Butch saw how dejected he looked and stepped on the gas to get to the airport faster.
Oswald had been so miserable these past few days that it was getting on Butch's nerves, making him hit harder than he meant to in fights.
He was about to press the accelerator farther down when he spotted a wobbling bicycle in the rearview mirror, desperately chasing the Rolls-Royce along the edge of the lane.
The rider looked bald, wore a dark robe, and was struggling mightily to pedal.
Butch narrowed his eyes for a second, then said, "Boss, I think that's Ririko."
Oswald had already given up hope of Ririko changing her mind. He glanced back carelessly and said wearily, "Are you blind? That's clearly a bald person."
Butch said nothing more and kept driving, leaving the bicycle far behind.
The Rolls-Royce stopped at a red light.
Butch glanced in the rearview mirror again and saw the bicycle catching up through gaps in the slowing traffic.
He spoke again. "Boss, I really think that's Ririko."
Oswald was about to curse him out-
He was miserable enough already. He didn't need Butch's jokes tormenting his fragile heart.
But he still turned and looked out the rear window.
Under the streetlights, there really was a long-haired girl sitting on the back of that battered bicycle.
She wore a loose monk's robe, her hair stirring in the night breeze as she held the edge of the seat and looked their way.
Oswald shot out of his seat and pushed open the car door. Butch got out too.
The cars behind them blared their horns, protesting his decision to stop in the middle of the road.
"You think driving a Rolls-Royce makes you special?"
"Why don't you just sleep in the middle of the road?"
"You