Uncommon Heroes and Cars

By Carey Azzara

Twenty-one inspired short stories. There can never be enough written about heroic acts and heroic people, we all need the inspiration they give us. This book is a small contribution to help fill that need. Most of the stories are fiction, but the characters, dogs, and cars were largely informed by those I’ve known or admired. In these pages you will find adventures, mysteries, and people from many walks of life. In some stories, people are the heroes with cars playing a supporting role, in others animals take on the heroic role. The stories include gear heads, detectives, firefighters, soldiers, fathers, kids, dogs, cats and of course cars. Each story is a snapshot of heroic acts some small, others large. Real heroes walk among us who often go unnoticed. They shun the bright lights of praise, doing the things they do for the sake of doing good works. My hope is that after reading this collection of stories, you will be inspired to perform acts of kindness and that those who receive your kindness will pay it forward.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carey Azzara
• Release date: Dec 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311188175

Carey Azzara

Life is not a straight path and Azzara has had many a twist and turn during his life, losing his only sister when he was sixteen and struggling to regain direction. Since then he has accomplished a number of goals such as the pursuit of two graduate degrees, a career in public health, VP of market research, President of a marketing company AtHeath, LLC, raising a family, and rescuing a few dogs. He has published numerous articles, reports, and books. Along the way he has had experiences that have inspired him to author the short stories in this collection. They say writers write. Azzara writes for the joy of sharing his ideas and stories with you.

Book preview

Uncommon Heroes & Cars

Twenty-one Inspired Stories

Published by Carey V. Azzara at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Carey V. Azzara

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 person. If you’re 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.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews and critical articles.

All photographs, on front and back cover and on Franklin’s Circuitous Journey, by Patrice A. Fisher.

Uncommon Heroes and Cars is dedicated to

the unsung heroes of our time—those women and men

who work hard each day

to make a difference in the lives of children.

To teachers, coaches, counselors,

and all the other people working

with preschool, elementary, and high school students.

Thank you!

Contents

Introduction

The Stories

The Tuxedo’s High-Speed Chase

Rachel’s Whispers

Hey, Old Man,You Wanna Race?

If You Listen Closely

The Platoon Leader’s Cobra

Caravan Mishaps and Adventures

An Improbable Duo

Comet Goes the Distance

The Hatchback and the Gas Tanker

Mowgli and the Bear

A Different Future

Back in the Day, a Perfect Getaway

A Clutch Decision

Franklin’s Circuitous Journey

A Warrior’s Sled

Bad Luck ’55 Roadmaster

Bernoulli KO’s an Intruder

Hornets Win Races

Space Invader

Firehouse Chili

And Finally, This

Introduction

Uncommon Heroes and Cars, a book of twenty-one fictional short stories, will introduce you to numerous people, animals, and cars. In some stories, people are the heroes; in other stories, dogs and cats are. In some cases, cars take an active heroic roll. Animals and cars are two of my favorite things in this world. I like to drive all kinds of cars and have had many dogs, all of which I hope to meet again on the other side.

There can never be enough stories about heroic acts and heroic people, and this is my small contribution to this genre. While these are all fictional stories, real people, dogs, cats, and cars I have known or admired inspired most of them.

There are real heroes among us who often don’t receive the recognition they deserve. They also tend to shun the bright lights of praise. They do what they do for the sake of doing good work and not for the pat on the back they richly deserve. My hope is that after reading this collection of short stories you will be inspired to perform acts of kindness, and that those who receive your kindness will pay it forward.

I wish peace and good fortune to all who pass this way.

The Stories

I want to give a special thank-you to my family for their tremendous support and encouragement, especially my mom and dad, whose excitement spurred me on. In addition, I would like to thank my children and in particular my wife for her editorial work and story revisions, which made this collection of short stories possible.

The Tuxedo’s High-Speed Chase

A spy once owned this car, an E-Type Jaguar roadster, or The Tuxedo, a nickname it was given by a casino boss. It earned that name partly because it was painted white and had a black leather interior, which made it reminiscent of a white tux. However, that was not the only reason. The owner was one of those spies from the ’60s, a relic now, but at the time a highly valued operative of British heritage who often wore a white tux. He was recruited as an agent during the Cold War. Trained by a Special Forces unit, he already had a host of skills; his CIA training only made him that much more lethal.

Of course, a Jaguar wasn’t standard issue for a CIA operative back then, nor would it be now. Nevertheless, if you want to make an impression when you roll up to the front of a casino, luxury hotel, or just about anywhere else, you want to be driving this car. The curved fenders said elegance; the engine note, a mix of rumble and sophistication, said power; and the dashboard gauges and controls spoke the language of performance. With the spy at the wheel, the gestalt was a sight to behold.

While spies often try hard to stay in the shadows, there are times when being noticed is part of a cover story that is developed. This particular spy’s cover was that of a playboy—nice work if you can get it. Therefore, having a car that was a visible magnet for women was just the ticket, and on one particular night, as on most nights, he was dressed for the part in his white tuxedo.

At the Casino

Giorgio, cash me in. I think I’ll quit while I have the house’s money for a change. The devil knows the house has pocketed enough of mine.

Sure thing, sir, just give me a minute.

The spy glanced around the room taking in details, especially the faces of people he had targeted. He gathered up his winnings and flipped a fifty-dollar chip to Giorgio. See you next time, old chap.

Giorgio smiled and gave the spy a quick salute, then turned back to his work at the roulette table.

When you win big at an underground casino it usually got everyone’s attention. He not so discreetly pretended to slip away from the gambling rooms and walked through the hotel lobby. The doorman hurried to open the doors to the street and was tipped handsomely. The spy then handed the parking valet a ticket to retrieve his Jaguar. He was a frequent player at this casino, a joint where, when the bouncer slides open the 6 x 5 steel window in the door, you have to know the password to get in.

He was on his way to a secret meeting—except the meeting was intentionally not kept a secret. The spy had dropped enough hints and bits of information at the roulette table (and elsewhere) to successfully attract the attention of an enemy operative who was the target of an elaborate sting. The plan to lure him in was working like the inner mechanism of an expensive Swiss watch…or was it?

The hint-dropping had resulted in an unintended consequence. The spy had also attracted the attention of an East German operative known only by the name Hanna. What the spy didn’t know was that Hanna wasn’t interested in secrets. She was an assassin and he was her target. Her plan was to make it look like an accident, and a road accident was what she had in mind.

As luck would have it, while waiting for the valet to bring his Jag around, he got a tip.

An unassuming, matronly looking woman asked for his help getting into her Rolls Royce and whispered, You’ve been marked by the Russians for assassination; stay alert. Apparently, an East German operative has gotten the contract for the hit, but nothing more is known. She glanced at him, smiling, and said, Thank you, it’s nice to know that people still have manners.

The spy remarked, You are quite welcome, madam. Always a pleasure to help a beautiful woman in distress.

She smiled knowingly at him and he kissed her hand before bidding her a good night. This woman, one of his contacts, was also involved in the sting he had planned. She knew as well as he did that any interruption in their plan could be disastrous.

He got into his Jaguar and thought. This puts a completely different complexion on the mission. Of course, he didn’t know who the assassin was, and he certainly would not have expected it to be a woman.

The spy weighed his options. He decided that rather than hiding or taking cover, he would pretend nothing had changed. Their plan to draw out their target was too important, a matter of national security. He set out to join the others who were assembling for the sting. When he stepped on the gas, the Jaguar’s throttle noise and muffler note raised heads. With a cloud of dust behind him, he made a dramatic exit.

He thought, If I survive the assassination attempt, the plan is still likely to work. The trick is to not be killed. Then he chuckled to himself.

A Winding Road

Once in his car and traveling on the open road, going well past the speed limit, he glanced at his rearview mirror and knew by the style of the car’s grille a BMW was coming up behind him. It was still well back but slowly gaining on him. The hairs on the back of his neck sent a warning, and he knew the driver of the Beemer was likely his assassin. There was no time to take evasive action—he had to deal with this attack right now or the sting operation would be jeopardized. That was simply not going to happen on his watch.

They were on a winding road and the BMW was occasionally out of sight, which could be useful. He looked for a good place to make a stand. As he came around one of the many curves, an opportunity presented itself. On the far side of the turn was a vista lookout typically used by tourists. He swung the roadster around at the edge of the road. He stopped and parked parallel to but just short of the rail that protected cars from the ravine below.

Then the Jaguar suddenly stalled out, its quirky electrical system a failing known to this car choosing this most unfortunate of moments to misbehave. There sat the Jaguar roadster at the edge of the road with only a light guardrail between the two tuxedoes and a precipitous fall.

With every turn of the key, the only thing the spy heard was a steady click-click-click. The BMW chasing him came around the curve and saw the Jag. It was closing fast, and he sensed that its driver knew about the Jag’s electrical failings. The car appeared helpless as the assassin rushed toward him!

He had to get the Jaguar started or he’d have to bail out and make a run for it. Right on cue, the engine abruptly came to life—it was like a scene straight out of a Hollywood movie. However, rather than speeding off, the spy just sat there, which egged the Beemer on. The assassin sped up, aiming for the Jaguar’s driver’s door with the clear intent of T-boning the car.

But the spy had feigned a stalled engine, even after restarting. At the last minute, he released the clutch pedal and sped off, leaving the Beemer’s driver with nothing between her and the guardrail. A surprised and then horrified look on her face was the last thing he saw as the BMW passed him at high speed. The Beemer’s brakes screeched as it went crashing through the guardrail and then sailed into the ravine. It tumbled down, flipping over completely. It continued to slide down the steep slope until it hit a tree at the bottom. Once the BMW came to rest, it was clear that both the assassin and her BMW were finished.

The spy stopped his car and ran to the edge of the ravine. It was clear he could do nothing to help the woman driver, but he took no satisfaction in her death.

He mumbled, This is a dirty business.

As he walked away, he felt a mix of remorse and relief, but more than anything he was simply grateful that he had survived the attack. Now he could fulfill his larger mission.

Rachel’s Whispers

Three words defined Rachel’s life: horses, horses, and horses. She loved everything about them. Her dad often kidded her, Rachel I think you have horse hair in your blood.

She had grown up around horses, horse trainers, and the racetrack. A professional racehorse trainer, her dad had many credits to his name, and Rach, as he called her, spent as much time with him as she could. She loved watching and, when possible, helping him with the horses he trained. In fact, all she ever seemed to talk about were horses.

However, Rachel hadn’t exactly lived a charmed life. A crushing loss at a tender age had changed everything in an instant. A brutal accident claimed her mom when Rachel was four years old, and only vague memories of her mom survived. What she remembered most were the wrenching feelings of loss the day her dad walked in the house, reluctant to bring bad news. He had wet smears of dirt on his face, his hands shook, and his voice was raspy, as if he had eaten a handful of crackers and they were lodged in his throat. He bent down and said quietly, Rachel, Mommy isn’t coming home tonight, sweetie. There was an accident. She’s in heaven now.

Rachel started to cry. He comforted her as best he could. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I’ll explain it all to you when you’re older. I’m here and I love you very much. Mommy loved you very much, too.

Rachel remembered her dad’s attempt to provide comfort with words, but more than anything else, she remembered how woeful and frightened she felt. Her whole world had been ripped apart instantly. She remembered saying, Daddy, I’m scared. I want Mommy. Her dad had not replied. He sobbed and reached out his arms to hug her. They embraced for a long time. Eventually she fell asleep in his arms, exhausted from her sorrow.

Nights were the hardest. She often fell asleep softly whimpering, her dad at her side. She lost her appetite, her interest in any kind of play, and, worst of all, she lost interest in horses. She awoke in the early hours screaming, Mommy, where are you?

It broke her dad’s heart too hear his four-year-old cry out in anguish.

Immersed in his own grief, he became more despondent as the weeks passed. His grief, compounded by Rachel’s, plunged him into depths he had never known existed. He sat for long periods staring into empty space. Often he could not find the strength to go up to bed. In the morning Rachel would find him slumped over in his chair. In his melancholy, he thought about the unholiest of acts—ending it all.

Seven Years Later

Rachel’s dad eventually kept his promise. It was late on a sunny afternoon. They were relaxing on the front porch, sitting together on a wicker loveseat and sipping iced tea. He leaned toward her and said, I think you’re old enough to hear the whole story about how Mom died. I’ll tell you, but only if you’re sure you want to know more.

Although apprehensive, she shook her head yes.

He spoke in soft tones, his eyes teary; remembering remained painful. He began, Well, Rach, first I want to tell you how much your mom loved you. You look a lot like her, you know. You have the same sparkle in your eyes, her dimples, and that same wrinkle she had on her forehead. Pausing, he felt the weight of what he was about to say, and it held him suspended in time.

Unable to stall any longer, he blurted out. Your mom died in a terrible train accident. Composing himself, he continued, The man at the controls, who we later learned was extremely depressed, had taken an overdose of medication. He was drowsy and had no business being at the helm.

She took this in, and after a brief hesitation asked, What happened exactly?

Taking a deep breath, he resumed telling the story. The train operator failed to adjust his speed when the train came to a tight curve. He didn’t slow down at a clearly posted speed sign. The train was going over sixty miles an hour in a twenty-five-mile speed zone. He simply wasn’t paying attention to the track signals. His face grew sadder. The rest you already know.

Tears rolled down Rachel’s face.

Then he added, Later, they found a half-written suicide note in his apartment. In addition to the pills he took, the authorities think he might have been drinking, but I don’t know if that was ever confirmed. He stood trial and was convicted of manslaughter. Six people died and a lot more were injured.

Rachel looked more distressed. She had a disturbing mix of emotions, including both compassion and anger. It confused her. She didn’t want to feel anything for that man—he had stolen a precious part of her life—but his life was a calamity, too. It was hard not to pity him.

Her dad continued, He spent time in jail before being committed to a mental institution where, as far as I know, he remains to this day.

While it helped her to know the truth, it was little consolation. The overwhelming sadness that had subsided over the years was again upon her. However, the grief she felt now was different from the scared feelings of a four-year-old. It was more profound.

Her dad seemed to understand her renewed yet altered state of grief. He said, It will take time to think it all through again, Rach. You need to give yourself time to work out your feelings now that you’re older and can better understand what happened. He paused before adding, I’m here for you. You know I’ll always be here for you.

She hugged him and said, I think I need some time alone. Is that okay?

Of course. He got up from the loveseat. I’ll go start dinner. You take your time.

Life Goes On

One summer night, her dad asked, Now that you’re sixteen, do you look back and think about what you would change if you could—I mean, other than what happened to Mom?

She was quick to respond. Nope, was all she said.

He laughed, Well, I guess that’s clear enough.

Rachel’s dad had raised her alone; he never remarried. On occasion she would ask him, Hey, Daddy-o, why haven’t you gone out and found someone? Looking at him in a playful yet loving way, she’d say, Mom has been gone a long time now. You really should think about getting remarried. I wouldn’t be hurt.

His response was the same every time she asked. He would gaze at her with an impish look, smile, and say, Find a new wife, ay? Then he would say, I’m still in love with your mom, Rach, and it won’t be fair for me to marry another woman. She could never be the love of my life. Mom will always be that for me.

Rachel thought she understood, and besides, she wasn’t sure she would like having a new mom. After all, she’d had her dad all to herself. It was more than a close father-daughter relationship; it was also a partner-like relationship. They took care of one another and worked together. She was happy she didn’t have to share him.

Simultaneously, she wondered, Am I being selfish? After all, one day I’m likely to move away and start a family of my own. She had a nagging feeling of concern: He would be alone. It worried her.

Life for Rachel was an all-consuming occupation with horses, which did not leave much time for socializing or thinking about boys and other things teenage girls typically do growing up. Her dad taught her his training secrets, things he’d developed over the course of years working with horses and jockeys. He showed her ways to tone