Here's another section of a short story I wrote fairly recently, you can find the first part here:
I
nodded in appreciation, and the barman walked off to attend to his other
customers. I shot down the bourbon and
walked out to grab my bags. When I got
outside, I was amused to see three men staring intently at my car. This didn’t happen often enough.
“Is this the 4.2 or 3.8?” the man in
a Led Zeppelin shirt said.
“It’s the 4.2,” the man with the
cowboy boots replied.
“How do you know?” the man with a
gray beard and military beret said.
“Because it says ‘Jaguar 4.2 Litre
E-type’ on the back,” the cowboy smiled.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” I said
loudly. The three of them jumped in
unison and turned around to face me.
“Uh, we were just looking…” the
first man’s voice trailed off.
“It’s alright,” I smiled. “I don’t mind at all. Name’s Eric.
I’m new in town.”
“I’m Bob,” the first man said,
“that’s Stephen,” pointing to the second man, “and that’s Bill,” pointing to
the third man.
“This is one helluva car,” Stephen
said. “How long you had it?”
“About a year,” I replied. “I found it sitting in a recycling plant,
about to get destroyed. I couldn’t let
that happen.”
“Who in God’s name would destroy an
E-type?” Bill was incredulous. “It’s
gotta be worth at least a hundred grand.”
“It was a recycling plant in
Boston. I used to live in Boston.” The three of them immediately understood.
“I’m surprised that the damn thing
even got to a recycling plant,” Bob said.
“I can’t believe it wasn’t destroyed as soon as people saw it. I mean, my cousin nearly got lynched when he
drove his Camaro into Denver. And
Denver’s bad, but it ain’t that bad.”
“You don’t have to be mild about
it,” I said. “Boston’s full of militant
environmentalists. I mean it too. It’s literally the only thing they think
about. Every city in the Northeast is
like that, and it’s starting to spread to the towns as well. It’s an entirely different place. Riots in the cities, industry under siege,
it’s awful. And of course, the damn
government hasn’t done anything to stop it.”
“Well, course not,” Bob was
bitter. “President’s as green as the
rest of them. Thank God we got a
Republican governor.”
“Exactly. That’s why I left. I couldn’t take the madness anymore. So I took the Jag and left. It wasn’t easy, I had to pay off four
different people, and sneak the car out in the middle of the night. Driving this thing through Massachusetts and
New York was probably the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.”
“I can imagine,” Bill said. “So, what’re you doing now?”
“Driving,” I said. “I’ve been driving ever since I left. To be honest, finding this car was the
greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.
I never felt at home in Boston, and this car gave me an excuse to
leave. I haven’t gone back. Haven’t even been tempted.”
“So you been driving for a year
then?” Stephen was shocked.
“Yup,” I said.
“Well, we can at least make you feel
at home here,” Bob said. “You play
pool?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time in bars,”
I grinned. “Of course I play pool.”
“Good, let’s go,” Bob smiled, and we
walked into the bar. We got some drinks,
and set right to work with our game. It
didn’t take long for me to figure out that these guys knew what they were
doing. Normally, I swept up everyone I
played, but Bob and Bill worked like a machine.
I was impressed.
“You’re good,” Bob said to me after
the third game. “Bill never gets a good
partner, he must be thrilled.”
“I am,” Bill said. “I don’t suppose you’re planning on sticking
around, Eric? We could sure use a guy
like you around here.” The question
threw me for a moment. I had never
stayed in a town for more than one night.
The fact that I even had to think about it was shocking.
“I don’t know,” I said.
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