Speedster

By Jonah Gibson

At 48, Jack McCain is beginning to resemble the antique Auburn Speedster his grandfather left him years ago. Sleek, classy, and powerful in its day, the car is now an anachronism that needs to be sheltered from the harsh realities of its environment to prevent its slipping into an ignoble dotage.

Jack would like nothing better than to keep himself garaged and under wraps next to his Speedster, but fate has conspired against him. Driven to distraction by a manipulative ex-wife, an insensitive girlfriend, and an epic mid-life crisis, Jack finds himself the chance owner of a customized import car. Hoping to sell the car, he joins a car club run by a bunch of twenty-something tuner punks who don't seem to know very much about cars. When one of the members, a beautiful tomboy who happens to be an exotic dancer, follows him home his life begins to spiral out of control.

Meanwhile, a screwball collection of villains including a pair of neon-haired underachievers, a serial sexual predator, and the owner of the gentleman's club called Glitters, scheme to separate Jack from the valuable Speedster. They want to sell it to launch a black tar heroin enterprise on Florida's posh Lower East Coast. They will stop at nothing to get it. Fueled by their spectacular and often hilarious ineptitude, they mire themselves and Jack in a predicament that seems more and more hopeless as it unfolds.

When a murderous deviant named Mateo abducts two women to force his hand, Jack must shake his malaise and come to grips with the boredom and indecisiveness at the root of his troubles. He enlists the help of his best friend, Mike, to rescue the women, but even a bagful of guns and the best of intentions are not enough it seems against a resourceful and determined foe. Tensions rise and bodies fall, from the walled mansions of Palm Beach to the mangrove labyrinths of Florida's Gulf Coast, as events race to an exciting and unexpected conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonah Gibson
• Release date: Sep 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301435159

Jonah Gibson

Jonah Gibson grew up in a one stoplight town in Western Ohio. Nestled among the soy bean and corn fields and overrun with turkey flocks, it had six churches, six taverns, and six gas stations. Jonah got his moral sensibilities in one of the churches, and developed his quirky lens for social observation in the taverns—all six of 'em. Then he gassed up and left town. There are those who think he had to leave town, but there is no real evidence to support this theory. Jonah currently resides on Florida's Treasure Coast with his wife and a retired racing greyhound named Bean. He writes funny books, posts funny blog entries, and tries generally to escape the 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune' with as many naps as Bean will allow.

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Speedster

A novel by Jonah Gibson

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

Copyright © Jonah Gibson 2013

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents depicted are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

About the Author

Chapter 1

Mateo Quinones left Reno while it was still dark. He'd gassed up the CTS sedan the evening before. He hoped to make Salina, Utah by nightfall. Plenty of time, but he did have to stop along the way to get rid of the dead hooker in the trunk. He figured there would be ample opportunity, but there was no telling when it would come.

He probably should have gotten a truck, something with four wheel drive, something he could get off the road with to do this bit of business, but he liked the black Cadillac with its big motor, its angular form, its trunk where he could keep things like dead hookers hidden from prying eyes. Besides, a Mexican in a pick-up truck was just another fruit picker looking for work. A Mexican in a Cadillac? That was a different story.

The hooker had been an afterthought, but probably one that was inevitable given the fat wad of cash with which he was leaving town. The boys from Xalisco who ran his crew had given him $40 thousand and a half dozen bricks of black tar to get himself set up in Florida. He was supposed to be in Fort Myers in five days.

There was another Xalisco crew already at work there, establishing a customer base of former Oxycontin users who were easily enamored of the cheaper and more potent balloons of under-processed heroin. Mateo was going to set up a new base in West Palm Beach. The money and drugs weren't a gift. They were a loan. He'd have to pay them back with interest. After that he'd be on his own, an independent business owner well on his way to getting rich if he was careful. He'd made enough in Reno to buy the CTS outright, and that was just from making deliveries.

So, with the Caddy loaded and the cash stuffed in a gym bag, Mateo had set out to have a little fun on his last night in Reno. He'd found a gringo bitch in a seedy little bar where no one knew him. She didn't mind being with a Mexican, especially after she saw the Cadillac. He had already rented a motel room, cash in advance. The hooker wanted her money up front too, and Mateo thought it was comical how she walked around with her arm hooked in his like they had something going on between them when they both knew it was about the money, the money he knew he'd have back before the night was over.

When they got in bed, she wanted to get right to work. Mateo wasn't in such a hurry. He liked foreplay. Good foreplay made it so confusing for them when he finally got around to showing them what he really liked. He had her pretty worked up with his unusual skills and a lot of patience before he asked her if she'd mind being tied up a little. She acted like she didn't want to do it, but he knew she was thinking about how he'd just made her feel. She wanted more money. He put another hundred on the night stand next to the bed. She smiled when he tied her wrists and ankles to the bed frame. She stopped smiling when he pressed the duct tape over her mouth. That was right before he started choking the life out of her.

Mateo liked watching them die. He particularly liked that moment when they realized that they were going to die and they got this look in their eyes, this wide-eyed, pleading look to make him understand that they would do anything, anything, if he would just let them live. Of course by that time, they were already doing the one thing he really wanted them to do.

There was another look when they figured that part out, a kind of surrender to the inevitable, a resignation of will. That's when he would let them take another breath, get back to that pleading attitude he loved so much. After a few times, they understood that too was just part of the process. The thing they never seemed to grasp was just how long he wanted it all to last.

With the puta in the trunk, it had taken about three hours. It could have been more leisurely and pleasurable, but Mateo knew he had to get up early so he'd cut his fun short. He had folded the hooker's lifeless form into a big canvas duffel and stuffed her clothes and her phone and the ropes he'd tied her up with in there as well. He didn't bother to take the tape off her mouth. He'd carried the duffel out to the car and stuffed it into the trunk. The shovel he'd need to bury her was already there. Then he got back in the bed and went to sleep.

***

Mateo took Interstate 80 out of Reno to Fernley. From there he dropped down to U.S. 50 to continue the journey across Nevada toward Utah. The Nevada Bureau of Tourism had decided to embrace the name, 'loneliest road in America,' in the hopes of drawing vacation traffic to other places in the state besides Vegas and Reno. They'd posted signs all along the route to herald their self-deprecating sense of irony. The appellation was apt enough. Once he got into the middle reaches of the state, Mateo knew that traffic would be sparse and mostly local. This suited him just fine. There would be plenty of chances to pull off the road along the way to dispose of his grisly cargo.

He found his place about eight miles south of Eureka. An old mining road jutted off the main highway into the ubiquitous scrub land. He bounced over the eroded gravel track until it dipped into an arroyo. The sides of the wash, indeed everything but the dried creek bed itself, were dotted with sagebrush and shadescale. Mateo parked the car behind a low hill where it could not be seen from the highway. He opened the trunk and heaved the duffel out onto the ground. He used the shovel to scrape a shallow depression into the hillside between two shrubs. The extensive spread of the root systems, essential to desert plants, made a deeper hole impossible. He managed two feet, and decided that would be enough. It was unlikely that the body would be found anytime soon, even if he left it on top of the ground. Best to be cautious though.

He dragged the duffel into the hole he had made, covered it with the sandy dirt, and piled on as many rocks as he could find in the immediate vicinity. When he was satisfied that the grave was as good as he could make it, he wiped down the shovel and carried it a hundred yards down the arroyo where he hurled it as far as he could into the scrub. Then he returned to his car, rinsed his hands with a bottle of water, and ate a sandwich that he had bought at a convenience store in Eureka.

Back on the highway he pointed the car south and east. The rest of his journey would be long and dull, but he was glad to have this one task out of the way. He still had a mountain of cash and too many bricks of tar heroin in the car to feel at ease, but being rid of the corpse was a relief. He would pick up Interstate 70 in Western Utah and stay on it through Denver and Topeka to St. Louis. There he would pick up 24 through Nashville to Chattanooga and Interstate 75 through Atlanta and all the way to Fort Myers.

Chapter 2

Jack's ex-wife called. Robert's got a problem with Jill's car. You need to call him.

Nice to hear from you too, Jack said.

Don't start with me, Jack. He's got a problem. I told him I'd call you.

Start with you? You launch right into the trauma of the week without so much as a 'Hi, how are ya', and I'm starting with you? Give me a break, Bev. Why can't Robert call me himself?

"Because you're so unapproachable, Jack. Everything is a hassle with you. Everyone's got to live up to your expectations. He's afraid to talk to his own father, afraid you're going to judge him instead of helping him.'

When have I ever not helped him? When have I ever not done what needed doing?

That's just it, Jack. You do it because you have to, and you let everyone know it. He's your son. Help him because you love him.

She was right of course, not that he'd give her the satisfaction of agreeing. It was bad enough he'd have to peel back layers of ennui and confront the chafing malaise at the core of his being without listening to Bev's analyst's guess as to what was wrong with him. He knew what was wrong. What was wrong couldn't be fixed. What he'd do instead was put on his best version of himself as Dad and call Robert in drag. He'd pretend. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would be way easier than being himself.

Robert's problem turned out to be not a problem at all, but Jack already suspected that. He couldn't say it though because Bev had put him on notice that his son thought he was hard to talk to.

Robert and his wife, Jill, were expecting their first child. They needed to get Jill a new car, and they needed to do it pretty soon. She was due in a few weeks. If the baby was early...well they just might not be able to get it all handled to Robert's satisfaction. Jill had driven her present car, a little Japanese import, since she was in college. It needed some work. Robert didn't have time to see to it. He was a fledgling lawyer in a pressure-cooker litigation firm downtown. He didn't have time to deal with stuff like this. He was working 100-plus hours a week. Jack knew this much to be true because he'd done some consulting work for Robert's firm. It was a sweatshop, although if you could survive to make partner you were pretty much assured an annual income somewhere north of a million bucks.

Robert was afraid they wouldn't get what the car was worth if they didn't get it fixed up a little. He didn't want to leave any money on the table in a trade. Jack thought that was ridiculous. If the kid lost a couple of hundred bucks, who would really care? In another couple of years, Robert would be spending the price of a new car, and more, just to get his baby into the best private school he could find. Jack thought Robert was acting like a churl over nothing. In fact he wasn't even sure what Robert expected him to do about it.

I can give you some money if that will help, he offered.

No, Dad. I don't need your money, Robert said.

Well at least he's proud, Jack thought. Then what do you want? he asked.

I want you to help me figure out how to get this done, he said.

There was a whiny tinge to Robert's voice that set Jack's teeth on edge. It reminded him of Beverly. Jack didn't think anything needed to be done. Trade the car in. Get what you can. Be done with it. That was the way to handle it in the real world, the world that Jack thought everyone ought to inhabit most of the time. That would only take care of Robert's problem though, a problem that didn't really even exist, except in Robert's mind.

Jack's problem, on the other hand, the one that would turn out to be real if he didn't solve the problem Robert thought he had, that would be the one to worry about. That problem would be having to listen to Robert and his mother piss and moan for an eternity about how Jack was never available when someone needed him, how Jack was always ready to tell everybody what he thought they ought to be doing, but he wouldn't ever just take care of something for his family just because they were family. Jack was not ready to face that shit. He would solve Robert's imaginary problem.

So how about I buy the car from you? he said.

You? What would you do with a little piece-of-crap car like Jill's when you've got that big Audi sedan?

I don't know. I've been thinking about getting something smaller to run around town, do errands and such, Jack lied. Gas is pushing $4.00 a gallon. I'm not getting as much consulting work as I used to. A little economizing would do me good. I'd keep the Audi, but only use it for occasions, meeting clients, stuff like that.

That's crazy, Dad. The thing needs some cosmetic work too. It would probably embarrass you to be seen in it.

I don't worry about stuff like that as much as I use to, Jack said. Besides, if it doesn't work out, I'll sell it. I've got the time to deal with it. I'll give you whatever you tell me is fair. Then I'll put my guy, Mike, on it. Get it fixed up. If I like it I'll keep it. If not, Mike will see to it I don't lose any money. Win. Win. What do you say?

So it was done. Jack figured he'd probably lose less than the amount he'd have given Robert anyway. Everybody would feel like they got their due from him. At least Beverly wouldn't be able to say anything. That in itself was worth three or four times what it was probably going to cost him.

***

Jack's girlfriend, Jodie, came by that evening with takeout from a Tex-Mex place she liked. Jack didn't care for Tex-Mex. Jodie knew that, but it didn't seem to deter her from suggesting it every chance she got. By the time they were finished eating, the oil and the beans lay in Jack's stomach like a brick and sapped all his energy for hours. Too bad for Jodie, since the balance of her plans for the evening apparently required him to be more vigorous than he felt.

She had to wake him up in front of the TV to get him into the bedroom. Then he fell asleep again while she was brushing her teeth. She woke him up again when she came to bed, and made him go through the motions, but it just wasn't working for Jack. Jodie finally climbed on top of him and tried to get the job done herself before she gave up in frustration. She got a little pissy about it, Jack thought, especially since they had had more than one conversation about Jack's food issues. Jodie wasn't having any excuses.

Really, Jack, she said. I do my best to be attractive. I'd think you'd show a little more interest.

Jack didn't want to talk about it. Even though he figured it to be mostly Jodie's fault for setting him up to fail, it didn't make him feel any better. Bottom line was things weren't working for him like they ought. Knowing it was the food didn't make him feel any better about the situation.

Eventually she got tired of trying to make him talk about their love life. He told her about Robert and the car deal. She was even more skeptical than Robert had been.

Your going to drive around in a Japanese economy car? she said. That's rich.

I don't know why no one seems to think I'm capable of driving a small car. I used to drive a small car. It's just like driving a big car, only smaller.

Suit yourself then, she said, but don't expect me to ride in it.

The more he had to defend himself, the more determined he was that he was going to make it work. Sometimes he thought it would be better to just be the prick everyone thought he was rather than always trying to be the good guy and getting himself into these impossible situations. It wasn't that he couldn't please everybody. He couldn't please anybody...not even himself.

The following morning he called his mechanic, Mike, to get the car picked up from Robert's place and worked on. He'd been using Mike for years, and trusted his judgment in all things automotive. Mike was more than just a mechanic to Jack. They had gone to high school and played varsity football together. Jack was a running back and Mike an offensive lineman. The day they met, Mike had knocked him on his ass in a scrimmage. Then he'd helped Jack up after and swatted him on the butt. They'd become friends after that, and Mike's size and surprising agility had helped propel Jack to a modest stardom his senior year. All he'd had to do was follow Mike through the holes he made in the defense.

When they'd graduated, Mike joined the Army and then went to trade school. Jack had gone to University. Neither of them played football after that, but they had remained friends. Jack had been helpful when Mike wanted to open his own garage, and he still gave him occasional investment advice. In return Mike took care of Jack's cars like they were his own.

After Mike had the car at his garage, he called to discuss what Jack wanted done with it. Mike was more enthusiastic than anyone else had been so far.

You know this thing's a turbo with all-wheel-drive, he said on the phone.

I don't even know what that means, Jack said.

Yes you do.

Okay. Yeah I do, but I'm not sure how that affects me. I'm just doing my son a favor. I'll probably end up selling the thing anyway.

Well here's the deal, Jack, Mike said. The kids love this car. It's fast as hell right out of the crate. There are a lot of things they can do to it to boost performance. Because of the all-wheel-drive, it's quick off the line. Makes it a good street racer.

Great. I'm going to sell it to some kid who will then have more horsepower than sense. Like as not, he'll kill me on the streets.

Good one, Jack. You're in top form today. You getting laid regular?

I'd rather not talk about it.

Look, all I'm saying is you can do this cheap, and lose a couple of hundred bucks...or you can spend more than you think you want to, and have something that's fun to drive and goes like a bat. You do that, even if you do end up selling it, you stand a better chance of getting your money back.

You're serious?

I'm telling you, the kids love this car.

So Jack gave Mike free reign on the car. When he delivered the finished product, he brought a bill for $22,500.

Goddammit, Mike, that's as much as the thing cost new!

Mike beamed. Yeah, but it's beautiful, isn't it?

Jack had to admit that it looked pretty good. It didn't look like anything he'd drive, but it looked pretty good. It was low and menacing with wide tires and a metallic plum paint job that looked as if you could fall into it. Thank God for a mid-life crisis, he thought to himself. Lets you get yourself talked into all kinds of crazy shit. Oh well.

He took it out for a drive on Saturday. Mike had been right about several things. It went like a bat, and the kids loved it. Teenage boys in cars with big rims and loud exhausts would nod as he passed or rev their engines next to him at stoplights. Carloads of high-school girls out cruising the boulevards for boys and fun would slow down to check him out. He guessed they must be thinking they had found themselves a live prospect when they saw the tricked out little car. Then, when they caught sight of his salt and pepper temples, their hands would flutter up to their mouths to stifle their giggles. He would just grin and wave. Stupid perhaps, but not unpleasant. He decided he liked the car, but it was every bit as ridiculous for him to keep it as everyone had thought. He liked the car, but he had to sell it.

Chapter 3

That evening Jack took the little car to pick Jodie up and take her to dinner. He let himself into her house. She was still getting ready, but she invited him into the bedroom to help her pick out an outfit. Jack hated these let's-play-dress-up sessions. He didn't understand why she couldn't just pick an outfit and run with it. It's not like she ever took his advice anyway. She'd try on one outfit. He'd say it looked great. She'd change and ask his opinion on another one. After a year of this, Jack began to think he'd like to have all the time he'd wasted helping Jodie get dressed back in a lump sum. It would make a nice vacation. He'd even take Jodie along, provided he didn't have to help her pack.

This night was no different, Jodie prancing around in her bra and panties, holding stuff up from her closet for his approval. He knew better than to like the first thing she held up. She would think he wasn't trying. It was kind of like being one of those batters who never swing at the first pitch, no matter how fat and perfect it comes down the pipe. The second thing she got out was a clingy little mini dress with long sleeves that flared at the wrists. He'd seen it before. It looked pretty good on her, but he couldn't imagine her trying to get in and out of his low-slung car in it.

She was going to be pissed enough about him bringing it. He hadn't confessed to the fact yet. He wasn't sure exactly how to broach the subject, since she'd already said she'd never ride in it. Jack figured he needed to wait until it was too late for her to back out. An easier-to-apologize-than-ask-permission thing. He shook his head, declining the mini.

The next outfit she pulled out of her closet consisted of Capri pants and a silk blouse. Jack thought this made more sense. He was wearing casual slacks and a polo shirt. They would match up pretty well, and Jodie wouldn't be flashing her underwear for everyone to see when she got out of the car. He gave it the thumbs-up, and thought that was the end of it. He went to the living room to watch the news while she finished dressing. When she came out, she was wearing the mini and some pretty serious stiletto sandals.

When she saw the car in the driveway, she stopped in her tracks.

What the hell, Jack? Have you lost your mind?

I like driving it. Kind of want to get it out of my system before I sell it.

Out of your system?

Yeah, I always wanted a hot-rod car, you know, back in the day. Now I've got one.

I already told you I'm not riding in it.

Come on. It'll be fun.

He held the door for her, and after a little posturing and face making, she got in. He'd been right about her flashing her underwear, but he decided he was okay with that when he realized that it matched the color of the car. Another good thing, with her killer heels just about the whole passenger side of the car was filled up with legs. He gave her his best grin and patted her on the knee. She didn't appear to be mollified.

***

After dinner, which consisted primarily of Jodie bitching about every minor setback and imagined affront she had suffered over the past week, Jack decided