The Last JoyRide

Part 36

Saturday 11:24 PM

I thought I would puke when I saw the Dre lunge forward. The unseen driver stopped suddenly, then the car began to elevate, the front left side first, then the rear, again it lurched forward but stopped again. Sparks flew off the undercarriage in every direction for a moment. By then, it had caught the attention of the valets, and lot security was rushing the car.

The Dre slammed back to the ground, then the front end shot up almost instantaneously and lifted the front tires off the ground. Then, inexplicable, the driver took off, front end in the air, knocking two security thugs to the ground as it sped by them and rocketed over the curb in the front. The driver nearly lost control as they made a right on Pharr headed toward Peachtree. The rear end spun out, sending the car into the street sideways. It was rising and falling at different angles as it tore up the road, beyond the fence, and out of sight.

How the fuck was I going to tell Joy? Wolf-man's goons had taken the Dre right out from underneath me. Damnit! If she had only answered the phone! I punched her number one more time as I walked out into the parking lot among the dazed onlookers. Still no answer; I didn't bother leaving a message; I had no way to explain. As bad as I thought I had it, Joy had it worse.

I would find out soon enough when she finally called me from behind the Southern Classic dry-cleaners and Martinizing, much further down on Roswell Road. When I managed to find her, I pulled around behind the building where I parked between the Dre and the side street, blocking it from view.

Oddly Joy was underneath the purple-blue nightmare. When she slid out, I gave her my hand to help her up. When she turned to me, even in the dim yellow sodium-lamp lighting blocked mainly by the pine trees lining the lot, I could see she was not herself, and my stomach sank.

Her face and neck were scratched terribly. She had been bleeding; there were spots all over her shirt. Her lower lip was swollen and bleeding, and her eye right eye was swollen. She looked like she had been used as a punching bag; the truth wasn't too far removed.

"I found it," she huffed.

"I couldn't get you. I could hear you, but you couldn't hear me. I don't know what the hell was going on."

She looked up at me with a look of near dismay. I held out my arms, and she fell against me and let me hold her. I ran my right hand up her back and into her thick, wild hanging hair, feeling gently for knots and cuts. Nothing too bad. She was sniffling a little. I pulled her away, but she didn't want to look me in the face, so I drew her back in and let her relax a moment or two more before letting the tailgate down on the Cruiser and sitting her there. I had to hear what happened. No getting around this.

"Well?" I asked.

Joy shook her head, still not looking at me.

"I saw them, saw Sasha and everyone drive up in that horror show. I ran down there, but those security punks kept me back, but I was yelling Sasha's name. She came over and glared at me and said I would be sorry for double-crossing her. That's about the time you called. I didn't know what the hell was going on, but it only took a minute or two to figure it out."

She glanced over at the Dre and then back to me.

"I hate that fuckin' clown car, by the way. Stupid piece of shit with all these levers. I didn't get it straightened out until about a quarter mile down the damn road. I had to hang my head out of the window to see!"

I had to laugh, having seen her hasty exit.

Joy tugged at her blood-stained shirt and wiped the front of her pants once more.

"Lean over here into the light and let me get a look at you," I said, pulling her under the rear dome light of the Cruiser.

Her lip had definitely been busted, and her face and temple had a reasonably bad abrasion. I held her chin as gently as I could and tilted her head. She would definitely get a black eye. It was bruising already. Her nose had bled but did not feel broken, but it was tender to the touch.

"We've got to get you home and get some ice on you," I insisted.

"Come on," I said, lifting her to her feet.

She pushed off of me stubbornly.

"Not so fast," she insisted.

"We've got to find that Steve Wolfman asshole; he's got Sasha's car, and without it, I'm fucked, Nick."

She looked crushed. She kept running her tongue around the inside of her mouth, then turning away to spit. All very ladylike.

"All this fucking work for nothing. I'm going to get that son-of-a bitch."

"Joy, that son-of-a-bitch was at the club."

She looked at me in astonishment and tried to swallow without it hurting. She had to tell me. I couldn't look at her like that anymore.

"What the hell happened?" I asked.

"Not now, Nick, I'm trying to think," she said, turning away from me and leaning one hand on the Cruiser.

My mind raced. Not this time. It wasn't going to be her way. Well, probably it would, but I was going to get my answers, or I was through, at least I was going to say so.

"Bullshit," I said, taking her hand to pull her back into the light.

She snatched her hand from me and tried to step away.

"Joy, can you please tell me what happened? This is ridiculous. How can you even think when you're like this. We need to get you home."

"I can't, Nick!" She spun and yelled at me.

"I've got too much riding on this!"

There were tears in her eyes. I knew they were likely tears of frustration, but they still tugged at my heart. Damnit. That was a dirty card to pull.

"Fuck it, fine," I said, stepping back and closing the tailgate and rear hatch of the Cruiser.

"Let's get you home at least."

"Fuck! Nick, I can't. I've got to tail that asshole and see where he's staying!"

I was seething mad just looking at her. I climbed back inside the Cruiser and started it up.

"I'll do it. Go home and keep your goddamned phone on."

I pulled away without giving her a chance to answer. This, whatever it was with her, it was never going to work out. She didn't listen, didn't trust me, I don't know. It was maddening. I couldn't believe I was about to drive back down to that dick fest. I was tired and hungry again. It seemed I had been hungry every day since meeting Joy.

Had one more fucking car to go; now two and very little time left. I told her not to leave that shitty little Maserati in the fucking parking lot, but she wouldn't listen, would never listen. Joy knew it all, goddamnit. Almost immediately, she was calling me. I glanced down at my phone and saw her name I had programmed in. Usually, it gave me butterflies, but it just made me angry right then. I threw the phone in the floor and sped on back to Buckhead.

Sunday 2:09 AM

I waited in the parking lot of a hair salon on the opposite corner of the road from Tu Tu Tango. I was sure I had dozed off more than once in the two hours I had been there but had to wait until they came out, and they would. I just knew they would, and I would dutifully follow them to where ever the hell it was they were staying and see if I could find that damn Maserati.

The club closed at two. I had seen a couple of the fat-headed bouncer staff turning late-night revelers away. The place was still full, but people began filing out in a slow trickle at first, but soon it became impossible to spot anyone individually. And oh yeah, I had to have dozed off. There were two black limousines parked along the side of the building not too far from where the Dre had been sitting. Then movement in the parking lot caught my eye. And there it was, the land yacht of a Monte Carlo. Jackpot.

I fired up the Cruiser and left the lights off, waiting for those idiots to pull out into the street. They were trying to escape but were stymied by the throng of revelers. I watched them inching forward for what had to be five minutes. All the while, the two limos had backed quietly down to the end of the building and picked Mystic, Sasha, and the rest of their clown posse.