could blow off steam without the cops fucking with us.
Whenever I pushed it too hard and threw a belt or something, Harley would just call his redneck buddies from the shop where he worked, and they’d come out with their big-ass trucks and their headlamps and their Natty Ice and fix that shit while singing David Allan Coe songs like we were all in Snow White Trash and the Seven Hicks. Thanks to them, I now have the lyrics to “Don’t Bite the Dick,” “Little Susie Shallow Throat,” and “Cum Stains on the Pillow” tattooed on my brain.
But I also know how to tail-brake a corner without spinning out.
In fact, that particular memory actually seemed to calm my nerves. My consciousness was back, and it decided to press the Play button on “You Never Even Call Me by My Name” for a little nostalgia.
I was drunk…the day my mom…got out of prison…
Just pretend like you’re back at The Track, B. You used to do this all the time. It was fun. You’re having fun.
Redlining in second gear, I braked hard just before the next turn to transfer some weight to my front end before cutting the wheel. As soon as I was halfway through the turn and my RPMs were at a perfect 3500, I punched the gas and hit the straights, shifting into third within seconds.
“Damn, Bumblebee! Where the fuck did that come from?”
It was the first thing Hans had uttered since we peeled out, and I could hear the surprise in his voice. I glanced over and found my rock-star boyfriend gripping the Oh, Shit bar (I don’t actually know what that handle hanging from the ceiling in cars is called. In the South people just call it the Oh, Shit bar.) with one hand and the center console with the other, a look of shock and awe on his face. It was all the encouragement I needed.
After spending almost a year feeling inadequate around this man, I’d finally found a way to make my mark, to set myself apart from the hordes of ho-bags beating down Hans’s door. I could drive this fucking Mustang, and I could do it topless. My consciousness turned up the volume:
And I went…to pick her up…in the raaaain…
I redlined her again and muscled through the last turn in the neighborhood. I could still hear the sirens right behind me and see the occasional reflection of a blue light off a house or a street sign, but I’d managed to keep enough distance and turns between us that the police hadn’t been able to get a visual on me.
The next turn would make or break us though.
But before I could get to the station in the pick-uuuuuup truck…
If I could pull out of the neighborhood and onto the highway without having to stop, we’d be home free. I could have us tucked away into the club parking lot within ten seconds. I downshifted to second and held my breath as we approached the intersection.
Please be clear, please be clear, please be clear…
She got runned over by a damned old traaaain!
“It’s clear! It’s clear! GO, GO, GO!” Hans was on the edge of his seat, looking left and right and left again, making sure I wasn’t about to kill us both.
Ha!
I crushed the accelerator with all forty pounds of wet steel and leather strapped to my right foot and was rewarded with a satisfying yelp from my well-worn BFGs (that’s what the rednecks call BF Goodrich tires) and an even more satisfying glimpse of Hans’s head being slammed backward into the headrest by the torque.
I flicked on my headlights as I raced toward the entrance of the club’s parking lot, just a little over a block away. A few hundred yards, and we’d be in the clear.
Two hundred, one hundred…
Hans was now turned around completely backward in his seat with both fists gripping the headrest and wide, excited eyes scanning the expanse behind us for any sign of the police cruiser. I bit my lip just in time to squelch the very smug, very self-satisfied grin threatening to destroy my cool, took a deep breath, and made the final turn into the parking lot, barking the tires a little just for show. The instant all four tires were off the highway, I killed the headlights and careened into the first available parking spot I could see.
Hans erupted into a fit of hysterics, pounding the headrest with his fists and yelling “WOOOOOO!!!” as if he