Page 43 of No Romeo
I swept a nest of crumpled napkins out of the way, sank into the driver’s seat, then dismantled the steering column, quickly pulling out wires. Sparks lit up the dusty interior. The engine whirred to life, sending the potent stench of mildew wafting from the air-conditioner vents.
“Good,” he said. “Now get out.”
“Shut your mouth and get in the passenger side.”
“You can’t drive Hendrix. Your license is suspended.”
“Like I give a shit.”
“It’s safer to ride with a blind drunk than with you.”
I snatched the seatbelt and buckled myself in
“Get out.” Bellamy kicked his boot against the side of my seat.
The floodlight to Nikki’s house cut on, followed by the bang of a screen door. Mr. Wright barreled onto his porch in a pair of tighty-whiteys, a beer can in one hand and a shotgun in the other.
If I was going down in a hail of gunfire, it was going to be over something epic like robbing a bank of millions while getting a blowjob from Lola. Not stealing a piece of shit Camaro from Nikki Salami Tits Wright’s yard.
“You sons of bitches!” Nikki’s dad shouted from the back porch, aiming his gun.
Bellamy launched himself over the hood, clamoring for the passenger door while I shifted the gear into drive. “Go, Hendrix! Go!” His ass barely touched the seat before I pressed the accelerator to the floor.
The impressive engine roared to life like a jungle cat, tires spun, and the car skidded across the yard just as the bang of gunfire sounded.
A bullet pinged the back of the car.
I drove full force toward the chain-link fence. He fired again. Literal sparks ignited when the bullet hit the side panel. “Holy fuckballs, man! I thought you said he had bad aim?”
I skirted onto the road, and Wolf peeled off with a screech of tires and smoke lifting in the glow of the taillights.
Another bullet whizzed through the air. I checked the dirty rearview just as Nikki’s dad hooked it onto the street with his can of beer and shotgun. He stopped in the middle of the road, taking a sip as he buried the buttstock in his gut and aimed.
I veered off into a yard, plowing through a village of garden gnomes. Colorful shards of pottery flew into the air.
“Seriously, Bell. That’s bad aim?”
“Shut up and drive, you dick.”
After flattening an inflatable Wal-E-Mart pool, I fishtailed it onto the two-lane highway that ran through Dayton and opened the old car up. What could be better than barreling down a deserted country road at eleven o’clock at night in a candy-apple red Z28 with a massive decal spelling out “Screamin’ Demon” across the windshield?
Aside from having Lola’s warm lips wrapped around my cock while I was doing it? Not a damn thing.
Bellamy socked me in the shoulder. “This is why you can’t drive.”
“Can’t drive?” I snorted, then put the car into fourth gear and laid on the accelerator. “Looks like driving to me, cocksucker.”
Huffing, he shook his head. “We’re going to jail.”
“Eventually.” Nothing was more certain in Dayton than death and jail time.
Tires squealed when I hooked it around a hairpin turn, and Bellamy, like the little, scared-of-getting-shot-at diva he was, held onto theoh-shithandle.
The car fishtailed just as an entire police department’s-worth of flashing red and blue lights appeared in the distance. Right where Tony’s garage was.
I let off the gas, watching as Wolf cut into the 7-11 parking lot. “Oh, fuckballs, man. Maybe we are going to jail.”
Police were everywhere, and I was in the driver’s seat of a stolen car. Jerking the wheel, I took a hard turn into the unlit Catfish Cabin lot and spun the car around with a squeal of tires. I jumped out like the damn thing was seconds away from going up in a ball of fire, then took off.
