pothole. He spat out the window in anger.

A wet splat on the asphalt, lost in the wind. But then he saw four or five cars converging, blocking his way.

They boxed us in, tighter than a school of sharks. Jason was startled: "Damn, so many of them…"

He ran a hand through his hair, brow furrowed. But soon, he relaxed.

A cocky smile crept back onto his face. These cars just followed quietly.

They kept their distance, as if daring us to make the next move. No ramming, no cutting him off.

It was an uneasy truce. He scoffed, lighting a cigarette with one hand: "All bark, no bite. Bunch of cowards. You feel me?"

He blew smoke out the cracked window, like he owned the road. I stayed silent, counting down the time.

My hands clenched and unclenched, sweat pooling on my palms. They hadn’t acted yet because we were still on monitored roads.

Traffic cameras every mile, police cruisers idling near exits. A little farther, and we’d hit the mountain road—where I died last time.

The hairpin turns and blind corners would be perfect for an ambush. More importantly, these people were all rivals.

Each wanted the prize, but none wanted to risk being first. Like leopards circling the same prey, they were cautious.

Every glance, every lane change was a calculation. I thought, up to now…

If Jason just stopped, calmly explained he was only the driver and knew nothing about the coin, he might get out of this alive.

I almost wanted to yell at him, to tell him to bail out and save himself. But he didn’t stop.

He was never one for retreat. I sighed. I knew him—at least in this way.

For all his bluster, his heart was in the right place. We’d been college classmates, then apprenticed to the same magician. I graduated half a year earlier, so I was half a senior.

He always called me "old man," even though I was only six months ahead. When I first started performing alone, he always came to support me.

He’d clap loudest, heckle hecklers, and pass out flyers in the rain. Back then, mobile payments weren’t common.

Sometimes, tips were crumpled bills or a hotdog after the show. Once, a rich kid watched my show, tossed a wad of bills into a puddle, and made me pick them up at his feet.

The humiliation still stings. I did it.

I swallowed my pride and stooped down, rain soaking my knees. But Jason charged up and punched the rich kid in the nose, demanding he apologize to me.

He didn’t care about the money, just about fairness. Of course, I never got an apology, and I lost two hundred bucks.

But the memory of him standing up for me meant more than the cash. But from that day on, I considered him my best friend.

That kind of loyalty doesn’t come around twice. The truck hit the dangerous mountain road. The other cars closed in, following too close for comfort. Sensing trouble, Jason rolled down the window and yelled: "Move it, you idiots!"

His voice echoed across the ravine, defiant as ever. But they showed no sign of letting him through.

It was a silent standoff, no one blinking. I closed my eyes, unable to hold back a sudden sadness.

The lump in my throat was almost too much to swallow. Just like when he stood up for me, now he roared like a knight charging into battle.

The world felt very small, and very fragile. The old engine shook like a stubborn horse, carrying him into the siege, trying to teach these bullies a lesson.

Old Bessie rattled like she was rooting for us. Bang—

A loud crash. Silence.

The world went still. He was pinned in the driver’s seat, hanging upside down, blood covering his face, his fate uncertain.

The metallic scent hung thick in the cab, the world turned upside down.