Overdrive (2 page)

“You make it sound like I don't know nothing about cars,” Mickey said defensively.

“Well…you don't.”

“I don't know cars like you do, but I know cars,” Mickey said. Up ahead of us the light turned red and I brought us to a stop.

“Like, look at the two cars across the way,” Mickey said, motioning to the other side of the intersection. There were two cars—another Acura and a Camaro—sitting there side by side. They both revved their engines. I looked over at the lights in the other direction. The green gave way to a yellow and then a red. It would just be a couple of seconds and…the light turned to green and the two cars squealed away, leaving patches of rubber and smoke. The Camaro pulled away as they shot past. In my side-view mirror, the brake lights on both cars glowed as they closed down the race part-way down the block.

“That one went to the Camaro,” I said.

“I'd like to see that car up close,” Mickey said.

“You'll probably have a chance. Everybody always ends up in the parking lot of the Burger Barn sooner or later.”

“Are we going there now?” Mickey asked.

“Later. I just want to cruise a little. Let's drive the strip a few times first.”

It seemed like every minute brought more traffic, an endless stream of cars on the road and people crowding the sidewalk. I'd done this strip along the sidewalk before, and in the passenger seat with my brother driving, but this was different. Way different.

As we sat at the light, I revved the engine ever so slightly.

“Do you think you can take ‘em?” Mickey asked.

“Take who?”

He gestured toward the vehicle sitting beside us at the lights. It was a minivan with a woman the age of my mother at the wheel.

The light changed and I accelerated. The car jumped forward, leaving the minivan behind.

“All right, your first win!” Mickey laughed.

“That wasn't a race and I wasn't racing.”

Up ahead, the next light turned red.

“Pull over to the curb lane!” Mickey exclaimed.

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

I checked my rearview mirror. The mini-van hadn't managed to catch up. I switched lanes.

“Do you see what I see?” Mickey asked.

I looked all around and then checked out my mirrors. I saw lots of cars but nothing special.

“Right there at the lights, on the sidewalk.”

We pulled up to the lights and I saw what Mickey had been excited about.

There, standing waiting for the lights to change, were two girls about our age— maybe a little bit older.

“They look like they're going the same way as us,” Mickey said. “Maybe we should offer them a ride.”

“Maybe we shouldn't.”

“Maybe one of us hasn't got any guts or—”

“Maybe one of us should shut up,” I said, cutting him off.

“What's it going to hurt to ask them?”

I didn't have an answer to that.

“What's the worst thing that can happen? They say no?”

Mickey rolled down his window. “Hey, girls!”

They didn't turn around. Either they hadn't heard him, or they had and were ignoring him.

“Hey, gorgeous!” he yelled out louder, and both of them turned around to face us. One of them actually was gorgeous. The other was—how could I say it politely?— not so gorgeous. They were all made-up and looked like they were out for a night on the town. They both held cans of pop, and one had a cigarette in her hand—yuck!

“So, girls, you want a ride?” Mickey called as he leaned out through the car's window.

The gorgeous one made a face like she'd just eaten something that tasted bad. She reached her arm back and pitched the can at the car. It clanked down on the hood, and the pop exploded up and onto the windshield!

Mickey had pulled his head into the car for protection. He leaned back out the window. “Does that mean no?” he asked.

The light changed and I gunned the engine to get us out of there.

Mickey started to laugh uncontrollably.

“You think that was funny? “I demanded.

“Of course it was funny.”

“She didn't hit your car with a can!”

“Come on, how much damage could it have done?” he asked.

“Coke isn't good for a paint job.”

“Who cares?” he asked. “Next week, after it's painted, it would have been a problem, but now?”

Of course he was right.

“Too bad, though,” Mickey said. “Mine was really good-looking.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Isn't it obvious that I would have ended up with the great-looking one?”

I shook my head. “Mickey, sometimes.”

“Sometimes what?”

“Nothing.”

I downshifted and let the engine slow us down as we hit the traffic at the next light. It was impossible to drive very far or very fast without running into something, and I was trying to be extra careful. I couldn't imagine anything worse than getting in an accident.

“Now that's beautiful,” Mickey said.

I looked over. It was obvious what he was referring to. Almost right beside us sat a beautiful, fully restored, top-of-the line, customized Mustang. I inched the car forward so we could pull up level with it. Behind the wheel was a girl—no, make that a woman. She had to be at least twenty and was as well-put-together as the car. Blonde hair, sunglasses perched on top of her head. I couldn't see what she was wearing, but her shoulders were bare.

“Just beautiful,” Mickey said loudly enough for her to hear through the open window of her car. She turned and gave a little smile.

“Incredible body… great lines,” Mickey continued. “I just love those older models. What year?” he asked.

“Sixty-seven,” she said.

“Sixty-seven?” Mickey repeated, like he couldn't believe his ears. “Oh…the car.” He paused. “I wasn't talking about the car.”

I felt myself cringe and tried to sink as low into the seat as possible so she couldn't see me.

The woman suddenly started to laugh. “I'm afraid I'm a little old for you,” she said. “But nice try.”

A car honked from behind and I startled. I hadn't noticed the light change. I put the car into gear and drove away.

“Did you hear that?” Mickey beamed. “She said ‘nice try'. If I was just a couple of years older, who knows what could have happened? Pull up beside her again,” he ordered.

I put on my left turn signal and crossed over the lanes of oncoming traffic, pulling into a gas station.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Getting some gas,” I said. I pulled up at the pumps and climbed out of the car.

“But we can get gas later!” Mickey yelled as he jumped out of the car. “I have to convince her that I'm really eighteen!”

“Are we talking age or IQ points?”

“What?” he asked, not understanding my joke.

“We need it now,” I said. That was a lie. We still had almost a quarter tank, but I didn't want to follow that woman. The only thing that could possibly lead to was more embarrassment.

“Come on, we can still catch her!”

“How cool do you think you'd look pushing the car if I ran out of gas?” I asked. I started pumping gas.

“Fine, so what if we let the woman of my dreams drive away,” Mickey sighed.

“Don't worry. We can find her,” I said.

“We can?”

“Sure,” I said with a shrug. “She's probably going to the Burger Barn.”

“How do you know that?”

“Where else would somebody with a hot car end up?” I asked.

“You're right,” he said enthusiastically.

“I'll even let you buy me a burger.”

“Why am I buying?”

“Because I'm paying for the gas.”

Mickey looked up at the pump. The dollars kept rolling around and around and around.

“Do you want to pay for the gas instead?” I asked.

“Tell you what,” Mickey said. “How about if I buy you some fries and a drink to go with that burger?”

“This is unbelievable!” Mickey gushed.

“It's okay,” I said, trying to sound cool and casual.

“Just okay?” he said as he gestured to the cars all around us in the parking lot. “For you this must be like dying and going to heaven.”

“I guess it is a little bit better than okay,” I admitted.

All around us, filling every spot in the Burger Barn parking lot, were some of the hottest cars in the city. There were Acuras and Hondas, North American muscle cars—Camaros, Vettes, Mustangs—and fancy Europeans like BMWs and Audis. It seemed like every car I'd ever drooled over was sitting here in the parking lot. Some of the cars had their hoods open, showing off their engines. Others were sitting there, idling away, so people could hear the music coming out from under the hood. Lots of people were sitting in their cars, but just as many were standing beside their vehicles. Sometimes you'd see somebody with a cloth, polishing up their paint job. There were also groups of people—mostly guys—all talking about the same thing, cars. This is where gear heads came to talk about the thing they loved.

“This is nothing compared to how I've seen it before,” I said to Mickey.

“You're joking, right?”

“The hottest cars don't come out until later at night.”

“That's hard to believe.”

“Maybe I can get Andy to bring you along the next time he takes me.”

“Your brother would do that?”

“If you promised to keep your mouth shut.”

“I can do that,” Mickey said.

“You can?”

“Well…I can try.”

Andy said that Mickey had to learn to shut up sometimes. I didn't disagree.

I took the last sip from my Coke and tossed the container in the full garbage can. During the week this place was practically deserted, but every Friday and Saturday—especially when the weather was good—it was packed.

We walked up the line of parked cars. I listened in on conversations, looked at the engines and inhaled the smell of motors. Mickey was right—for me this was like heaven.

“So what happens now?” Mickey asked.

I looked at my watch. “What happens is that we better get going.”

“I meant what happens for everybody else? Do they just sit here all night? Or is there going to be some action?”

“There'll be some action.”

The drivers didn't just bring their cars here to show off. This wasn't just about what a car looked like. It was about how it could perform. I knew that before the night was over cars, would start slipping away—alone or in pairs—to reassemble at an agreed spot. Then they'd be testing each other. They'd be street racing.

“If we stay here, will we get to see somebody race?” Mickey asked.

“Here?” I asked in disbelief.

“I didn't mean in the parking lot,” he said. “I mean around here.”

“Too much heat. Haven't you noticed the police?”

“I saw a couple of squad cars pass by,” he said.

Actually, one of them had even taken a slow pass through the parking lot.

“You might see some guys fooling
around—you know, revving their engines or even doing a jump start from the lights—but nothing serious. That happens way north of here on deserted roads in the country.”

“They drive all that way?” Mickey asked.

“Of course they do. Do you think they'd be stupid enough to race right here? If the cops didn't get you, you'd still risk smashing into something or somebody.”

“But what about those two cars we saw earlier tonight?”

“They just jumped off the line and then shut it down. They weren't really racing.… at least, not racing very far.”

“And that's okay?”

“Maybe not okay, but people do it.”

“Does your brother street race?” Mickey asked.

I didn't answer.

“I guess that means yes.”

“You didn't hear it from me,” I said. Andy would never admit it to me, but I knew. You didn't invest that much time and money in
a car unless you planned on letting it loose every now and again.

But I also knew my brother. I knew that he would try to be as safe and responsible as he could be. Somehow that struck me as a pretty strange thought—being safe and responsible while doing something dangerous and irresponsible. Now I was starting to think like my parents. Maybe it was time to give my head a good shake.

“I wish we could stay longer,” Mickey said.

I looked at my watch again. It was definitely time to leave. It wouldn't be smart to be late if I wanted to borrow Andy's car again.

“Let's go,” I said.

We walked along the row of parked cars. I was parked in the far corner of the back lot. I'd parked there because I figured the front lot would be full, but also because it just didn't seem right to park out front. It wasn't my car, and it wasn't finished. It would be up to my brother to decide when it could be parked up front.

“You were wrong,” Mickey said.

“Wrong about what?”

“She wasn't here.”

“She? Who?”

“The girl, the woman, in the Mustang. She wasn't here.”

“She'll probably be here later. Just what were you planning to say to her if she was here?”

“I wasn't going to be saying anything. At least, not at first. I figured she'd be coming up and talking to me.”

I laughed. “You really do live in a fantasy world, don't you?”

He shook his head. “You just don't understand women at all.”

“And you do?”

“That is correct. And that is why we make such a good team. You have the car and I have the cool.”

“The car is real,” I said, pointing into the corner where it was parked. “The cool is something I've yet to see.”