Post #415659 by Cammo on Mon, Oct 27, 2008 10:29 AM

Mike is a cat lover, he just hated that thing!

Race Day
Part 2

“That’s great! We have two guys signed up who don’t have a car. They can be with you, Cam! Andy and Drew!” Maggie yelled, all jolly now.

Holy CRAP!

Andy and DREW?

Andy was an OK sort. Tall guy, greasy blonde. Into motorcycles too, mainly cause his lanky English dad was some sort of war hero and had liberated a German courier bike that he kept in A1 condition and rode all over. The dad wad a notorious ladykiller, too, married to an icy blonde lady known for her devastating looks and excellent chocolate trifle, of which I still have the recipe. Andy rode the bike all the time, had a great looking older sister, and liked the Kinks. Always jovial, a cool head, up for anything and never trying to prove anything to anybody. You can’t make this stuff up. From what I hear, Andy went into mining later and made a small fortune on drilling parts of the Alaskan Pipeline.

DREW was completely different. He was the son of the biggest landholder and real estate developer in the County. He was spoiled rotten, and was the most effeminate guy I’ve ever seen. He wasn’t faggy is what I’m saying. He was female. He was so femmy he made most other girls look butch. No guy in school hung around with DREW, just girls. I suppose they discussed feminine products together. The funny thing was, DREW had a brother Tony who was as macho as DREW was fem. Tony was thickset, quiet, played football, was freckle-faced, and always grinned like a kid with a frog in his pocket. The theory was that Tony had been given all the guy chromosomes and there was only one left over for his brother; just enough to give him a dink, but no more. DREW was medium sized, with straw blond hair that hung in little curly rings all around his ears. He was always draped across whatever he was sitting on, like he was tired or disgusted with life, and his legs were always crossed, tucked together like a 1950’s calendar girl wearing a short skirt. His eyes were rimmed with long lashes. DREW.

“Uh, alright. Fine. I’ll take ‘em.” I said, looking at Andy and DREW standing there beside Maggs. DREW couldn’t be too bad. He hadn’t ever said anything bad to me, mainly because we hadn’t said a single thing to each other during high school.

Richard smiled, and turned away. Everybody started breaking up into groups, and I realized the race was starting right now. No prep time, no questions.
“Um, c’mon you guys.” I said, “My car’s at the front. When do we start?”
“I think she shoots a gun off,” DREW said.

We heard a BANG.

We ran to the car.

My parents’s new Silver Honda Accord. Hereafter known as the Silver Bullet.

I had trouble unlocking the doors, but finally pointed Andy to the front seat and shoved DREW in the back. Then we both realized DREW had the envelope with the riddle.
“What IS IT!?” Andy yelled.
We turned around in our seats and stared at DREW.
“What’s what?” DREW said, looking out the window, disdainfully. Andy glanced at me.
“The RIDDLE!” he yelled.
“Oh.” DREW ripped open the thing, very neatly, and slowly said …

“Jack and Jill went up the ____
To fetch a pail of FANS.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.
“They went up the hill,” says Andy.
“Oh, the Hill. But what about the … Northern Fans!”
“Huh?” DREW asked from the back.

“The Hill, and the Fan Company! I know where it is! “ I yelled. Gas it, crank a U-turn and we shot down Maple Street.

“Where you going?” Andy shouted.
“The Hill, there’s a fan company up there!”
“Why are you going this way?”
“What do you mean?”

“You go DOWN Main, not up, and take the road behind Creswell’s Drug Store!”

Damn. Andy was right. I was used to going the other way, from our house. I took a left and another left, back the other way, the Silver Bullet going right through two stop signs.
“You’re right, hey, you do directions, I’ll drive and DREW, you do the riddles.”
“I think that’s what we’re supposed to do.” DREW said, his little voice packed with as much sarcasm as he could put into it.

The old army base at the top of Wooler Road was called “The Hill” and there was a Fan Company up there. They made giant industrial fans, the ones built into warehouses up on the roof. A friend had worked there last summer spray-painting the things. I didn’t think anybody else even knew it existed.
“DREW, turn around and look out the back window!” I shouted back at him.
“Why?” his tiny little voice came from the back seat.
“For cops!”
“There aren’t any,” he said.
“What d’ya mean?”

“I mean all the cops in the County have been told this race is being run today, and they’re not going to arrest anybody for going too fast.”

“YOU’RE FUCKING JOKING!”

“No. Maggie worked it out.”
“Andy! We GOT IT!”
“YEEEEEE- HAH!” we both screamed, just as I hit the downside of the town’s 5-way intersection, diving through the stoplight, the Bullet pitching forward 20 degrees, braking and steering to the right, fishtailing to the left, behind Creswell’s and pumping the gas while shifting down for grip up the old road that formed a one-lane alley that switchbacked up and around the older buildings on Main. Forty-fifty-sixty miles per hour, shift to third, engine screaming and sixty five seventy shift to forth, break out onto the Hill road, all pavement now, nobody behind me, nobody coming, drive on the line for safety, seventy five eighty, shift again into fifth, those lovin’ Silver Bullet Accords had gears to spare then, eighty five ninety ninety five and BRAKE a hundred yards before our turn and hit the gravel bit of a skid no problem and steer south, then down a lane, big sign Northern Fans there it is pull to a stop, somebody in a car - Maggie’s friend Amy, she’s cute, there she is, Andy jumps out, I pull around and he jumps back in with an envelope she’s handed him.

“We’re second!” he says.
“WHAT? Who got here before us?”
“Richard!”