Teddy chomped on his cigar and chuckled, turning his back to the guy.
“Hey, sir, we’re leaving,” Jeff said in a conciliatory tone. “Just taking a few minutes to have a cigar. We don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“You’ve already caused enough,” the manager said. “Now get in your car and leave.”
At this, Teddy whipped around, stomped over to the manager, and got right in his face.
“What’s your problem, bro?” Teddy shouted as Jeff tried to pull him off. “We’re not bothering anybody out here. You already ruined our dinner. Do you know who my father is?”
The manager, who was about five inches shorter than Teddy, drew himself up to his full height.
“I don’t care who your father is,” he said slowly and loudly. “I care about my customers. And you ruined your own dinner.”
Teddy reared back and shoved the man, hard. The manager stumbled backward and landed on his butt on the gravel driveway.
“Whoa, whoa,” Jeff said, pulling Teddy away. “C’mon, man. C’mon. We don’t need you to get arrested.”
“Like this asshole would call the cops on me,” Teddy said. He spit on the ground.
The valets helped the manager to his feet.
“You’re banned from this restaurant, kid,” he said, his teeth gritted. “Don’t bother coming back to Baxley’s.”
“My father has a standing reservation,” Teddy shot back. “I’ll be back tomorrow if I want.”
Jeff looked at me urgently. “C’mon, Naomi,” he said. “Let’s get in the car. Teddy, let’s get in the car. We’re all getting in the car. I can drive.”
“I’m driving!” Teddy roared. “I’m the only one who drives this car!”
“Okay, buddy, okay,” Jeff said. “No worries, man. Let’s just get back to Delilah’s house.”
“I’ll take a cab, I think,” I said. One thing was clear: Teddy was still drunk, and I did not want to get in a car with him.
“You’ll get out of here immediately,” the manager said. “With them.”
It didn’t seem like I had much of a choice.
“Delilah,” Teddy muttered as we all got in the car. “Adriana DeStefano’s probably, like, wearing her skin by now. All Silence of the Lambs and shit. You seen Silence of the Lambs, Naomi?”
“No,” I said quietly. I kept thinking about what my dad had taught me: Never get in the car with a drunk driver. Call me. I’ll come pick you up. I won’t be mad. But my dad was far away now, and I wasn’t even sure where my mother was.
“You gotta watch Silence of the Lambs,” Teddy said over the noise of the engine. He gunned it and screeched out of the restaurant’s driveway. I fell back against the seat.
“Easy, bro,” Jeff said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Teddy shrugged it off.
“You telling me how to drive now, man?” Teddy asked.
“’Course not,” Jeff said. “We all know what a great driver I am.” Teddy cackled.
“Naomi!” he boomed, suddenly in good spirits again. “This guy ever tell you how many times he failed his road test?”
“No, he sure didn’t,” I said, gripping my knees. I’d been in a car with a speeding Teddy once before, but this time he was weaving back and forth a little bit as well.
“Three times!” Teddy yelled, laughing. “Three times!”
“Wow,” I said. “Three times. Well, I don’t even have my driver’s license.”
“How do you get around?” Teddy asked.
“I walk,” I said.
He thought that was the most amusing thing he’d ever heard.
“She walks!” he said to Jeff, laughing. “I love this chick! She’s hilarious!”
“She’s pretty funny,” Jeff said, smiling at me. I ignored him. I just wanted this night to be over already. More than anything else, I wanted to get home, call Skags up, and debrief her about the insane turn things had taken.
“If that psycho bitch is at Delilah’s house when we get back, I’m calling the cops,” Teddy vowed.
“I hear you, man,” Jeff said. “I just don’t know what they’d arrest her for.”
“Lying!” Teddy boomed. “Misleading honorable citizens!” He drove through a stop sign, and a car swerved to miss hitting him.
After a couple more minutes on Route 27, Dr. Zazzle’s billboard came into view. There was a commotion underneath it. In the twilight hour, it was a little hard to see what exactly what happening, but the flashing lights up ahead were unmistakable.
“Slow down, man, slow down!” Jeff said suddenly. “There are cops over there!”
Teddy laid on the brakes, and we were all jolted forward. He slowed to a crawl and turned his head, watching the scene with fascination. A police officer was interviewing a cyclist who was standing beside his bike. A little farther down, emergency workers rushed to load a twisted body onto a stretcher. A second officer watched over them as they worked.
“Looks bad,” Teddy said with evident excitement. “Let’s ask the cop what happened!”
“Bad idea, man,” Jeff said. “Just keep going.”
“No, no, we’re gonna stop,” Teddy said. “It’s like these old movies my cousin used to show me. Faces of Death. You got to see real car crashes on, like, the Autobahn and stuff. Nasty as hell.”
“This is sick,” I said as Teddy pulled over. “This is seriously sick.”
Teddy looked surprised.
“No, it’s not,” he said. “I just wanna know what happened.” With that, he bounded out of the car and over to the officer standing by the emergency workers.
“Let’s go after him,” Jeff said, sighing. “He does stuff like this when he’s drunk.”
“You go after him,” I said crossly. “I’m staying right here. He’s the psycho.”
“He’s just having a rough night,” Jeff said defensively. “He’s a good guy.”
I was about to unleash a few choice words about Jeff’s definition of a “good guy” when we heard a sudden wail behind us. We both twisted around and looked through the rear window. Teddy was on his knees, his head in his hands, while the officer bent down.
“Did that noise come from Teddy?” Jeff said, aghast. He leapt out of the car. I followed.
We ran up and heard the officer say, “Do you know her, son?” He had a soothing hand on Teddy’s back.
That’s when I saw the girl on the stretcher, her white T-shirt splattered with her own blood, half her face sheared off by the road. It was Misti.
Teddy shook his head back and forth, his hands covering his face. I gasped and balled my hands up into fists, as if the pressure of my nails digging into the soft skin of my palms could distract me from what I was seeing. Jeff leaned over and puked.
Then she—or what was left of her—was gone, shut inside the ambulance, which turned on its lights and screeched away from the roadside. The other officer finished up his interview and jogged over to where we stood. The first officer helped Teddy to his feet.
“Sh-she’s a server at Baxley’s,” Teddy said, his face ashen. “Her name is Misti.”
“We’ll go down the road and tell them,” one of the cops said.
“What happened?” Jeff asked weakly, wiping his mouth.
The other cop pointed to a mangled bicycle lying half-hidden by brush. “She was on her bike. Witness was a little far off but said a car came by, plowed into her, kept going.”
“She’s alive, though,” Teddy said shakily. “Right? She’s alive?”
“For now,” said the cop who’d been interviewing the witness. “Next twenty-four hours will be crucial. You know her family or any people we should contact?”
Teddy was silent.