Detroit up in Smoke

Till the car died the moment I moved my foot.

Over and over I tried it; over and over I cranked it; and over and over it died. I was about to give up when I did something right and the car shot out the open door way in front of it so fast it scared the hell out of both of us! Screaming, I slammed on the middle pedal hoping to Shade it was the brake and, when it was, I hit the steering wheel and she hit the dashboard.

Bonny looked over at me, rubbing her forehead. "Whatever the hell you just did, don't ever do it again."

We both laughed.

And then of course I did the exact thing again. And again. By the time I figured it out the sun was set and the darkness required a light. Luckily I had found the cars lights by trying everything earlier during the day.

By midnight ... I had it. I figured it out and we were driving around in this ancient piece of history. Laughing like a pair of fools, till I decided to get adventuresome and see what it would do. I had figured out that the Mph gauge was the same as a Kph gauge so I saw a number I was comfortable driving at, I mean I loved to get my StarMaker2000* but to a 100 kph, and hell this thing handled better than my car did ... so why not? I can handle it.

That would be the second big scare of the night that the car gave us. I punched it, the engine roared and we were driven back into our seats by an enormous force. That Mph dial spun around past 60 Mph in seconds, then rocket to 100 Mph before I could stop panicking, find the brake again, and slow us back down.

It's not a Kph gauge.

Not even close.

The dawn was two hours off when we pulled the black car back into its den. Using the headlights, we gathered up the two jugs of clean water we had scavenged earlier and recovered the Chevelle. with its tarp. I did my best to hide that we had been there and we left it. The motor was popping and that heat grumbled made it sound like there a beast under that tarp.

When we got back to the StarMaker2000* Bonny remembered her cigs, that were sitting plain-as-day on the driver's seat. She picked them up and tossed them off into the weeds by my feet.

"What did you do that for?" I asked as surprised as I had been when she bought them. I leaned down a picked them up. Too many years of anti-litter programing made me do it.

"Oh, I don't smoke. I just bought them because doing illegal things makes me horny as hell." She grinned at me. "I was planning to take you off out here, into the big unknown and fuck you under the stars ... but then we ran out of water."

I nodded. "Well, how about now?" I looked up. "There are still a few stars."

"E.B, I'm grungy as hell; I want a shower, some food, and a nice long nap. Then we can talk about wild sex."

I accepted that, knowing that I was myself really too tried for my best performance. And by this time, I really wanted Bonny in so bad a way, but I always wanted it to be one of those once in a million nights of sex. Not just sex.

On the drive back to Detroit, with me at the wheel, my mind raced through a thousand thoughts. The black car. The cigs and what she had paid for them. Sex. The black car ... okay, it was really only four thoughts, but they were on repeat a thousand times. At least. Especially the sex part.

Memories of that guy saying a carton of his cigs was two thousand Euro. I was still chewing over such thoughts when I dropped Bonny off on her side of the apartments. With a very nice kiss, and a grope of her breast and her of my crotch, I left and drove back to my side. I was driving slowly, carefully. When I noticed this I realized why. The StarMaker2000* was simply not as much fun to drive as the Chevelle had been.

I pulled it into my parking space and shut it down.

A smile touched my lips when I heard the music echoing through the early morning hours. Tones of pure magic. Sitting in his customary spot beside the elevator was the old building maintenance guy, Johnny Vasero, or John V as most people on this side of the building called him. He had his guitar out, the flat black metal instantly reminding me of the old car, and was doing his normal "playing for spare change" hobby. The man made good money, least that was the rumor, but he loved to do this for some reason. As I walked up, I listened to the music--stuff that I myself had tried to copy with my own sound from time to time with no luck-- astonished by it yet again. His was playing was dark, powerful, and smoky.

Even though I was currently jobless, I keyed my card and "tossed" him a few "bills" to his card laying in the battered guitar case. He gave me a nod and continued to play his smoky blues music, as he called it. Smoky ...

John V smelled of cigs smoke! It was a perfect match for what I had smelled when Bonny had rolled down her window to buy the cigs she threw away. My hand went into my pocket to feel that foil pack, even as I asked him without thinking "You smoke?"

The old man stopped playing and looked up at me sharply. There was a hardness to his eyes I had never thought could be there.

"Why you asking?"

"I can smell it."

"Yeah? Well, alright, yeah I smoke. What yah going to do about it there E.B? Turn me in? You going to turn me in?"

I shook my head. "You should know me better than that, John V. If you like it, do it. Hell, enjoy anything, everything you can. Why not right? The suns going to kill all of us if the dome ever fails."

He smiled, nodded, and went back to playing. I must have stood there for ten minutes listening to the sounds of his guitar as the elevator took its sorry time getting here. Seeing it was only forty-floors away, I was about to walk to the doors when I had a thought.

"Hey John V, where do you buy them from?" I asked. "The cigs."

The old man looked at me for a few second then shook his head. "I wouldn't recommend that you start E.B. It's not a good habit to have."

"I wasn't looking to start; I was wondering what you got them from. Just curious as to sources. I know they are expensive."

He scratched at his beard, debating whether to tell me. I could see that in his eyes.. Then he gave a little shrug. "Well--I had been buying them from a couple of boys that used to pass through Detroit here ever few months. That's over with now though. I heard they got killed on some back road down in Tennessee. Gunned down. The Man don't play when it comes to cigs."

Behind me the elevator opened. "Well what are you going to do now?"

He shook his head. "Try to quit, I guess. I sure can't afford to pay two hundred Euros a pack for them down in the Underlanes."

The doors behind me began to close. I stuck my foot inside to make them open again. My fingers caressed the foil pack in my pocket. The idea had formed of trying to sell these things maybe get a little money back, to have some cash to take Bonny out to dinner or something. So just why I took them out and tossed them into his guitar case I'll never know. Maybe the look on his face before the doors closed. Surprised shock. And a gratitude that was incredible.

All the way to my apartment I was lost in thought. Thoughts of black cars and cigs at two hundred a pack. Grateful musicians that can't afford that price and a woman that said she gets horny doing illegal things.

There was an eviction notice on the door of my place.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Forever night, Killing Light! I'm lost in the forever, ever night.

(Detroit News 67*) ... and in other news, a mysterious black car has been sighted on the deserted highways of several nearby states in the past three weeks. The incredible speeds it has been rumored to achieve are of course ludicrous, but the fact remains that sightings of this "ghost car" have been on the increase. Suggestions of haunted highways, Michael? What do you make of it?"

"Sounds like a load of crap to me, Terry. Nice blouse by the way, do they sell that in men's sizes?"

"Ah ... I don't know for sure, Michael. Oh. I'm being told that yes, yes they do. Now in local headlines, an upswing in black-market activities has city police baffled."

The Chevelle tore through the Kentucky hills like it was aflame. I took the turns, on those old half-rotten roads, at speeds my old StarMaker2000* could not dream of reaching. And as I drove those recklessly dangerous speeds, I moaned at the pleasure of the blonde head bobbing in my lap.

True to her word Bonny was a woman who got wet at the drop of an illegal hat. These long midnight runs, to the Carolinas, to the hidden tobacco farms and cig plants up in those hills, were all it took to make her into a stone sex freak.

I could almost be guaranteed an awesome blowjob, one that felt like it would last half the trip. And "Oh my god!" Let a police officer get behind us, in one of their silly "pursuit" specials. The moment I left them in the dust she would be begging me to have her bent over the front of the hot-as-hell hood, with my cock more often than not up her ass.

She would claw her fingers across the flat black paint, and the harder I would pump the more she loved it.

And when we got home to Detroit; when we sold our cigs to those new "good friends" of ours down in the Underlanes ... well, then it was back to our new, much bigger shared apartment. Sex in a hot shower together, then more sex on the bed ... if we made it that far. Then long wonderful days curled up together sleeping like babies.

"I had never enjoyed life this much," I thought, as I shot thick ropes of cum into her sweet mouth for the second time tonight. Even as I was coming I knew she was just getting started. Before this night was over I would have her at least once in the hole of my choice.

She snuggled her head into my bare thigh and said in a sleepy voice. "I love you, E.B."

I petted her blonde hair. "Love you too, Bonny." As I felt her fall asleep, her ear resting on my leg, her hair enwrapping my cock, I thought about those words I had just said. Did I love her? Really? I mean, yeah sure, I loved to be with her. Loved the things she liked to do to me, certainly. But those were some pretty basic human needs. Companionship and sex. Alright, awesome sex. Still ... love?

I let that though and others keep me company as I drove through the night.

(Detroit News 67*)...reports of ghostly black cars got more evidence today as the guards at gate seventeen reported a terrifying sight. A car, some weird pieced-together ... "thing" ... from the wastelands no doubt, tore through the gates of West Detroit, just before they were closed for the dawn. Even though they were in fear for their very souls from the hunted car, the officers bravely exchanged fire with a passenger. Reports said she was a demon like fiend with glowing eyes and her head on fire with golden flames. Golden flames? Glowing eyes? What do you think, Michael?

"Hell of a fashion statement there, Terry..."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Forever night, Killing Light!

The money was good. But for some reason the money didn't seem to last, not like regular money did. This money was like a hooker's morals, didn't seem to last long enough. Not that the money really meant anything to me. It was all about the speed now. Nothing else matter to me.

The speed.

I was spending most of my time in Detroit at the ~Neuroslide~ enough so that Bonny was worried about me frying my brain. But I was learning, not playing. I could already outdrive most of the pro racers out there. But then I wasn't racing for prize money. More and more we were in the news and more and more there were police falling in behind us to try and chase us down.

A couple had come close to getting us.

Oh, not because they could catch me, nothing on the roads could catch the Chevelle certainly not when I was behind the wheel. It was the need this monster had for fuel. I bought my supply at the plants where we got the cigs. But that wasn't ever enough to feed its appetite. I was eternally grateful that someone in the past had converted the Chevelle to bio-diesel. If I had been required to find the gasoline it originally ran on I would have been sunk. As is there were small time places, little cities, small towns that had been left to scorch in the sun because the world didn't care about them. In those I could find people willing to supply us. They knew us, hell loved us. Followed us on the news at night like we were rock gods. We were the "talk of the times" they said.

Bonny worried about us at times too.

So did I. At times.

We were living hard and fast, score to score. Night to blackest night. And the roads had become all the same in the months since that first night outside.

"E.B?"

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Where are we?" she asked, as she sat up and looked out the windows at the darkness beyond our headlights.

"About to Lexington. We need to stop for the day, and get some fuel from Darby's place."

"Want me to drive for a while?" she asked.

"I'm not sleepy." I reached over and patted her leg. "I'm good."

I must not have been because I missed seeing the car coming up on us from behind, with its lights off. Hell, I didn't know it was there till its lights came on like twin blazing suns in the glassy rearview and side mirrors. Bonny jumped, startled and spun in the seat to look behind us. Her hand went to the gun she keeps beside her in the seat at all the time now. I saw the look in her eye that I love to see. The one that promises me, without a word being spoken, of one hell of a fuck fest to come. Just as soon as I lose this "dipshit cop" behind me. She squirmed her legs together and gave a soft moan.

Then the two dozen lights in front of us sprang to life!

I fishtailed the Chevelle a bit sideways and spun the wheel trying to turn around without stopping. I saw more lights coming on behind us then, far more than the one that had chased us into this.

When I glanced over at her I saw twin tears running down Bonny's cheeks.

"Hey! Hey, now love. Now you don't cry. They haven't caught us yet. I'll just ..." I was still planning what I was about to do, when that first bullet tore through the windshield. The one that hit my chest like a sledgehammer! Then there were more. And I could hear every single one as they tore little round holes through the black sheet metal of the old car and then into Bonny or me.

She screamed once and then was silent

My foot pushed the pedal down but I was not really aware I had done it. The Chevelle gave its last dyeing gasp even when my own life was fading. Flowing out from me, in dozens of places, onto the real leather upholstery to ruin it. The car shot across and plowed into the line of police cars, with huge shattering sprays of plastic and glass. The officers screamed and continued to fire.

There was a blur in front of me. Then, I saw a ball of fire devour my whole world.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

The police captain knelt down and picked up the pack of cigs that lay beside the bullet riddled black car. As he stood back up he looked inside at the two young lovers. In death they had fallen over into each other, a macabre embrace into the afterlife ... if there was such a thing.

"Stupid kids," he muttered, as he began to slap the back of cigs against his palm to pack the tobacco. Walking over to his car, he took a seat on the hood, opened the foil and paper pack. When he offed the officers near him a smoke, most took one with a smile. The ones that didn't already had one lit, or had a pocket full of cig packs themselves already. Tapping out one, he took it between his teeth, put the rest of the pack into his uniform pocket and pulled out the gold Zippo lighter, the one he received from the Mayor of Detroit after the last group of cig smugglers he had caught.

The blue flame reflected in his mirrored sunglasses. Smoke rolled past the brim of his cap and he clicked the lighter shut. For a few more moments he watched his people clearing up the "Contraband" from the scene. By tomorrow night all these packs would be in the hand of the distributers and the ... Widows and Orphans fund ... would be already credited to all of these officer's accounts. As captain, his own share would be more than most police in Detroit made in a year.

He blew a smoke ring at the oil leaking "Ghost" car.

"Stupid kids."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Forever night, Killing Light!

(Detroit News 67*) "And in National news, last night, following a fierce gun battle, know cigs smuggler Eric C. Barro and his lover Miss Bonny Parker were brought to justice while trying to flee police. Rumors that they were in some kind of "supercar" are of course ridiculous. Mr. Barro's bullet riddled black StarMaker2000*,--the only vehicle registered in his name, people!-- was towed to the Cincinnati Conurbation. This automobile was reported, by highly credible sources, to have received more than two hundred rounds, in the exchange with law enforcement officers! Descriptions of it are, and I'll quote, "It was totally destroyed." and for the better I must say. Michael?"

"The cargo of illegal cigs, while they were not recovered from among the wreckage, are believed to have been hidden by the criminals before their demise. Therefore they are most likely going to soon be found and destroyed. Back to you, Terry."

"Thank you, Michael. And that is a lovely shirt, isn't that like the one I wore last week? Well, that's it from the back roads of Kentucky. This is Terry Morlan, with Detroit News 67* wishing you a very Goodnight.