Chapter 55: The Battle of the Noodle Shop

 

Boom. The metal shutters groaned under the impact of a battering ram. "Open up! Or we open fire!" a voice shouted from outside.

Inside, the lights were off. The only illumination came from the streetlights filtering through the cracks. Sebastian sat on his plastic stool, his gun leveled at the door. His face was calm, terrifyingly so. "Mr. Evans," Sebastian whispered. "The flour."

Mr. Evans nodded. He grabbed a 50-pound sack of high-gluten flour from the shelf. He stood by the door, holding it like a bomb. Mrs. Evans stood behind the counter, her hand hovering over the massive pot of boiling beef broth.

CRASH! The shutters buckled and tore open. Three men in tactical gear stormed in, rifles raised. "Secure the girl! Kill the—"

"Now!" Sebastian shouted.

Mr. Evans didn't hesitate. He slashed the flour sack with his cleaver and hurled the contents into the air. POOF. A massive white cloud exploded in the small room. Visibility dropped to zero. The mercenaries coughed, blinded by the fine white powder.

"I can't see!" "Watch your fire!"

Bang. Bang. Two shots rang out from the darkness. Two mercenaries dropped, clutching their knees. Sebastian didn't shoot to kill; he shot to immobilize. He was a surgeon with a bullet.

The third mercenary stumbled forward, waving his rifle blindly. He bumped into the counter. "Hello, dear," Mrs. Evans said sweetly.

Splash. She ladled a scoop of boiling, spicy chili oil broth right into his face.

"AAAAHHH!" The man screamed, dropping his gun and clawing at his burning eyes. "My eyes! It burns!"

"That's Sichuan pepper," Mrs. Evans tutted. "Extra spicy."

---

[The Billion Dollar Bat]

"Clear!" Sebastian called out.

But he was wrong. A fourth man—huge, like a bear—smashed through the back window. He landed right next to Harper.

"Gotcha, little princess," the man sneered, grabbing Harper by her hair.

"Let her go!" Mr. Evans charged with his cleaver, but the man backhanded him effortlessly. Mr. Evans flew into a stack of bowls. Crash.

"Dad!" Harper screamed.

The mercenary laughed. "Give me the drive, and maybe I won't snap your neck."

Sebastian tried to aim, but Harper was in the way. "Harper, drop!"

She couldn't. The man was holding her too tight. Her hand brushed against the table. Her fingers closed around cold, heavy steel. The Rolling Pin. (The Key).

She didn't think. She didn't calculate. She channeled all her rage—for her mother, for Sebastian, for her dad lying in the porcelain shards.

She swung the rolling pin with both hands. CLANG!

It connected with the mercenary’s temple with the sound of a church bell. The man’s eyes rolled back. He crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Harper stood there, panting, holding the "Key" like a baseball bat. She looked at the unconscious giant at her feet. Then she looked at the rolling pin. Not a dent.

"Nice swing," Sebastian lowered his gun, looking impressed. "That was a ten-billion-dollar concussion."

---

[The Noodle Mobile]

"We have to go," Sebastian said, wincing as he stood up. "More will come."

"The van!" Mr. Evans groaned, rubbing his bruised jaw. "Take the delivery van out back!"

They rushed to the back alley. Parked there was a battered, rusty white van. On the side, a cartoon picture of a smiling noodle bowl was peeling off. [ Evans' Speedy Delivery ]

"You have got to be kidding me," Sebastian stared at it.

"It runs!" Mrs. Evans opened the back doors. "Get in! Hurry!"

Sebastian couldn't climb in. His legs wouldn't cooperate. Harper didn't hesitate. "Liam isn't here. I'll lift you."

"Harper, no..." Before he could protest, Harper and Mrs. Evans grabbed him by the arms and belt and hoisted him into the back of the van, amidst crates of bok choy and garlic. It was undignified. It was messy. And it saved his life.

Mr. Evans jumped into the driver's seat. He hotwired his own van (he lost the keys years ago). Vroom! The engine sputtered to life.

"Hold on!" Mr. Evans shouted. He slammed on the gas. The van peeled out of the alley just as a black SUV turned the corner.

"They're following us!" Harper yelled, looking out the back window.

"Not for long," Mr. Evans grinned. He knew these streets. He took a sharp left into a pedestrian market. The van barreled through hanging laundry lines and stacks of fruit crates. Chickens flew everywhere. The black SUV got stuck behind a vegetable cart.

"Language!" Mrs. Evans scolded as Mr. Evans cursed at a pigeon.

Sebastian sat on a sack of onions, holding his gun, covered in white flour. He looked at Harper. She was covered in flour too. Her hair was white. Her face was smudged with soot. She was holding a steel rolling pin. She looked ridiculous.

He started to laugh. A deep, genuine laugh that shook his chest. "We look like baker ghosts," he wheezed.

Harper looked at him. She started laughing too. The adrenaline crash made them giddy. "You have flour in your beard, Mr. Sterling."

"You have a rolling pin in your hand, Mrs. Sterling."

He reached out and pulled her down to sit next to him on the onions. "Are you okay?" he whispered, wiping a smudge from her cheek.

"I knocked a guy out," Harper looked at her hands in wonder. "With a secret weapon."

"You are a secret weapon," Sebastian kissed her forehead. "Next stop?"

Harper looked at the rolling pin. The binary code hidden in the flowers. "My mother left this in Paris. She wanted me to find it." "We need to go to where it started."

"Paris," Sebastian nodded. "I have a safe house there. And a private jet waiting at Teterboro."

"We can't take the jet," Harper shook her head. "They'll track the tail number."

Sebastian sighed. He looked at the smelly, rusty van. "Don't tell me we are driving to Paris."

"No," Harper smiled. "But we are flying commercial. Economy class. With fake passports."

Sebastian Sterling. The billionaire. In Economy? He looked at her. "Fine. But I get the window seat."