Christine

“We got some kind of shock, though. He gets his cigarette lit, and then he turns on the radio. That’s another thing that used to drive us all fucking bugshit, the way he always listened to that rock and roll music like he was some kid instead of old enough to qualify for Social-fuckingSecurity. Then he put the tranny into drive. We didn’t see it, because we were all hunkered down so he wouldn’t see us. I remember Sonny Bellerman was kind of laughing, and just before it happened, he whispers, “They up, men?” and I whispers back, “Your pecker’s up, Bellerman.” He was the only one who really got hurt, you know. Because of his wedding ring. But I swear to God, those wheels were up. We had that Plymouth’s rear end four inches off the ground.”

“What happened?” I asked. From the way the story was going, I thought I could guess.

“What happened? He pulled out just like always, that’s what happened! Just like all four wheels was on the ground, He spun gravel and ripped that rear bumper out of our hands and pulled about a yard of skin off with it. Took most of Sonny Bellerman’s third finger; his wedding ring got caught under the bumper, you know, and that finger popped off like a cork coming out of a bottle. And we heard LeBay laughing as he went out, like he knew all along we was there. He could of, you know; if he’d gone back to use the bathroom after he finished shouting at Poochie, he could have looked right out the window while he whizzed and seen us standing around behind the building waiting for him.

“Well, that was it for him and the Legion. We sent him a letter telling him we wanted him out, and he quit. And, just to show you how funny the world is, it was Sonny Bellerman who stood up at the meeting right after LeBay died and said we ought to do the right thing by him just the same. “Sure,” Sonny says, he says, “the guy was a dirty sonofabitch, but he fought the war with the rest of us. So why don’t we send him off right?” So we did. I dunno. I guess Sonny Bellerman’s a lot more of a Christian than I’ll ever be.”

“You must not have had the back wheels off the ground,” I said, thinking of what had happened to the guys who had screwed around with Christine in November. They had lost a lot more than some skin off their fingers.

“We did, though,” McCandless said. “When we got sprayed with gravel, it was from the front wheels. I’ve never to this day been able to figure out how he pulled that trick off. It’s kind of spooky, like I said. Gerry Barlow—he was one of us who did it—always claimed LeBay threw a four-wheel drive into her somehow, but I don’t think there’s a conversion kit for something like that, do you?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think it could be done.”

“Naw, never do it,” McCandless agreed. “Never do it. Well, hey! I done jawed away most of my coffee break, kid. Want to get back and grab another half a cup before it all gets away from me. I’ll send you that address if we got it. I think we do.”

“Thank you, Mr McCandless.”

“My pleasure, Dennis. Take care of yourself.

“Sure. Use it, don’t abuse it, right?”

He laughed. “That’s what we used to say in the Fighting Fifth, anyway.” He hung up.

I put the phone down slowly and thought about cars that still kept moving even when you lifted their driving wheels off the ground. Sort of spooky. It was spooky, all right, and McCandless still had the scars to prove it. That made me remember something George LeBay had told me. He had a scar to show from his association with Roland D. LeBay, as well. And as he grew older, his scar had spread.

45 NEW YEAR’s EVE

For this daring young star met his death while in his car,

No one knows the reason why—

Screaming tyres, flashing fire, and gone was this young star,

O how could they let him die?

Still, a young man is gone, but his legend lingers on,

For he died without a cause…

— Bobby Troupe

I called Arnie on New Year’s Eve. I’d had a couple of days to think about it, and I didn’t really want to do it, but I had to see him. I had come to believe I wouldn’t be able to decide anything until I actually saw him again for myself, And until I had seen Christine again. I had mentioned the car to my father at breakfast, casually, as if in passing, and he told me that he believed all the cars that had been impounded in Darnell’s Garage had now been photographed and returned.

Regina Cunningham answered the phone, her voice stiff and formal. “Cunningham residence.”

“Hi, Regina, it’s Dennis.”