We won't be caught up

The setting is planet Earth, the city of Chicago _____________________________________________ After the unpleasant incident on the road, Cross became silent and pensive. He often stayed overnight in the garage and increasingly kept to himself. He seemed to withdraw into his own world, which did not sit well with Patron, who tried to drag him out on patrol or to drive around the countryside. However, every evening he drove into town, to the same intersection, hoping to see the same Cadillac, but to no avail. One evening, everyone gathered in the garage for a routine inspection of their bikes. While Charlie and Cross were tinkering with them, the guys turned on the TV. After a baseball game that had captured the attention of the mice, they were treated to a news report covering the latest events. A reporter appeared on the screen, interviewing a young and beautiful blonde. Meanwhile, Charlie and Cross entered the break room for a quick respite.

***

"Miss Deloren told our correspondent about the plans to renovate the orphanages. The exact amount of the costs has not yet been announced, but the company's representatives intend to fulfill their obligations in full." The voice-over was saying. The girl was in close-up. She was answering questions, and a restrained smile kept appearing on her face. "Another question: how would you comment on the attack on your truck convoy? asked the reporter. "I think it's too early to draw any conclusions. I'm confident that the Chicago police will handle the situation," she replied.

***

"So this is what our benefactress looks like," Trottle said, staring at the screen. "She's a hot little thing. I'd like to get to know her better," Vincent whistled, earning a slap on the back of the head from Charlie. "Not your category, Casanova," she said confidently. Cross didn't share the general excitement, but he took a quick glance at the TV screen and suddenly froze. He would recognize that look from a thousand others: deep, penetrating. There was no mistaking it, as he recalled that fateful evening. "It's her...it's the girl," Cross said. "What?! Are you into this chick?" Vinnie stared at the guy in surprise. "So the girl you saw in the car is the heiress to one of the largest companies in the country," Trottle said. "How could I know that?" Cross said. "If it's Flora Deloren, then the man with the gun is probably part of her personal security detail," Charlie suggested. "And Limburger wanted to kill this girl," Modo said. "Well, we can't let that happen," Vincent said, feeling like a knight on a white horse...or a red motorcycle. "Does anyone know what hotel she's staying at?" Karabina asked reasonably. It wasn't difficult to find out which hotel Flora was staying at. Carabina, Patron, and Cross began patrolling around the hotel, which alerted the security guards. For a couple of days, everything was quiet, and they assumed that the girl was no longer in danger. However, on the third day, during one of their patrols, Cross received a message from Rimfire stating that the underground garage was clear. As the evening began to fall, a sense of unease began to creep into Cross's mind. "Has Limburger given up his attempts to harm the girl?" he thought, hard to believe, as he stopped at the back of the building. After standing there for a few minutes and finding nothing suspicious, he started the engine to drive away. "I wonder what floor she lives on," he thought, and looked up. Only then did he notice the dark shadows on the wall. As he looked closer, he recognized the people in the strange gear. They were climbing up the sheer wall, using equipment with suction cups to keep them from falling. He abruptly pulled the throttle handle towards him, leaving from the building only to turn around and speed back towards it. As soon as the bike reached the hotel wall, he pressed the turbo button on the handle and launched himself up the sheer wall. The thugs were already climbing onto the desired balcony when the motorcycle rider jumped off the bike as it passed by at full speed. The bike stopped at the designated point, on the roof of the hotel. Jumping onto the balcony, Cross leaned against the railing, kicked one of the thugs into a low-flying flight, punched another in the jaw, and the third tried to grab him from behind by the shoulders, but Cross threw him over his shoulder and threw him off the balcony. When he was done with the thugs, he felt a piercing gaze on him and turned around. Flora was standing in the doorway of the balcony, behind the light curtains, and her eyes were filled with horror.

***

She was sitting in her room, watching photos and videos that Robert had sent her. In one, he was on a yacht, posing for a photo with some young people in strange positions and laughing. In another, he was at a table filled with unfamiliar dishes. Robert was smiling as he picked up a lobster and pointed it at the camera. Later, he sent a message saying, "I wish you were here." "Idiot," Flora thought critically. She closed her laptop and picked up her economics textbook, flipping through the pages. It was important to refresh her memory from time to time to stay on top of her studies. Suddenly, the girl hears strange sounds coming from the living room. She gets up from the bed and walks into the spacious room with a door leading to the balcony. It was already evening, and a lantern had been lit. In its light, she could clearly see a young man wearing a leather jacket and a motorcycle helmet. The girl froze in place, too afraid to move. However, she managed to regain her composure. In the next moment, he was pelted with hairbrushes, hairspray and mousse cans, a perfume bottle, and sofa cushions. "Get off my balcony, you bastard!" she screamed. The guy defended himself from the projectiles, covering himself with his hands. "Wait, I didn't..." He tried to explain his presence on her balcony, but he couldn't finish because the next moment, a textbook on economics slammed into his helmet, and Cross, taking a step back, fell over the railing and plummeted to the ground. Flora watched, brandishing a hairdryer. Suddenly, the door to her room opened, and she saw Walter standing there. "What's going on here?" he asked, seeing a girl carrying a hairdryer and scattered items around the room. Those that hadn't reached their intended destination. "It's just... mice...," said Flora, the first thing that came to her mind. "Mice?" the man said in surprise. "Yeah... " the girl confirmed, hiding the hair dryer behind her back. "I would never have thought that a luxury hotel would have rodents. I must inform the management," said Walter with a thoughtful expression. "It's not necessary. Maybe I was mistaken," the girl replied uncertainly. "It was my imagination, then... — the man said incredulously, examining the mess in the room. "Yes. It's probably the change in climate and environment. That's why I'm seeing things," the girl said more confidently. "Well, good night, Miss Flora," Walter said, pretending to believe her. The girl sighed with relief and rushed to the balcony, looking down and expecting to see a crowd of onlookers around the crushed motorcyclist. But there was nothing like that. It was as if he had disappeared. "I must have imagined it. He couldn't have survived a fall from the tenth floor," she thought doubtfully as she returned to her room. The guy in the motorcycle helmet looked incredibly similar to the one she had seen on the road. Her fears and concerns about this incident were still lingering in her mind. She questioned whether she had done the right thing by keeping it a secret. Falling from a considerable height, Cross gave a short whistle. The bike's speech recognition and voice signal system reacted instantly, and soon it was catching up with its owner, who was in free fall. The mouse grabbed the handle of the bike, and in the next second, he was on the saddle, using his tail to pick up the book that the girl had thrown at him. He quickly rode away from the hotel, heading towards the outskirts of the city. Vincent was laughing uncontrollably, rolling around on the garage floor, when Cross told him what had happened at the hotel when he returned to Last Chance. "Why didn't you call me? We're partners!" the Rimfire complained. "Just like that... It all happened so fast. There was no time..." Cross defended himself in a crumpled voice. "I never thought that the saying 'Knowledge is power' would have a literal meaning," Trottle chuckled as he flipped through the book. Suddenly, he came across a photograph tucked between the pages. The photo depicted a young woman in a delicate emerald evening gown, the color of which gave her eyes a greenish hue, standing next to a dapper-looking tall blond man who was smiling broadly at the camera. "That's a shame...rival," said Trottle, showing everyone the photo. "Trample it," Modo advised decisively, striking his open palm with his fist. "Kick him," Vincent said. "All you do is punch people," Charlie said critically, walking over to Trottle and looking at the photo. "By the way, they make a very beautiful and harmonious couple," the girl concluded. Cross approached them and looked at the photo. The couple was indeed beautiful. An unpleasant chill crept into his soul. He didn't understand why. She was a complete stranger from another planet who had caused him so much trouble. Perhaps it was unconscious. However, something bothered him at the thought of her having someone. It could make things more difficult for him or even make their encounter impossible. At least, that's what Cross believed. However, his companions interpreted his silence in their own way. "Listen, it's easy with girls. You save her life a couple of times, and that's it. You're her knight on a white horse. Well, a black motorcycle. And she's at your feet," Vinnie advised, approaching him and placing his arm around his shoulders. "I didn't..." Cross tried to object. "You're an expert on love," Karabina said critically from the side. "Don't listen to him. This girl isn't the kind of person who falls for cheap tricks like that. She's been raised in a different environment. It's about riding horses, playing musical instruments, knowing foreign languages, and having proper manners. If you want to win her over, you need to interest her and surprise her," Charlie said. "Yes, I... I just need to talk to her. Find out why she doesn't like me," Cross replied. "Just to talk," Vincent insisted, his voice filled with doubt. "Exactly," the mouse confirmed confidently. "Oh, come on. I don't believe you. A girl like that wouldn't catch my eye. It's impossible. Is everything below the belt made of rubber?" The white mouse chuckled. Cross gave him an irritated look, took the book and photo from Trottle's hands, put them back in their place, grabbed his helmet and guitar, and left the garage. Soon, they heard the sound of the bike's engine as it drove away. Vincent received a slap on the back of his head from Charlie for his initiative, his overly long tongue, and his inappropriate remarks. Cross was speeding down the highway, trying to figure himself out, remembering her frightened look. Hatred, fear. Nothing positive he clearly does not cause her, and increasingly wondered why. He also climbed on her balcony, the doors of which were locked. The guy put the book on a wicker dark brown wooden chair, took off his helmet. Mouse looked in the visor of his helmet, seeing his reflection. Light gray, thick glossy wool was the pride of his eyes. Purple, a rather rare color for his race, which did not leave any mouse indifferent. However, he clearly imagined Flora's ultrasonic shriek when she saw his true face. "I'm sure I can surprise her," he thought, remembering Charlie's advice. In this situation, the possibility of their conversation was approaching zero. Cross put on his helmet and left the balcony, just like the last time. As she slept, she could hear the distant sounds of an electric guitar through the open window of her bedroom, which seemed like a part of the disturbing dream she was having. In the morning, armed with a long metal shoe-horn with a carved wooden handle, Flora slowly opened the balcony door and cautiously peered outside. Then, more confidently, she stepped out onto the balcony and breathed a sigh of relief as she looked out at the waking city. However, as she approached the chair, she almost jumped when she saw the book lying on it. It was the same book that she had thrown at the motorcyclist and that she had thought was lost forever. She felt a chill of fear run through her body, causing her to shiver.