Page 22 of Kodiak

“Those fuckers bent my rim,”Demi complains as we drive out of the impound lot. “I should sue the towing company that picked up my car.”

“It was a police contracted company, Demi,” I remind her. “They’re protected against any lawsuits.”

“There has to be a loophole somewhere,” she drones. When she gets worked up, there’s no talking any sense into her.

“It’s not that bad,” I excuse, trying to soothe her irritation.

“Not that bad!” she shouts. “Can’t you feel the way my front end is wobbling?”

I bite my lip because you can clearly feel the way the car is driving. It’s not smooth like it should be, but I don’t think that the rim will have to be replaced. I’m sure they could bang it back into its original shape.

“I think it could be repaired, Demi.”

“How? I’ll have to replace it and these babies aren’t factory made,” she asserts. “I had them custom made.” She lovingly pats the dashboard. “They make my baby beautiful.”

I roll my eyes because sometimes, she’s just ridiculous. But, I understand to a point because she’s had to work her ass off for everything she’s got. Her car and all the special modifications was one of the first things she bought for herself after driving beater cars for years.

“There’s a place around the corner from my apartment that has excellent reviews,” I tell her. “We can drop it off and walk home. We won’t know how bad it is until we have a professional look it over.”

“How do you know they have excellent reviews?” she asks.

“Because I need to get a new set of tires myself and started looking up places with four stars or higher,” I acknowledge. “I’ve been saving to get some all-terrain because of the fact that I need to start traveling to further places for my upcoming signings.”

“Fine, we’ll do that,” she grumbles. Then she perks up and says, “I can always start traveling with you as your personal assistant!”

Fear grips me at the thought. Demi is awesome and I’m the first to admit that fact, but as the bar fight proves, she’s extremely protective of me. All it would take is one reader or author treating me poorly in her eyes and I’d be blackballed from the industry faster than some people change their socks. I’ve worked too hard to see my career get flushed down the toilet because of her shenanigans.

“We’ll talk about it later. For now, let’s get your car taken care of and get the stench of being in jail washed off our skin,” I say, redirecting our conversation.

“Whatever,” she harrumphs, side-eying me. “I know what you’re doing, you know.”

“What? What am I doing?” I ask, using my innocent voice and widening my eyes.

She sighs before answering, “Avoiding confrontation. It’s what you do when you want to tell somebody no but don’t want to talk about it.”

“I do not,” I state, aghast. “Why would I say no to your offer when you’re one of the most organized people I know? My flabber is ghasted that you would say this to me!”

“Because you know I’ll whoop somebody’s ass if they upset you,” she imparts.

“Then you already know, so why are you even asking?” I probe, biting my thumb because she is right about the nonconfrontation thing. I’d prefer to avoid upsetting anyone if possible, especially my best friend.

“Stop chewing on yourself, you crazy lady. We can give it a test run and see what happens.”

She’s already made up her mind and there’s going to be no dissuading her. I’m gonna have to hire Marcum to be security for my readers. He’ll have to guard them from her if things go sideways and she thinks someone is disrespecting me or trying to take advantage of my “kindness” seeing as shealwayssays I’m too giving and need to think about how much I’m spendingin table fees, swag, paperbacks, banners, and other signing essentials.

“Demi, you know you’d have to slow your roll when it comes to how you interact with my readers and the other authors,” I tell her. “Because while I appreciate how protective you are over me, if what happened at the bar occurred at a signing? I’d be blacklisted and this is my bread and butter.”

She glares at me, taking her eyes off the road until I smack her arm so she pays attention once again. Thank goodness, because the wobbly tire coupled with those rumble strips on the shoulder have me feeling queasy once again. When she pulls into the parking lot of the tire place and parks, I get out, knowing our conversation isn’t over just yet. Stomping away from me toward the office, I sigh then get out and follow her. Hopefully, she keeps her cool so we don’t find ourselves back in jail.

Once she’s advised the service technician of the problem and handed over her keys, she grabs me by the arm and pulls me back outside, where she slams her hands on her hips and starts tapping her foot. Great. She’s worked herself into a full head of steam and there’s no way to avoid whatever she’s about to spew.

“Do you really think I’d risk your career?” she hisses at me, one hand coming out to point a long, bony finger in my face. “Seriously? It’s like you don’t even know me!”

“Demi, where did we just spend the past few days?” I calmly ask. “It sure as hell wasn’t the Hilton. No, it was injail,” I retort. “Because of a bar fight thatyoustarted due to that bitch being a…,”

She cuts me off and says, “A cuntasaurus rex. No one disses my girl.”

“Don’t you think me puking on her put her in her place, though?” I question. “Besides, I think you just proved my point.”

---