Her foot is on the pedal and her head is in the stars. Joy was a Bettie Page styled hottie on a mission. After a chance encounter with Nick Joy finds a kindred spirit but is she just too much for him to handle?
Hang on tight, this girl drives as...
She was still on the bike when I pulled up to the garage and opened the door. She tip-toed the Ducati inside as I closed the door behind her.
"No kickstand," she said, handing me her helmet.
"We can't just stand it up against a wall; these damn things tend to walk, and if one of these fairings gets smashed, it's probably thousands."
I looked around and saw nothing useful, then remembered the moving blankets in the back of the Cruiser. I dashed out to get them and returned, covering the side of the GT3 with two blankets folded in half. The blankets would protect the fenders while keeping the bike pinned safely between the cars. I then got the keys to Brown's Porsche and pushed it alongside the other, leaving an awkward v wedge between the two Porsches. Joy shrugged but pushed the bike over between the cars until the handlebars could move no more. It couldn't go anywhere and barely left her enough room to dismount.
"I guess that'll do for now," she said, shaking her head and unzipping her leather suit.
I could feel my lower lip quivering but maintained composure.
"Up next is the Eddie Van Halen." She said, smiling.
"What do you mean, like Eddie Van Halen's car?" I asked excitedly.
"Damn, this thing is hot," she complained, struggling to get her legs out of the suit.
I let her steady herself on my shoulder as she continued to peel clothing off. To my dismay, there were only underwear, boy shorts, and a tee-shirt underneath. I was all for a working relationship, but I couldn't help but feel she was rubbing it in. It wasn't fair to be tested like this.
"Yep, exactly. One of Eddie's cars anyway. A 1969 Lamborghini Muria. That damn thing should stand out like a sore thumb too. It's probably three-quarters of a million dollars alone just for the provenance."
She placed her hands on her hips and let out a deep triumphant breath at the removal of the tracksuit.
"Well, let's go; where the hell is it?"
"I don't know. I mean, I know where it is as of last night, but it'll be tough to get. I was going to park and tail it today. We can pick it up wherever it ends up. I may have to hotwire it. It shouldn't be too bad, no real steering locks or anything like that. Just have to figure out where it's going."
She stepped out of the piled suit, hefted it over her shoulder, then snatched her boots up and led me into her apartment. She disappeared behind the racks of clothes and began rummaging.
"So far, all the Spot trackers have been active. They're only good to me for static GPS coordinates."
"Okay, in English?"
"Meaning," she continued, "I don't use their system, obviously, so I can only check the vehicle's location from a computer. I don't have their hand-held system or even their application. It will give me a single location or GPS coordinates to said vehicle. We get nada if the car's on the move, only when she's sitting still."
"Parked?" I reiterated.
"Yeah, for at least fifteen minutes."
I was enjoying the coolness of the air in her apartment for a moment when she brushed by me. She had done my favorite white tee shirt and blue jean combo.
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