The Last JoyRide

Part 22

"Check out the brain on Nick, yes, sort of. They were part of a collection until yesterday. I was up late doing some research, and every car on our list belonged to a musician."

"No shit?"

"Yep. It seems our man Mystic has a method to his taste. He fancies himself a musician, so naturally, he wants his sugar daddy to help him collect musician's cars. Some of them on the list surprised the hell out of me. I'm not even sure Davenwood knew why he wanted these particular cars. I have to hand it to the little twerp; he has at least some good tastes."

"I can't wait to see the list now."

"Well, a musician is a damn stretch for some of these clowns, but millennials think many talentless jack-offs are musicians." Joy said, walking over to the older Porsche and patting the Targa top.

"This one, however, was a musician and a damn fine one too."

"Spill," I said, tiring of the game.

"Errol Brown." She said, waving her arms as if making a big reveal.

"Hot Chocolate?" I said, surprised.

"You got it, and this baby handles like you wouldn't believe. I'd take it over anything else I've ever driven, except for the other one. You'll never guess, so I'll just tell you it belonged to Puff Daddy or P Diddy, or Tweedle Diddy the wonder dummy, whatever the hell he goes by now."

She referred to the GT3, which looked to be a race car with only the slightest modifications to make it street legal for all intents and purposes.

"It's a lot of car. No way that ass-clown drove it anywhere; not practical. Still, practicality is not the strong suit of people in the music industry these days."

"I guess not," I agreed, running my hand along the bulging rear fender.

"Coffee, man! I need it!" She interrupted my thoughts and headed into the apartment.

I followed.

"So two down already?"

"Yep," she answered, back to me while she poured us mugs full of strong-smelling coffee.

"And I know what tipped that ass-clown Rogers off too."

"Who?"

"Wolf-man," she said, making an overemphasized ugly face as she passed my coffee.

"Yeah," I muttered, we definitely have to talk about that, but how did he get involved?"

"Sasha Winters," she said as coldly as I had heard her speak.

We sat at her kitchen table, and I listened while she detailed their entanglement. I shouldn't have expected anything less than a balled-up mess.

"She was always a nasty little bitch, but I had no idea she was also involved with our man Mystic."

"You're shittin' me?"

"No," she shook her head, reaching behind her for a magazine that she had folded open.

She tossed it down on the table between us.

It was a montage of Mystic at various venues around town and in Hollywood. Joy pointed out an attractive and shapely red-head arm in arm with Mystic in several pictures.

"I'm not sure how or why she got mixed up with that crowd, but I feel she had something to do with his car collection. You see, she was Steve's squeeze for a while."

"Wolfman's?"

"Yeah," she nodded.

"She was also fucking my husband, among other things."