Page 84 of Precious Hazard

“I see… Tara, we’ll catch up some other time, okay? I’ll call you—”

“No, you won’t.” I avoid another of Tara’s attempts to inflict bodily harm upon me. “Now, get lost.”

“And you calledmea savage, DeVille?” Tara snaps while trying to wriggle free. “Where are those civilized manners of yours, that impeccable behavior you take so much pride in?”

“I’m wondering about that, too.” A glance down the hall confirms that the oil brat is out of sight, so I lower my wife to the ground.

“Get bent, DeVille!”

The moment her feet touch the marble tile, she dashes toward the exit as fast as her heels can carry her, furiously click-click-clacking through the vacant corridor. The cakey-hair-tower on her head hasn’t held up to all the commotion, and it’s sagging, slightly askew. One of the iridescent peacock feathers appears to have been lost somewhere along the way.

A doorman in a flashy uniform stands back as far as he can, holding the heavy door open and watching her march past him. I bet he’s seen a lot of furious women storm out of the venue before.

“Wishing you the best of luck, sir.” He tips his head at me with a look of solidarity in his eyes. A fellow sufferer, it seems.

I step out of the building just in time to see Tara with her hand on the door of a taxi, ready to slip into the car. The elegantly dressed couple who must have just arrived in that cab is already climbing the hotel stairs.

“Tara,” I warn her, allowing my voice to carry over the hum of the city and across the half a dozen or so yards separating us.

She lifts her free hand, offering me her perfectly manicured middle finger.

I rush down the stone steps as panic surges inside me. We still don’t know who’s behind that attack on the road or the reason for it in the first place. Even now, culprits could be lying in wait, waiting for another opportunity to strike. And my wife is getting into an unknown fucking taxi! I am less than ten feet from her when she slams the car door practically in my face. The next second, the vehicle pulls away from the curb with a loud rumble.

“Tara!” I yell, but the taxi is already weaving through the New York traffic.

Damn that woman!I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, enraged and terrified all at the same time, glaring at the cab’s receding lights. My car is parked in an underground garage, about a block from here. By the time I get it, who knows where that hellion will be. That’s also assuming the cab driver isn’t some psychotic killer.Fuck!

The blast of a horn behind me jars me from my spiraling thoughts. I look over, finding that another taxi has pulled up. That’ll do.

I sprint to the driver’s side and throw open the door. “Out!”

A man in his midfifties gapes at me as his hands tighten on the wheel. “What?”

Oh, for the love of God. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him out of the car. Buddy even proves himself helpful by unbuckling the seatbelt.

Damn, damn that woman.

As soon as I slide behind the wheel, I hit the gas.

I’m thankful the gala this year was held at a hotel in the Financial District and not in Midtown. But even at this late hour, traffic is still a bitch. I switch lanes, trying to close the gap with Tara’s taxi, but my efforts might be futile. As the street light changes before me, I cut off a shiny town car to get ahead, and the driver lays on the horn before flipping me off.

That’s two tonight, but it’s not the birds I’m chasing. I need to catch up to my wildcat before she completely disappears from sight.

“Oh, dear. Did we miss the turn?” a high-pitched voice chirps behind me.

Slowly, I look into the rearview mirror. An elderly lady in a thick brown fur coat and with a dead fox wrapped around her neck stretches in the back seat.

“I must have dozed off. It’s so difficult to stay awake this late into the night at my age, you know?” She gives me a motherly smile. “But that’s alright, my boy, you can just go around the block.”

Fucking great. Not only did I steal a fucking cab, but apparently, I’ve also kidnapped someone’s grandma in the process.

“We’re taking a shortcut.” I step on the gas.

The taxi my wife used to make her escape is only a couple of vehicles ahead. I remember that big dent on the rear bumper.

“It must be stressful working as a cab driver here in New York,” the old lady continues. “Especially for a foreigner. Have you been here long, Bjorn?”

What?

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