Relentless

At least I didn't have to worry about any drama. I nodded at the driver. "Wait here, I'll be right back out and you can take me to the Divinity Hotel over on 19th Street."

"No problem." He started tapping away on his phone and from the guilty hunch of his shoulders, I was pretty sure it was about me.

Screw it. If meeting me was the high point of his day, he'd had a pretty boring day. I shook my head as I headed up the walk.

I dug my keys out, which took longer than usual because I had a fucking brick in my purse with them. I couldn't get the key in the damn lock.

Damn, I was tired. Couldn't anything just go right? I held my keys up and looked at them to make sure I was using the right one. Then tried again.

Nope.

I looked closer and then looked at the lock. It was new. Not even the same brand as my key. I peered through the window. Right furniture, right stereo.

That son of a bitch. He'd changed the fucking locks to keep me out of the house I paid the rent on. I pounded on the door, my overloaded purse thumping against my side.

Nothing. No motion at all.

I pulled the brick out of my purse and studied it. Edith Johansson, the landlady, would understand; I'd just call her and let her know. Of course, I ended up leaving a voicemail because she never picked up her business phone after hours.

"Edith? You've probably seen what happened on the news. Everybody else has. Look, I have to get into my house and get some clothes before Justin gets back and starts some drama. So I'll pay you for the window, and that light fixture too. Sorry about everything. Oh, yeah, this is Ashley."

Conscience salved, I pulled the screen off the living room window. Maybe I could make a small hole, just big enough to reach through and unlock it. I tapped as gently as I could with the brick.

The whole window fell apart in a rain of shattered glass. I was sure that was some kind of a God-sent analogy for my life, but whatever it meant, it wasn't really at the top of my list of things to figure out. I unlocked the frame, raised it and carefully used the brick to clear the glass off the window ledge before crawling in.

Of course, I missed a sliver of glass stuck to the bottom of the frame, so I ended up with a damn river of blood running off my scalp onto my face. I was pretty sure it was a minor thing. Flight attendants have a lot of first aid training, so I knew cuts on the head bled like crazy. I grabbed a random white T-shirt Justin had lying on the couch and did my best to stop the bleeding.

For a moment, I stood in the living room and thought about my missing money. If Justin had taken it all out, he'd have to keep it somewhere. I thought about searching, maybe start with the freezer, but decided nobody would be that stupid. I just needed to get my stuff.

The damn stereo was blasting, the room was dark because the light fixture was gone, and I was tripping over something. I tossed the T-shirt as I caught my balance, then flicked on the nightstand lamp. I sighed and turned the damn stereo off.

I felt a sinking feeling as I heard an urgently whispering voice from the closed bathroom door.

"...come on, hurry! She's in the house. She's in the fucking bedroom!"

I looked down at the lime green thong panties that had wrapped around my shoeless foot. I was standing next to a metallic orange skirt and Justin's boxers and jeans.

I didn't actually have time to drop the brick before the Taser hit me.

Don't let anyone tell you that Tasers don't hurt like hell. If you've ever wondered, it feels like you're a puppet getting your strings cut. While getting a whole-body Charlie horse.

After the officer had me cuffed, I managed to glare at him. "I thought you were supposed to say something like 'freeze' before you do that."

He shrugged and pointed the bed. The bloody white shirt was lying on top of a bunched-up blanket. "It looked like you were beating someone to death with the brick."

I tried to ignore Justin and the skinny-ass green-haired bitch who crept out of the bathroom with him. That didn't last very long.

"I've got a restraining order on her because of what she did to my car. She's fucking crazy. You need to keep her ass locked up." Justin struggled to cover himself with a hand towel while the woman apparently had to make do with her own hands.

The officer shook his head. "You really need to stay away from him and his girlfriend."

"Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Which girlfriend? The fat one with the My Little Pony tattoos or the meth-y skank here with the 'It Ain't Gonna Spank Itself' tramp stamp?"

He turned and looked, choking back a chuckle at the sight. "Any of them. All of them."

"I really need to go to a clinic to get tested for STDs."

"You'll actually have to stay out of jail for a day or two to do that." He lowered his voice as he eyed her stringy green hair. "Seriously though, getting tested might be a good idea."

Justin double-checked to see that the cuffs were on before he stepped a bit closer. "Where's my car, you bitch?"

"Fuck you. I've been in jail until about an hour ago so whatever happened, it wasn't me. Asshole."

The officer firmly pushed us further apart. "Let's not do this right now."

Justin glared at me hatefully. "You need to arrest her for Grand Theft Auto. She stole my fucking car."

"Did you report it stolen?"

"Well, no. But..."

"Then how the hell can I arrest her for that?"

Justin stammered into silence as his Joker-wannabe girl snatched the T-shirt off the bed, then promptly dropped it once she saw all the blood on it.

*****

The other women in the jail pod stayed as far away from me as possible all night and I ignored the whispers.

As the officer led me out the next morning, one of them called out. "Go get him."

The officer looked back tiredly, then looked at me. "Please don't. Look, you're being released, okay? Your lawyer, the Blonde Tornado, hit this place first thing this morning. She's threatened a claim of police brutality for the Taser incident. Your landlady backs your story about you trying to get in and out without running into your husband; she even produced the recording. There's no restraining order because the request was based on you destroying his car and it turns out the car is actually in your name. And again, there's no actual law against doing that. Just remember though, you have a domestic violence charge pending, so if they refile based on that, they have a good shot at getting an order."

I really needed to call the public defender's office; it sounded like my court-appointed lawyer was going above and beyond. "Do you have the number for the public defender's office?"

He looked completely puzzled. "Why?"

"So I can call my lawyer; she's a public defender, right?"

"I've been here for ten years; I know every public defender and she isn't one of them. Hell, your lawyer wears suits that would cost a public defender half a year's salary."

I shut up. I had no idea if it was legal for someone to hire a lawyer for me without me knowing. Whoever it was, they kept getting my butt out of jail, so it was best to be quiet. He eyed me suspiciously but let it go.

The bike messenger was waiting, smiling from ear to ear.

It was a small box this time. One thousand dollars, a key card to the Hollywood Suite of the most expensive hotel in town -- with a receipt for two weeks paid for in advance. And the key to the Charger, wherever it was.

I thought it through and took the Uber directly to the hotel this time.

I spent the next four days catching my breath. I didn't have any clothes, but the silk hotel robe was just fine, and the hotel restaurants delivered incredible room service.

I watched bad movies, drank a few too many hotel bar daiquiris, and actually slept. A note from my lawyer arrived, announcing that my divorce was filed, and Justin had been served. I wondered at that since I'd never actually met the lawyer or filled out any paperwork, but I should have, so I was hardly going to argue about it.

I also had time to look over the news stories and memes I'd managed to generate. "Turbulence Ahead" was one of the least sensational ones. "Fasten Your Seatbelts" was accompanied by the cell phone picture of me with the cinderblock. And, apparently, my friendly Uber driver had taken a number of photos of me as I broke into my own house. With a brick.

To top it all off, under the title "Relentless," there was a delightful picture of me with blood running down my face while I stood in my living room with that brick in my hand. I looked... well, "unhinged" was probably too kind; but "maniacally homicidal" was a nice fit.

That really explained why the other women in the jail had treated me like a grenade with the pin out.

A phone call confirmed that my employment with Air Expanse was "temporarily suspended" pending the outcome of the domestic violence charge.

On day four, a message came up from the front desk.

My car was finished and waiting for me at "The Hellacious Body Shop." The hotel limousine service was at my disposal, of course.

With the message was a black and dark-red skirt outfit with a pair of cute-but-practical low-heeled pumps.

I thought about it for a while. Whoever was "helping" me obviously had their own agenda, but what the hell, they'd protected me so far.

The guy at the body shop was all smiles when I showed up. "I was honestly worried whether we could get this done on schedule, but it all kind of came together beautifully. Your lawyer came by and dropped off the new plates this morning when she settled the bill. I'd really appreciate if we could get a couple pictures of you with it. Be great for customers who aren't sure if we can capture their essence, if you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I'm the best choice for an advertisement."

He laughed. "You are for the type of people who go in for this kind of custom work. They love the bad girls."

Instead of the garage, he led me into their showroom.

It was the Charger of course, but she'd been repaired. Repaired wasn't even a good word for it. The damage I'd done was fixed, but there had been a lot more. Blacked-out headlights and taillights, tinted windows. The hot-red paint was gone, replaced with metallic-flake black cherry paint that was so perfect it felt like I could fall into it.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Hell, I hate to let it out of the showroom. We detailed the whole thing, made some minor tweaks to the engine for max horsepower out of that Hellcat engine and added a Cherry Bomb Extreme exhaust system. They'll hear you coming. It's technically legal, but just barely. Anyone gives you trouble, have them call us; we had an inspector check it."

I walked around the car and looked at the license plate. The JUSTN 88 plate was gone, replaced by one that read B4D GRL.

Bad Girl.

As I pulled out, I had to laugh. It had taken me a moment to catch on, but for his pictures, he'd seated me, very ladylike, on a stack of cinderblocks next to the car.

The loud growl of the engine was absolute music.

*****

If I had actually known who my lawyer was, I could have called her and asked how to get access to the house. As it was, I cruised by, looking carefully to see if there was any certain sign that Justin wasn't home.

There wasn't.

But there was a dying bonfire in the middle of a large burn mark in the front yard.

I stopped. A snakelike object just poking out of the singed area caught my attention. I tried to convince myself I was wrong.

He couldn't be that stupid.

I stopped, saying remarkably un-ladylike things under my breath.

He wouldn't.

I got out slowly and walked over to it. Once I was close enough to be sure, the un-ladylike litany was no longer under my breath. It was now quite loud and quite focused on Justin.

The purse strap was all that was left of one of my favorite purses. Enough was left in the debris for me to be pretty sure the asshole had burned every piece of clothing I owned, along with my purses and shoes. I could even make out the remains of my hair dryer and make-up case.

I glared at the house. "Justin! You son of a bitch!"

A rake lay on the ground next to the sidewalk, and I picked it up to see if I could salvage anything, but it was hopeless.

The staccato chirp of a police siren caught my attention and I turned to see a cruiser pulling up. The officer got out tiredly, speaking into his radio. He shook his head. "Let's do this. Turn around."

"What am I being arrested for this time?" I was already turning though and putting my hands behind me.

"We've seen it all before. You can't burn your husband's stuff in the yard. Even if he is a complete asshole."

I started to argue but decided I knew the drill by now. Once they got me to the station, I'd be able to make a statement, then they'd look into it. But their first priority wasn't my comfort or even justice; it was making sure whatever was going on didn't escalate. Trying to argue it out now would only make things worse.

"Can someone move my car? I don't want to leave it here."

"I can see that; somebody might put a cinderblock through the window or something. With your permission, I can get someone to move it." He looked over at it. "There will probably be an argument over who gets to do it. Where do you want it to go?"

I thought about that for a second. "Hellacious Body Shop. Tell them I'll be back for it."

He chuckled as if he didn't believe me.

*****

Another night staring at the pod door. The women who had been there a while warned the new girls to stay the fuck away from me. Not that most of them needed the warning. That picture of me covered in blood with the brick in hand seemed to be everywhere.

It was almost six in the evening before they out-processed me. A female officer gave me my clothes and took me to change before heading up.

"So, turns out that the couple across the road has a Ring camera, and it clearly shows that your husband, not you, burned the stuff."

"He burned MY stuff. Has he been arrested?"

"That would be a civil matter."

"Okay. So why was I arrested in the first place if it's a civil matter?"

She shrugged. "You kind of have a pattern. So a twenty-four-hour hold was reasonable." She paused. "Look, nobody here thinks you're getting a good deal out of this. Nothing about this is fair, but we only have so much flexibility here. You've got a pending domestic assault charge hanging over you, and the way everything works, that puts you on the shitty end of everything. Your lawyer should have explained that to you; she sure as hell makes sure we follow the rules."

I didn't answer that; I didn't want to explain that I'd never even met my lawyer. Justin had sure as hell fucked me over though. No job, no clothes, no money. I fumed silently as we walked up to processing.

Ten minutes later, I was standing alone on the sidewalk holding that beautiful Cherry Bomb Louisville Slugger.

*****

"Ashley." I looked for the voice. Down the sidewalk sat my badass car; an attractive petite woman with a cute blonde bob haircut was standing next to it, dangling the keys from her forefinger. "I thought you might need this."

I walked over to her. "You must be my lawyer."

She smiled, a touch mechanically. "I am a lawyer. Not really your lawyer though. I'm here to keep my client out of trouble. But my client's interests do just happen to coincide with yours."

"Is there any point to asking who your client is?"

She shrugged, then shook her head. "Not really."

"So are you going to give me any legal advice, um...?"

"You can call me Amber. Standard legal advice would be for you to get in your car, go somewhere to kick back and stay out of trouble until your trial, hire yourself a competent lawyer, and make the best of things. But there is a very strong possibility that everything will work out much better for you if you ignore the standard legal advice and just do what you really want to right now."

I glanced down at the message on my cell phone and raised an eyebrow at her. She just smiled, a bit more humanly, and gave a single tilt of her head.

I reached over and took the keys from her. "Thank you for everything."

"It's been a pleasure. I'd best be going, there are things that an officer of the court can't really be a party to."

*****

I cleaned up at the hotel and wasn't even surprised that a very nice club outfit was already sitting on my bed when I got there. A mini dress in black "wet look" leather with a pair of matching low-heel dancing shoes. The dress fit like a fucking glove.

Dead at nine o'clock, I pulled up right in front of the club. The line to get in was a mile long, but the bouncer grinned and pointed to me as soon as I handed my keys to the valet and waved me up to the front. He gave a slight smirk at the bat tucked under my arm but didn't say a word.

One of the women near the front of the line looked like she was going to say something to the bouncer, but she stopped when she noticed the bat, then recognition dawned. She smiled at me instead, then started frantically typing away on her phone.

I stalked through the doors, searching the crowd. Justin had to be here. That had to be why I was here.

The place was just starting to fill, and it didn't take me long to find the asshole. He was holding court with a half dozen skanks at a table, and he didn't see me until I was almost on top of him.

I slammed the bat down on the table. "Hey, asshole."

He looked up in shock.

I spun the bat around my hand. "We need to talk."

He shoved backwards, his chair went over and he rolled to his feet, backing way frantically. "You can't be near me!"

I started around the table, as half-naked skanks scattered like cockroaches from the light. "Where's my grandmother's money, asshole?"

He looked over at one of the floor bouncers. The huge bald man nodded to me respectfully, turned and started walking away. I grinned.

Justin looked past me at the front door but decided his chances were better out the back. He turned and ran, but before he reached the hall to the bathrooms and the back exit, he suddenly slid to stop, scrambling for a second before falling on his butt.

At first I thought he'd slipped on a spilled drink, but he scrambled right back toward me, transfixed on a tall woman standing in his way. She had dark red hair, a black miniskirt and black mesh top that wasn't hiding a damn thing.

Before I could figure out what the hell was going on, he screamed "Fuck!" and leapt past me, sprinting for the door.

She stared after him unblinkingly. I couldn't be certain because of the music, but I thought I heard a low husky voice purr, "Run, Motherfucker. Run."

I glanced back and caught a glimpse of the woman before dashing after him. She just stood hipshot with a vicious predatory smile.

The valet hadn't even parked my car, he was standing outside waiting for me with the keys in hand.

My phone buzzed with a message, and I stared at the address.

Home base.

*****

A rental car was parked askew in the driveway. I assumed it was Justin's. Paid for with my money, of course.

I parked the Charger in front of the house, grabbed my bat and headed in.

He was in the bedroom frantically shoving clothes into a suitcase and barely gave me a glance when I walked in.

"Hey, Asshole."

He looked up, shook his head once, and kept stuffing clothes in.

I shifted the bat and walked towards him, I was going to get his fucking attention one way or another.

Then she walked in and I froze.

She was even taller than I'd thought. She was probably as tall as Justin in bare feet, but she was wearing four-inch heels. She gave me a smile that made me shiver, a tingling rush running down my body.

A tiger had walked into the room.