The Last JoyRide

Part 32

Saturday 4:10PM

I was tense but relaxing on Joy's couch when I heard the growling V8 of the Corvette outside. She gave a few impatient blasts of the horn before I could open the roll-up door.

As soon as I had it up enough to clear the car, she shot inside and skidded to a stop.

"Check this out," she said, stepping out and throwing me the keys.

I caught them and looked. The keyring was a heavy golden Fender guitar pick with Mick Mars inscribed on the back.

"That's cool," I said to myself, walking them back into her office and laying them on her desk.

"Seven down, Nick!" She high-fived me.

"I gotta pee, and we have to hit the road. The Eddie is on the move and will be at the bar," she paused, looking at the silver art deco clock on the wall, "well, probably is at the bar already, trolling for an easy catch."

"What? How do you know this?" I demanded as she dashed out and down to the bathroom.

She returned and rushed me out the door, and of course, she wanted to drive.

Saturday 4:35PM

On the way down the freeway back to Atlanta, Joy explained the phone call. Sasha, of all people, told her that a guy named Ivan Johnson, known to his friends in the music scene as Alabaster was using the car. He would be going to a bar to find a date for the evening. It wasn't unusual, but it was unusual to be so early. Apparently, he forgot that he was supposed to attend a release party in Buckhead at ten for Shock Mop, Mystic's right-hand man. So at least that partially explained why Joy lost her marbles and strong-armed her way into the college radio station.

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became. I wasn't let in on any plan and never had an idea exactly what was going on. Maybe that was part of Joy's plan all along. It seemed to work for her. And, here we were again, tearing down the freeway in Kermit to accost someone else and take their car, The Eddie VanHalen.

I looked over at Joy, deep in thought, as usual, staring straight ahead. My neck was stinging like hell from sweating under the bandages. I felt, but there was no blood, just pain. It was all exciting, or at least it had been up to that point. I felt soured on the whole deal, though. The girl just wanted a worker bee. I don't know why she kept on about Sofia and my past if all she wanted to do was fuck. It was a flaw in my personality. I had to keep my eyes on the endgame, and that was to get paid, fix my trailer and get the hell out west somewhere. What the hell was I thinking anyway, letting myself fall for this girl?

Saturday 4:40PM

"The Boxer Rebellion?" I said aloud as we approached the windowless brick building with no identifying characteristics save the neatly painted shingle hanging from a single pole above the front door.

"I can't believe this place has been here, and I didn't know anything about it."

"I would have been surprised if you had," Joy responded.

"Yeah, I hadn't thought of it that way."

Joy was cute, always. It was hot as hell outside, but she was wearing a white tee-shirt, black bra, and blue jeans. Oh, and of course a leather jacket. You know, because that's what you wear in the heat, leather. I have to admit I didn't even think about this place, what it was, a gay bar, but as we approached, I was a little trepidatious about going inside. I've been known to have no filter and to stare. It's not socially acceptable, but I have never been able to help myself. I don't mean anything by it either; it is just how I am.