A fantasy trip to a GM showroom

[A Horse With No Name]

Okay guys, I am trying something really strange. This idea came to me at my sons track meet this ayem, and I'm writing a fictional story based on all of us and GM cars. It is a strange story, based as a parody or satire. The only two of us I reveal by name or user name are myself (who I write about in third person) and Caddy Cruiser, because I needed a car salesman for my story and I felt like making him a character.

Don't know how this is going to work out, but here goes...into the world of the odd...

[balthazar]

Good luck!

[A Horse With No Name]

The Sopwith Camel dived down out of the light cloud cover, darting over tree rows and snaking towards the German plane that was it's prey. The Pilot started with measured, careful gunfire jinking his plane left and right to take out his next kill. Glass shattered in the gauges in front of him, and then his whole plane seemed to shake as it fell from the sky to the French farm field below.

"Curse you Red Barron" He yelled out, and then brought the wrecked plane to rest next to a red doghouse. As the Sopwith sat burning, a small white beagle pulled out his typewriter and began....

"It was a dark and Stormy night...." and then threw away the page.

A clasp of thunder awakened Stang in his bed on an early Saturday morning. Something must have been in that pizza he ate last night, as each dream had been stranger than the last, right up to the one about Snoopy and the Red Barron. He struggled for a second to find the lamp next to his bed, and then cursed himself quietly as he knocked it to the floor. It was a bitch being so clumsy.

A beeping sound started, and Stang looked in vain for the alarm clock, and then realized the beeping was his Nextel phone. Great...just what he needed. A service call to run. He struggled to get dressed in the dark so as not to wake his wife, and then called his boss back.

"I need you to run up to a customer on the Pennsylvania/Ohio border." His boss barked out in the darkness. "We've got a couple of rooftop HVAC units down, a leak at an Ice Machine, and a bunch of blown breakers. Storm came through last night...see what you can do, and call me if I need to send another guy."

Stang got directions and headed for his Chevy work truck, glad that it started with authority and confidence on this strange and awkward morning. His mind couldn't seem to wake up much in the sea of generic Camry's, Accords, and pick up trucks that made up most of the traffic on the Ohio two lane that ayem, even after he'd stopped for his second cup of coffee. Hopefully this would be a sane, normal, safe trip.

He was ready to be done with odd animals that had superhuman intelligence, burning planes, gunfire, contests of speed, machines from the past, and characters out of fiction. Figuring this would be a normal day, Stang was, as usual, just plain wrong.

It would be a most unusual day.

Edited October 16, 2010 by 66Stang

[A Horse With No Name]

Ohio is like Pennsylvania, Michigan, New York, New Jersey, and a lot of the Midwest of the USA. It is a world of real beauty and farmlands, small towns, and really ugly cities that have been marked by closed plants, outsourced jobs, and rust belt decay. As the beauty of rural Ohio faded away through the windshield of Stang's truck, he came across what was surely the most rusted, broken, and forlorn of the former Industrial cities. Broken glass hung from disused buildings, rails from abandoned railroads rose up through uneven pavement, and trash blew across the road in front of his sight. Rotted aluminum siding hung from forlorn houses, and the whole scene looked much like France after D-Day. Stang passed on a chance to buy weed at one intersection and avoided some obvious small town gang activity at the next.

This was how he was planning on spending his Saturday. A gunshot rang out, and Stang spilled coffee in his lap. Trying to wipe it up and drive, he found himself running a red light and missing a turn. Using his GPS once and asking directions twice, he finally found his destination, an olive drab building that looked large enough to have built a fleet of B-24 liberators for the US Eighth Air force.

To Stang, it looked like the only things built there now were trash and graffiti. He wished he'd brought a side arm of sorts as he was getting out of his van. The sun was rising, and the more Stang saw, the less he liked. He was ready to turn tail and head back to Columbus, when he saw a light on in a front office of the building. Gingerly making his way over broken glass, syringes, and a few bloody rags, he went to the front door, which had been hastily repaired with plywood after recent act of vandalism.

"Hey, I don't bite, come on in." The largest woman Stang had ever seen sat behind an ancient metal desk. The office was full of old broken computers, file folders that hadn't been opened in decades, a stack of typewriters that someone had obviously spent a lot of time trying in vain to fix, and a bunch of other flotsam of the industrial era.

But there was cool stuff in the office also. An art deco radio from the 1930's that had played the voice of FDR to a war weary nation. Old ads for GM cars lined the walls. License plates hung here and there, and Stang was starting to get interested.

This might not be so bad.

[Camino LS6]

I like the style so far...

[A Horse With No Name]

THANKS_

Continued

Stang grabbed his tool belt from the truck and slung it over his shoulder, making sure that he also had his A/C gauge set and his electrical meter with him. The repairs proved to be rather simple. Two eight inch adjustable wrenches fixed a bad compression fitting at the Ice machine, a motor starter got one of the roof top A/C units running, and replacing a circuit breaker that had burned up due to a loose wire fixed his other problem. At least that much was simple.

He'd driven two hours to do twenty minutes worth of work, but then life was like that. With politics, marriage and life it sometime took a whole lot of effort to get modest results. Things were up and running, and he was going to get a cup of coffee. Writing up an invoice, he walked back into the office and handed it to the woman behind the desk.

"I can't sign this....CC will have to sign this." She smiled, and Stang was starting to feel more comfortable. "But I can get you a cup of coffee. It looks like you wore the first one."

Embarrassed but ready for some java, Stang accepted. The mug was hand thrown and had been decorated by hand.

"My daughter made that, she's an art student." The woman replied. Stang was beginning to notice a lot of the industrial relics, the radio, and the mug had something in common-someone had put a lot of care into designing them, making them, and taking care of them. To Stang, the world was often seemingly full of sleep walkers, people who ate at generic restaurants, drove Camries or Accords, listened to modern mindless pop music, and never really thought about much.

An unexamined life wasn't much worth living in Stang's book.

A rumble out front of the office caught Stang's attention and the woman smiled as she looked up from her word processor. "He's here."

As the silver Camaro rumbled up to the office entrance, Stang noticed that even though the car was less than a year old, it was built with the same kind of care that the mug, the radio, and some of the other flotsam in the office had been built with. It showed creativity, a flowing design, a passion for living. As the dust settled, a slightly balding guy got out and shook Stang's hand. "I'm CC."

"Pretty simple repairing every thing here, call us again when you need us." Stang replied. "Although I could keep myself busy around here for awhile."

CC looked down at the invoice Stang had written out. "This seems fair." He pulled out an expensive pen that was hand made, and had some real attention to detail. Things like that caught Stang's eye. this guy obviously had good taste.

"Nice car." Stang gave the Camaro a once over.

"It's my mothers. She and I traded vehicles for a little bit when I moved out here from the coast." CC opened the hood to give Stang a look. "It's just a six banger, but she gets along pretty good. And it's been dead nuts reliable."

"Sweet." Stang wasn't much for words sometimes. "What do you guys do here anyways?"

"We sell cars. Lots and lots of cars, lots and lots of places."

Stang was incredulous. This place looked like it hadn't seen any real action since the 1960's or 1970's. "Here? Seriously."

"This is just our warehouse. We actually have a local showroom and lot with about 200 cars, and we do a lot of internet sales and so forth."

"Mostly used?" Stang asked, his curiosity up.

"All new, actually." CC paused, and then continued. "Fresh from the factory, never been owned by anyone else."

"Oddest new car dealership I've ever seen." Stang replied.

"Come on back....I'll show you around...." CC motioned towards the Camaro and Stang got in the passenger side. This might be interesting. They drove to the back of the building. Approaching quietly lest they wake a drunk passed out in the weeds, CC held out a key and opened a rusty side door. The Olive drab building seemed to go on forever. Stang heard the clicking of light switches and the high bay lights came up slowly, revealing an armada of parked cars sitting under covers.

"Go ahead, check it out." CC motioned towards the front of the line, and Stang was confused. Under the cover was obviously an older model station wagon, and it was huge. "Don't be afraid, pull back the cover a little bit."

Stang lifted the cover and couldn't believe his eyes. It was a 1971 Chevrolet Caprice wagon, something someone had obviously spent a lot of time restoring. "Who re-plated the chrome, it's perfect."

CC shook his head. "That's not new chrome, that's the way it left GM." As the drivers door came open, Stang was greeted with a nose full of new car smell, and not the kind you get out of a bottle at Auto zone, Genuine, legit new car smell. "I don't like it when you reset the odometer in a restoration...something seems dishonest about that." Stang wanted to pull back the words, as CC seemed a bit irritated.

"You don't get it, do you? It's a brand new 1971 Chevrolet." CC was obviously having fun with Stang, and Stang was going to have none of it. He considered himself a car guy of the first order, and wasn't going to fall for this one.

"Right, brand new. So what's behind it, a brand new checker Cab from 1975?" Stang was going to have a little fun back at the expense of CC even if it killed him. "Or perhaps a 58 Ford?"

"We only sell GM, and while your right about the 1958 part that car is only six weeks old. We have our sources." CC folded his hands across his chest, confident that Stang was seemingly falling for this ruse. "Go ahead, pull the cover back."

Stang lifted the edge of the cover expecting to find a project car, or maybe a babied rag top someone had in storage. he was suprised to find a 1958 Biscane Chevrolet in pristine shape. Stang new no one would spend big bucks on such a pedestrian car, so he was determined to prove CC was covering something up. He was going to find proof that this particular 58 Chevy was actually built in 58.

Edited October 16, 2010 by 66Stang

[A Horse With No Name]

Kneeling next to the car, Stang knew the real test would be in the tires. He'd helped a friend restore a 58 Chevy once, and noticed the subtle differences between the original spare in the 58 He'd helped restore with the reproductions they had bought from Coker Tire for that particular Bel Air. "These are original Bias Ply tires, and not repops." Stang ran his fingers over the tread. "Where on earth did you find these, and why did you put such rare tires on such a generic Chevy?" Stang again regretted the sarcasm in his voice, but CC didn't seem to mind.

"We've got tires like that on all our 58 Chevy's, but most of them come with white walls. And those are not 52 year old tires...."

"So what your saying is....?" Stang stood up and squared his shoulders, banging his knee on the Biscane in the process. This wasn't a dream.

"Keep pulling back covers." CC smiled "Help yourself..."

In succession, Stang found a bronze and cream 54 Buick 4 door, a grey no options 56 Oldsmobile 2 door coupe, a 75 Eldorado, a police spec 82 Caprice, and a 95 Buick Roadmaster....all seemingly brand new. "What is this...part of the GM heritage collection?"

"We've sold cars to the GM heritage collection...but do you really think GM would keep 11,000 vintage cars in one warehouse? Seriously?" CC shook his head. "Keep digging."

A red 1961 Pontiac wagon was the next vehicle unearthed, and Stang was surprised the interior lights all came one, and that it had the same new car smell the 71 had been blessed with. "Does it run?"

"Keys are above the drivers side visor, find out." CC waved his hand "But I've got to get to the showroom to start selling these things, so put some gas on it. We don't have much time"

Stang turned the key and the Pontiac came to life immediately. The Pontiac was all the proof Stang needed. It ran perfectly, and the motor was obviously very tight and fresh. This wasn't even a 50,000 mile motor that had been lovingly rebuilt it was...new...and even smelled of factory paint burning off parts of the block as it ran.

Stang was in love.

[A Horse With No Name]

Continued

"So this is for sale?" Stang asked...."how does that work?"

"Check, cashiers check, visa, MasterCard, bank transfer, we're not picky. here is how it works. Your allowed to buy 5 cars. Due to demand, we can only sell 3 of your 5 as pre-75 models, although the newer stuff is popular too. I can get you anything GM post-41, and our sister operation handles pre-41. You pay GM list or dealer invoice of what it would have sold for originally, and your only allowed to buy as a 5 car lot. So it's 5 or nothing..."

Stang added things up...for about 4 grand, he could have a 1950's Cadillac, an Impala convertible, or an SS396 Chevelle. Time to raid the 401K and take home a few cars...."So I could buy this wagon?"

"Take your time, we have a waiting list so it's best to choose 5 cars you really want. But I can get you to the top of the list....since you were so helpful. We have lots more than just this wagon...."

[Robert Hall]

Fun.feels like a Stephen king tale.

[Camino LS6]

Love it, keep rolling with this!

[A Horse With No Name]

Continued

"...so you sell these cars..."

" all over the world. Look, we open the dealership downtown in fifteen minutes...I can't be late." CC interupted, looking at his watch.

Stang pulled back one more car cover, and was startled to find a 1948 Chevrolet that had been converted into an ambulance. Looking through the supplies, he noticed that they were all in vintage 1940's style boxes. Wierd. Given the neighborhood this place was in, Stang just hoped he'd get out of here and get downtown without needing a more modern version of the same vehicle.

Stang slowly followed the Camaro in his work truck, and in a few blocks they drove down a street of older homes that people were starting to fix up. He noticed that the people that lived here were black and white, hispanic and asian, gay and straight, and that there seemed to be a real community effort to make things better in this hell hole of a town. To Stang, the fact that people were accepting of each other and working together meant that we'd overcome a lot of prejudice and baggage in our history. It showed that positive change was real if people would work for it and use some creativity.

The Camaro turned into the actual open to the public version of the dealership, and Stang was awestruck at the cars sitting out front. It was an odd jumble of stuff, all GM and all brand new, and seemed to lack any organization whatsoever. The car on prominent display in the lawn was a green 1966 Pontiac Catalina four door, joined out front by an olds Cutlass ciera of mid eighties vintage, an advanced design series Chevy truck from the ninteen fifties, an Olds Aurora, and a brand new Chevrolet Cruze. It was just all too odd.

Equally odd was the number of people shopping at the dealership. Stang had never seen so many people out on a Saturday ayem, and they seemed to be moving quite a bit of iron, mostly the more modern stuff but a fair bit of the vintage tin also. Finishing the last of his coffee he set that hand made mug down in the center of the trucks dashboard. With a satisfying thunk he felt the tranny shift into reverse and backed in beside a brown 1970ish Cutlass driven by a lean guy in his twenties. Missouri plates on that cutty, and it wasn't new. So people drove from all over to get here.

"You should have driven in frontwards. Everyone who knows what they are doing does it that way. Now you've held up other people that want to park." The guy smiled, and then held out his hands for a quick shake. "Just trying to be helpful, but on important matters like this, you've got to think."

Stangs Immediate reaction was to want to clock the guy with his fist, but there was something likeable about the guy. Even if he did continue to argue with Stang about everything, big small or indifferent. Which is why Stang chose his usual method of dealing with people like that. Admit nothing, deny everything, and demand proof.

"...so back when the Tower of Babel was constructed, people had one language. And Then it all turned to confusion..." The guy rambled on and on and on.

"Look, there is no such thing as the tower of babel, a global flood, or any of this. Its just a myth with no evidence or proof." Stang Started in. "We can't be sure of what happened in the past, but we have no reason to believe any of this...."

"Other than eye witnesses." The guy in the brown Olds, who Stang was starting to think of as "Cutty" kicked in with excitement. "We have eye witnesses."

Stang had heard enough. "Bull$h!" He replied. "The oldest people on earth are maybe 125 years old, and it's doubtful that they are worthwhile witnesses." He pulled off his glasses and shook his head. "In fact, its doubtful that we have really good eye witness accounts of things over 85 or ninety years ago.

"But we have eye witnesses to the stories in Genesis." Cutty replied. "One's buying a 76 Monte Carlo right now."

Stang had seen enough odd things for one day, and seeing all of these cars brought to life, suddenly in a depressed midwestern town had convinced him that maybe stranger things awaited. "Okay, this I gotta see. But first I need some coffee."

Cutty motioned Stang inside the dealership showroom, which was clean and nicely arranged. On the showroom floor was a fabulous green 1957 Cadillac convertible, an Escalade, a gold 2011 Malibu, and an Equinox. The guys got coffee, and then Cutty dumped his and pured himself a glass of hot water. "I actually prefer Tea myself."

Stang felt obliged to help Cutty for a minute. "Here's some Lord Earl Grey, it's pretty good Tea."

Cutty shot Stang a look that could cut through plate steel. "That stuff...modern and corrupted..I prefer it as people drank it in the 18th century, thank you."

Stang walked towards the center of the showroom, trying to bring a little peace and harmony into the discussion. For some reason he kept finding himself liking Cutty, even though the two of them could agree on exactly nothing.

"But if we are talking Cutlass, I want this!" Stang chimed in. Front and center in the showroom was a 1972 Hurst Olds Indy Pace car replica, top down and perfectly detailed. He raised the hood, ignoring the disaproving glance from CC, who was now selling a mid eighties Caprice to an undercover narcotics agent. "This would be perfect for me."

CC came over and shut the hood quietly, polishing off stangs dirty finger prints with a small cloth he pulled from his pocket. "I'll thank you for not messing with our display. We try to keep a really primo, masculine Olds front and center around here. I don't know why, but things seem to go better with a boyish Olds up front."

Cutty pulled Stang away from the gleaming ragtop quickly. "Too Cold for an Ohio winter, and too showy for a normal working class guy like you maybe." Cutty replied. "Come meet Methuselah."

Stang followed Cutty out the side showroom door and was greeted by an ancient, bent over man with a beard like a wizzard, long and white. He had at his side a guy in Carhart pants, who looked to be a carpenter and spoke with a strong east coast accent. A very high energy man of obviously eastern european origin was also there with a young girl of elementary school age. To stang it was almost like Dorothy and the Wizzard of oz were standing there with a couple of upstarts.

"Methuselah, meet Stang. Stang, meet Methuselah." Cutty smiled like the Cat in Alice in Wonderland, but sadly didn't disappear.

"This isn't Methuselah, dude. He's ancient, I'll give you that. But to be Methuselah he'd have to be about 5000 years old. He ain't that old."

"How old do you think he is then?" Asked Cutty. "You tell me."

"I'll give you...450 years maybe." Stang looked at the guy, sure that he had under estimated by at least a thousand years.

"You've under estimated by four thousand, five hundred, twenty six years, twenty eight days, and forty six minutes." Replied the carpenter. Stang noticed that the carpenter was wearing a red shirt with an Indian on it, and it was a Tin Indian. So we had the tin man perhaps to go along with Dorothy and the Wizzard. Only to Stang, it felt a little like Cutty was the one with no brain...but the old man was starting to look a very convincing 5000 years.

"So how do you know his exact age?" Stang asked Tin Indian. "You can't know his age THAT closely."

"Sure I can...I'm as old as he is."

"Your 5000 years old....you sure don't look it!" Stang couldn't believe this, of all things.

"Going to the Seashore once in awhile back in Jersey kind of melts away the years."

"But according to the Bible chronology, Methuselah died the eyar the flood started." Stang continued. "You can't be here."

The old man played with the point of his beard "We were stowaways on the ark."

"We?"

"My friend from New Jersey and I. Look, it was either that or drown."

Stang looked at Tin Indian, doubtful of the whole ruse. "You were on the ark with Noah?"

Tin Indian got agitated, and then started playing nervously with the tape measure hanging from his hip. "Look, how do you think I got to be such a good Carpenter? You really think Noah and his sons would have kept that crate floating without my help?"

"Unbelieveable." Stang just shook his head.

"No, he really is a great carpenter." Methuselah replied. "He helped build a temple in Athens after he studied under Aristotle."

"So your a philosopher as well as a carpenter?" Stang asked.

"Mostly my passion is cars." Tin Indian replied. "Which is why it is so hard to believe that Methusealh is buying a Monte Carlo of all things. He could have had a Grand Prix."

It was the turn of Methuselah to get agitated. "I've waited 5000 years, I'm getting what I want."

Tin Indian shook his head. "You could have had a Grand Prix." He waved his hand out towards the lot. "A perfectly good 71 SSJ out there, and you choose a Monte Carlo." Tin man spat at the ground. "If I live another 5000 years..."

"You'll need it to finish your Buick at the present rate of progress." Methuselah replied.

Tin Indian knew when he was beaten. "Hence the need for another B-59."

The guy with the young daughter chimed in "He and I are both getting B-59's. It's kind of a thing with us."

Stang looked at Cutty. "So what you've proven here is that the Bible is in eror. Someone who the Bible says died in the ancient world is here in Ohio buying a brand new 76 Monte Carlo, 34 years later...."

"After 5000 years, I can take my time." Methuselah shook a finger a little to close to Stangs face for comfort.

"Fine, doubt me." Cutty replied. "I bring an eye witness to a 5000 year old event and you still doubt me. Is your mind closed?"

Stang wondered if in this strange world someone really could be 5000 years old. He thought to the personal pic in the avatar on an automotive message board he frequneted. Yes, someone really could be 5000 years old, and smart enough to have studied under Aristotle to boot.

Edited October 17, 2010 by 66Stang

[Camino LS6]

What a great way to start my day, roll on!

[A Horse With No Name]

Continued.

CC rolled up in a beautiful silver 76 Monte Carlo, brand ndew and fresh from dealer prep. Stang had almost forgotten how good the stacked headlight design looked in person on that car. Maybe Methuselah had a point..

Getting into his new car, the old man bid farewell. "I've got revivals to preach, ungodly nations like France, Botswanna, and Boliva to smite with prophecy, and I'm going to turn back a plauge of locusts. Or at least try. That locust thing ate up a lot of time back in the day. But right now it's time to burn rubber and put some gas on it!"

And with that the Bblical patriarch was gone in a cloud of bias ply tire smoke.

Tin Indian looked at the sister dealership across the street, the showroom where they sold the pre-41 stuff. "Sweet, a 1907 Bick, my first brand new GM car"

Everyone tried to hold back laughter at that point, and then CC chimed in. "I've got something I think you'll like much better. I just had service get it ready for a test drive." And with a motion of CC's right hand one of the lot boys brought up a 1959 Buick Invicta four door hardtop, dark blue, the chrome relecting the bright Ohio sunshine.

"I like it, but I'm not sure it's exactly what I want." Tin indian ran his hand thoughtfully across his chin, taking in the pristine Buick with a sense of awe that one might reserve for a European cathedral. The young girl wa wearing a bright yellow Tweety the Bird windbreaker, which contrasted nicely with the dark blue car. Tin Indian opened the passenger door, and she hopped in on the passenger seat.

"Can we go for a ride, daddy?" She asked. "This is just like the white car, only it has more doors."

"And no B's...." Replied her father. "It has no B's..." Stang concluded that if the little girl was like tweety bird, her father was like a very clever and creative cat, so he thought of the man as The Cat.

"That's a really clean and neat old car, I don't think it has any insects living in it, especially bees." Stang chimed in, noticing only too late that The Cat glared furiously towards him, as if he were a complete idiot.

"I don't like or trust B's, ever, anywhere, or at any time." He smiled, and stang saw something catlike again in the smile fo the girls father. "Unless it's a B-59, in which case it's just fine, unless it's a B-59 with B's, which makes it less fine."

Meanwhile the Tin Indian and Cutty were checking out the rest of the car. "Don't think this will quite do it, but it's very close." Tin Indian said thoughtfully. "What else have you got?"

CC thought for a second, and then motioned towards the east end of the lot with his pen. "I've got a red Hardtop same year, but in a Pontiac."

"Bring it up and let's have a look...I kind of like the sound of that. My sixty four could use a garage mate...."

"Do you have a Cutlass in about this color?" Cutty broke into the conversation, annoying Tin Indian. "Like my dads."

CC thought for a second. "I've got a Sixty Eight in a 442 Automatic."

Cutty got excited. "Sixtyeight would be just great."

CC was as good as his word and in under five minutes the blue Olds and the Red Pontiac rolled up to the small goup standing beside the dealership. Stang had always liked both the 68 Cutlass and the 59 Pontiac, two of GM's less known designs, but still great cars.

"A Sixty Eight with no B's would be sure to please..." remarked The Cat, running his hand over the top of the open doorsil on the hardtop.

Stang was starting to get irritated. "does he always talk like this?" He asked the girl.

"Pretty much..." She replied.

"I'm sold, I'll take the Cutlass/" Replied Cutty. "My dads buying a car, as are one of my friends and my two cousins. We've got 5 cars and we've got the cash."

CC smiled. "An excellent choice sir. Why don't you all take the Pontiac for a test drive, and I'll have the paperwork ready on the Olds when you get back."

Tin Indian opened the passenger door, and Tweety climbed to the center of the front seat. "I'll take shotgun, you can drive." Stang and Cutty climbed into the back seat of the two door hard top, while The Cat slid behind the wheel of the Pontiac. Stang was having the feeling that this would be no ordinary test drive. He reacxhed down to buckle up, only to remember that 1959 was before seat belts were put in all cars. With the look on the girls fathers face, this could get interesting indeed.

As the Big Pontiac Mill flared to life, Stang had a very uneasy feel about another red 1950's hardtop, one with a girl's name similar to his own name. A similar pattern of things was starting to emerge, and that had him worried, very worried.

[A Horse With No Name]

Continued:

Stang fidgeted nervously in his seat, well aware of the tension in the big red Poncho. Tin Indian obviously liked the car, but was unsure about what he was going to add to his collection. Cutty seemed to have some minor buyers remorse over that particular 68 Olds, and The Cat just seemed to know something was wrong.

"Could we have a little music...whatever is fine." Breaking the tension and enjoying the test drive was what Stang wanted most. "Try FM 97.9 perhaps?"

"It's only got AM radio....and not a very good reception around here as it is." The cat called back from the drivers seat. "Ahhh...here we go....."

Smooth music filled the car as it warmed up, and then the DJ came on loud and clear. "It's an all day festival featuring the music of B.B. King...." Stang immediately noticed something else about The Cat. He was catlike in how you could tell from his ears what he was thinking....and every time the letter B was mentioned, you could watch his ears twitch and the back of his neck turn red.

"You could turn that to another station or off maybe." Stang offered, trying to be helpful. A quick twist of the chrome radio knob broke it, and the station wouldn't change either. Obviously the wrong thing to suggest.

CC was openly hoping to make a sale, and sensed the tension also. He walked over to the passenger side of the car, and asked gently "Got enough fuel...everyone comfortable?"

Tin Indian looked over at the gauges, and then shook his head. "Below baseline, basically." Stang noticed the ear twitch again, and also saw the vein in The Cat's arm pop out of a muscle. Not good.

CC smiled weakly, unsure of what to do. He knocked his finger against the front fender, creating a dull thud, and then pointed towards the back of the lot. "Basically, Bay B Beyond the parts department is where you can fuel." He thought for a minute. "Beyond the baby blue Buick boiling over."

Stang was getting worried, because the letter B seemed to be highly offensive to the cat and drive him mad. "So do you like watching television?" he asked Tweety Bird, the girl.

"Yes, but there are things daddy won't let me watch."

Tin Indian tried to be helpful. "There are things that are more for grownups than young children."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about that." Volunteered the girl. "I can't watch Sesame Street when they feature the letter B."

Tin Indian seemed to sense the tension, and threw a glance towards the back seat as they drove back towards service. "So how was the weather when you left Columbus?"

"Brisk." Stang volunteered, realizing the folly in his choice of words only too late. It was his turn to ask Tin Indian something, so he shifted in his seat and asked "So how was the worst of the last five millinia?

"Brutal." Tin Indian replied, and again this was obviously the wrong answer. "I mean, I was in Europe during the black death, and that was probably the worst time in my life."

"So, where were you living back then?" Stang ventured, not sure of how to proceed.

"In what is now Brussels, Belgium." Tin Indian replied. Again, the wrong answer. the Cat's fingers went white on the steering wheel. So Tin Indian started talking cars, and that calmed everyone down. He started talking about the sliding roof in the 1962 Studebaker Lark wagon, and then ventured about the GMC Envoy XUV, and how it was engineered. Stang liked listening to the guy, he had an easy simple way of making you understand complex stuff.

They stopped in front of a set of vintage Sinclair fuel pumps, the kind the P-59 might have gassed up at when it was new. Five high school age boys in 1950's era uniforms checked the oil, adjusted the tire pressure, cleaned the already spotless windshield, and fueled the P-59 up with full lead ethyl. The guys noticed a Corvette in the service bay ahead, and began to comment on it.

"I don't know they made a 53, 54, or 55 Corvette in gold." Cutty volunteered.

"They made a few in Bronze, although your right, it's almost gold....you could say that it's barely bronze." Tin Indian volunteered. Stang was getting worried about the sanity of the driver. Something seemed just not right about the whole situation.

CC wandered back and gave the Pontiac one final, gentle pat with the palm of his hand. "Trust me, you'll find this car Beyond Belief." To Stang's dismay, the Pontiac seemed to take on the anger of the driver. It lurched forward towards the open road, like a furious panther let out of its cage. Stang could see why these cars did so well in NASCAR, on drag strips, and on dirt tracks back in the day. This machine was nothing to joke about. There was something catlike about the car as well as the driver. It was a born hunting machine, eager to unleash its claws.

The Cat drove effortlessly and smoothly, and the guys met an odd sight on there way out of the lot. One of the largest guys Stang had ever met was standing next to one of the smaller cars on the lot, and one of the smallest guys he'd seen was standing next to a 2011 GMC Denali one ton dually. It made quite a sight, and The Cat Broke out laughing. This might not be so bad after all...Stang thought.

"You boys having any luck?" the Cat asked, alert and curious.

"Find of a life time." Replied the large man. "Drove all the way up from Charlotte North Carolina in the FOG to add to my Camaro collection, and I've scored a 1967 Z28 Rally Sport." He pointed back towards the service bays. "I've also scored a 1982 Pace Car Camaro. Kind of unusual and different, not sure I was going to like it but...right now I can't resist."

"What about you?" The Cat gently asked the small guy.

"We checked out an old abandoned rail line and I found this." The small man raised up a piece of wood with the letters W W on it, which must have meant Whistle or something of the sort back in the age of steam locomotives. "I'm looking for a truck. Got a nice new truck for a daily, but I want something unique. This Denali is nice, but they've got a 91 SS 454 that I like also." The small man cleared his throat. "Hard decisions to make even if I can buy five vehicles, because they have a big block 72 Camper Special pick up I like as well."

As the men were speaking, a family of rats walked across the path of the Pontiac and in front of the guys. Stang wondered if there would be more rats as the day went along.

The Cat shook hands with both of his fellow GM shoppers. "Good luck guys. Some Cool stuff here, Yes?"

"Very late 41 Chevrolet truck in the back row, and a 58 GMC Cameo on the other side of the lot. I would say yes!" W. W. smiled, and that seemed to put the cat and everyone else at ease.

"Keep it under a hundred and keep the shiny side up boys." Replied FOG. For some reason, Stang thought of Foghorn Leghorn when he saw the big guy, so he just thought of him as FOG. The Pontiac pulled out onto the road, and Stang could tell that Tin Indian was impressed with the car, which was saying something, because he didn't seem like an easy guy to please.

They drove along listening to BB King, the rumble of the big Pontiac V8, and the sound of birds along what must have been the one scenic tree lined street in this dismal town. As they rolled into the commercial district, The Cat pulled the Poncho into MacDonalds, and it was soon obvious to Stang why he did so. Across the Street was a Burger King, and the same strange aversion to "B" seemed to come back. Driving around the backside of the beige brick building, they bypassed buying budget burgers in the drive through lane. As they pulled back up to the boulevard, they brushed the Pontiac against a bramble bush, bruising but not really hurting the car. Bandaging the Poncho could come later.

But before breakfast could be brought forth to the boys, blazing bright chrome brilliantly greeted them and briefly blinded both front and backseat passengers in the form of a convoy of vintage tin on a tour. Bird was the first to notice, and then once she'd brought everyones blindsided attention to the boulevard they guys became buoyant and animated.

"Bridge." Bird tweeted, "Both lanes." Bringing up the front was a 1933 Pierce Arrow, followed by a Rolls Royce from the late 1920's. Those cars were followed by a supercharged 1939 Graham, a Cord with a coffin nose, a Chrysler Airflow, and then a 1934 Ford Touring car, or phaeton, followed. Bunched up behind the Ford were a 1927 Buck roadster, several Studebakers, a Stutz Bearcat, two T model Fords, and several Packards. This was all followed by a 1937 Seagraves fire truck with a dalmatian riding as tail end Charlie.

As concerned as he was about The Cat at times, Stang was glad to see he was a fellow car guy. The sight of that caravan had been worth the trip here, and they'd caught it totally by accident. they proceeded with their test drive, and again Stang was impressed with how well The Cat drove. Not a wasted motion, smooth, almost elegant, like that Pierce Arrow had been.

That was, until they passed Ben's Barber shop, whence The Cat pulled the Poncho onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street, barely missing a few parking meters and a newly plated tree.

At least for once Cutty was Speechless....sort of. Until the Pontiac stopped. Stang knew what was the matter. On each side of the street was a bank. Because he couldn't drive forward, backing brazenly burnt bias ply bruises into the pavement as the Poncho switched direction. Brave black ravens held to the last, but Birds scattered as the Poncho went up over the curb and into some grass. Continuing rearwards, traffic on the boulevard was breached by the Poncho, which seemed to be breathing fire in it's fury. Cars scattered like the birds had, and The Cat pulled a perfect Rockford style 180 degree turn, barely upsetting the crayons in his daughters lap as she calmly colored.

"Your father always drive like this?" Tin Indian asked, alarmed.

"Basically." replied the girl, not even bothering to briefly look up from her coloring book.

Stang was impressed, as he'd drag raced and autocrossed. He'd ridden with good drivers at SCCA style events, and worked as a corner worker where guys named Unser and Andretti had raced. But The Cat was a pure artist behind the wheel, and the Poncho was gaining speed like a walrus shot from a catepault.

Flashing red lights filled the rear window of the car, and Stang was alarmed when he looked back at the black and white Charger. That thing had a Hemi in it, and the guy in uniform driving it looked none to happy. The Cat calmly talked about the evils of debt as he raced away from the cop, and all of the guys in the car agreed that they really believed in financial responsibility. Racing away from that bank might have been the symbol for something else, and not just a ruse about the letter B.

It was still strange being in a high speed chase where the driver was so calm.

"I wish they had Accords or Tauruses as police cars." Cutty volunteered as the Charger gained ground greedily.

"Patiance, my son..." The driver shot back. "We'll get rid of him soon enough."

Stang wasn't so sure. The Cat was surely catlike in his knowledge of ally's and their subtlety. Charging past old industrial buildings at near triple digit speeds, both the Poncho and the Charger took turns getting briefly airborne. Twice Stang was hit in the face with blowing trash brought up by the speeding cars, and once The Cat was creative enough to switch positions, so that he was chasing the Charger.

"Oh....." Cutty seemed to want to use an obscenity, but couldn't some how find one obscene enough for the amount of speed they were carrying through this large, apparently endless abandoned industrial park. The Poncho crashed through the gates of a closed AC Delco plant at eighty five miles per hour, with the Charger in hot pursuit.

"Going to put her sideways boys, hang on...." Called out the driver. Stang thought for sure the Poncho would flip as it skidded through the enormous potholes in the pavement, but some how the whole Pontiac Wide Track thing was working very well in an application it was never deigned for.

They had lost a hubcap when they'd crashed the gate, and a pothole at the west end of the lot took two more off of their car when they'd barely managed to avoid the Charger by driving up over a curb and into another section of the parking lot. Two more came off when the two cars sideswiped each other, and then the Poncho found an open garage door, plunging into the old factory at over a hundred miles an hour.

Five hubcaps lost. A car was only supposed to be equipped with four. The only car chase Stang could remember where a car lost five hubcaps was the Black Charger in the Movie "Bullit" with Steve McQueen. That particular black Charger had gotten airborne and crashed into a gas station with spectacular results.

As the Poncho continued to scream through the blackness of the empty building, Stang had a strange feeling it wasn't the black Charger that was about to crash and burn this time.

Edited October 18, 2010 by 66Stang

[A Horse With No Name]

I've got a few edits for the above section, but its not letting me edit. I'll add more tomorrow...