Chapter Text
Chapter One: The Beast In Me
“Shut up, Johnny.”
I crumpled the wrapper and threw it onto the passenger seat. Sure, there was a cyber ghost sitting there, but it wouldn’t exactly land on his lap, now, would it?
“I’m not the one with a goddamn tampon up my nose,” he snorted, putting his ghost feet on my dash. If only he were real, so I could break his damn legs. Throw his stupid ass boots out the window.
He did have a point, though. The intimidating, big-bad-dyke look I worked so hard to maintain was sullied by the cotton nugget staunching my bloody nose. The string was tickling my lips. The blood was already starting to crust around my nostril. I rolled my eyes at myself in the rear-view. My freaky yellow eyes and my tampon nose.
“These things are made to suck up blood, dipshit.” I turned the key in my ignition and the trusty Delemain Jr. rumbled to life. Maybe I shouldn’t swear so much in front (inside, I guess) of my car son. “I’d rather not show up to whatever this job is with more stains on my shirt than necessary.”
Johnny Silverhand’s stupid, bastard face snorted again. “Pretty sure that one was mayonnaise.”
“Shut up, Johnny.”
Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped by the time I pulled up to the garage in lil ol’ Santa Domingo. I wrapped the used tampon in a napkin and threw it and the wrapper into a fast-food bag. Then I used another napkin and my spit to clean up my face a little. First – well, second – impressions were important.
I hadn’t expected Claire to call. Or even remember me, from the one night we had met. I distinctly remember thinking she was hot, but I hadn’t made a move, save for some banter. Too nervous, and Jacky’s charm was more interesting than my fidgety ass. Anxious about the “big leagues” and all that other delusional shit.
I’m such a fuckin’ gonk.
But whatever. Claire’s invitation to meet was a welcome distraction to the gaping hole in my heart and the various cyberpsycho encounters I had been actively engaging with for Regina. The last one had been pretty easy to subdue, but damn, that bitch could punch. Hence the nose, the tampon, and Johnny’s snickering.
He was thankfully absent as I walked in. I scanned the area for the standard stuff – exits, people, etc. Just as I suspected: a garage. Nothing particularly heinous.
A grunt came from nearby. “Oh, come on, baby,” a woman sighed. There, underneath that behemoth of a truck. My eyebrow quirked.
“Uh, Claire?”
“Under the rig!” She called, hands still working on the mechanical guts.
I leaned against a workbench and watched as she tinkered on her back, legs poking out. “Hey, Claire. Helluva machine.”
The Afterlife’s favorite bartender rolled out on her creeper seat and heaved herself up. “Hm, you know your shit, and you’ve got good taste.” She wiped her hands on her undone overalls before leaning against the car. “Meet Beast,” Claire smirked, one hand on her hip. “My pride and joy.” The satisfaction in her voice was not lost on me. “There’s beer in the fridge if you want any.” She gestured with a tilt of her head and my eyes flicked briefly to the minifridge in the corner, softly humming with electricity.
Beer was not my thing, but it was nice of her to offer. “Thanks.” I met her eyes, appreciating the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “So what’s this about?”
She looked me up and down and studied me for half a beat. “I need a driver.” She gestured vaguely in my direction. “Thought you might do.”
“Driver, huh? With you as my navigator?” Driving was simple enough, and she made the right choice picking a Nomad. Well, ex-Nomad. Though chauffeuring was usually lower stakes than my regular work. Unless she was planning, you know, a heist. She shook her head.
“Nah, not exactly. This kinda racin’ involves drivers and gunners.”
Ah. Racing.
“So,” I crossed my arms, “you a turret guru or a driver’s ed dropout?”
“I’m more of an engine tuner – good at it, too.” A hint of a smirk colored her voice. “And I shoot, but I’m not rally racer. I trust you’re capable behind the wheel?”
I chuckled. “You know, any other Nomad might take offense to that. But yeah, been drivin’ since I could reach the peddles. This won’t be your first time out, will it?”
Claire snorted, though it wasn’t aggravating like Johnny’s sardonic snorts. “Don’t worry. Done my fair share a’ rounds.” I didn’t doubt it – she oozed an admirable air of confidence and take-no-shit. An aura, Misty would say. A badass aura.
I smirked. “And your last driver? They quit?”
Ah shit, I said something wrong. Evident by sudden tension in the air and the way the hand that wasn’t on her hip clenched into a fist. She looked around the shop – at anything but me. “In a way,” she said softly. Terse. “Died in a race a year back.”
Good information to know. I still felt like an ass for bringing it up. In an effort not to say anything stupid, I let the silence hang around for a beat as I thought it over. A dangerous race, eh? With Claire packing iron and me behind the wheel. Definitely different than my other gigs. “Sure,” I said, standing up straight, arms still crossed. “Why the hell not. I’ll be your driver.”
Claire perked up immediately and started gesticulating animatedly. “Okay, we got four races. First one’s in City Center. That’ll be followed by the Badlands and Santo, then Watson to finish.”
Her excitement was palpable, and I couldn’t help but smile. “There a carrot we’re chasin’ after?” If pretty women alone could pay the rent, I would be set. But, alas, Nibbles needed food and I needed money to buy it with.
“First place gets a payout. That happens, we split it fifty-fifty. Sound fair?” She gave me another appraising look.
I nodded. “Got goosebumps already. When do we start?” Only a few gigs scheduled for the next week or so – another call could come in at any time, however. And if it was another fixer begging me to buy a car, I was going to drive said car off a cliff.
Claire explained the qualifying ladder we needed to climb in order to reach the finals: top three in at least two rallies. I wasn’t cocky, I didn’t know if I could promise first place every damn race. But I would definitely give it my all, and top three was doable. Very doable. In fact, the idea of flying down the road, burning some rubber, the thrill of speed… I was giddy already. It was also a chance to spend time with someone other than a fixer, Misty, Vik, or the insufferable prick that lived in my head.
They were set to meet in City Center for the first race. “I’ll snap you the specifics. Hear the roar of overtuned monsters – that’s the place,” she grinned with an excited revelry.
I laughed and shook her hand before pulling away and heading to the door. “I’ll see you there.”
“V?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s blood on your chin.”