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...
His hair was a fashionable black and gray, silver rather and cropped short to his head and slicked with some expensive hair wax no doubt. His features were sharp, but aged as if perhaps a facelift had occurred some years earlier. His skin was pallid and almost too tight yet wrinkled upon instances of overt expression which Davenwood was careful not to let happen often.
"That is what I do. I live in the shadows," he continued.
The fits and misgivings of my talent are my responsibility. I keep them quiet and life outside of the paid media propagandists appears tranquil. It is what I do. I have built a career of it and have no intention of losing it now."
He was obviously frustrated and was trying his best to hide it. He didn't want to be there, that was obvious. He had something to say it was just a matter of if Joy could coax it out him confidently enough to gain whatever job he had in mind. She glanced over at me raising her glass to a drink. I raised mine as well and watched as she took a proper sip, leaving a red imprint on the clear glass which she turned to rest closest to her.
"On the phone you said you needed my help but I'm not sure what I can do for you," she said flatly.
"I can tell you what you can do for me," he snapped quietly, instantly losing his aristocratic cool but just as quickly snatching it right back from the ether.
"You can collect a specific list of vehicles for me."
He took another drink, a longer one, didn't wipe his mouth this time. He reached into his coat and pulled a single piece of note paper folded in half and put it on the table and pushed it to Joy.
She opened the note and read for a moment.
"I understand the list seems exotic but I've never had a problem picking up exotic cars before. They all operate by the same mechanical principles," she quipped self assuredly.
Davenwood looked like a man with a leaky faucet having to listen to a lecture from a rookie plumber.
"My dear, I am well acquainted with your talents which is why you were sought out in the first place, what I need is discretion, secrecy even. In the parlance of our times what we have here is a hot potato, several to be exact."
He composed himself, took another drink and patted the corners of his mouth again. He glanced over to me momentarily. I was stoic, stared him directly in the eye. He turned back to Joy who pushed the list back to him.
"As we speak here in this," he paused glancing around, "saloon Mr. Pete Mystic Seer Whelan is in the process of going bankrupt. The penniless little bastard has amassed quite a collection of automobiles in his short tenure in the limelight. He may have all of the talent and charm in the world but what he lacks is a basic modicum of understanding of mathematics. It is the charge of Davenwood Management to insure such people are protected from the ravages of their own intelligence. Do you follow me Ms.?"
"Nuvolari," Joy conceeded.
"Does this make sense Ms. Nuvolari?" He asked.
"Yes, it does."
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