Cadillac Chronicles

by Brett Hartman

  Alex got in the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  “Adjust your mirrors.” Lester pointed to the toggle controlling the side mirrors.

  Alex made the adjustments. His nerves were starting to kick in.

  “Next thing is the transmission,” Lester said. “Hold down your brake pedal and shift her into drive.”

  “I know how to do that.”

  “Well then, do it.”

  Alex pulled the lever and stepped on the gas. The car leaped forward. He hit the brake. There was a loud screech. In his periphery, he could see Lester’s head pitch forward and back.

  “Sorry,” Alex said.

  “It’s all right. You’ll be lousy for a while until you learn.”

  “What am I doing wrong?”

  “First thing, you got a big block V-8 sitting in front of you with enough torque to snap your neck. Go gentle on the gas.”

  “Okay.”

  “Second, you got power brakes. Go easy on’em. Skid and you lose control.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do it again. Gentle on the gas, gentle on the brake.”

  Alex let go of the brake and allowed the car to run on idle. The speedometer registered ten miles an hour.

  “A little faster,” Lester said.

  The car bucked forward. Alex hit the brakes causing the tires to screech. “Jesus, I suck.”

  “Easy does it. You’ll get it.” Lester pointed to a lamppost about a quarter mile away. “Go up to the access road and park in front of that pole. Without hitting it.”

  “I’ll try,” Alex said.

  “Trying is worthless. Just go for it and see what happens.”

  “You’re not worried about your car?”

  Lester didn’t respond right away. He reached forward and laid his hand on the dashboard. “Tell you what,” he finally said, “I’ll make you a deal.”

  Alex took his hands off the wheel. His right foot kept the car from moving. He thought of his mother’s deal just a few days earlier and how that was working out—not too bad, actually. “What kind of a deal?” he said.

  “You get her parked successfully in front of that pole, and the car’s yours.” He paused then said, “After I die, that is.”

  “What if the car dies before you?”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that. But let’s just say if she does, you get the scrap value.”

  “I think I’d rather have you around,” Alex said.

  “That’s nice. Now let’s move before the damn mall opens.”

  Alex eased his foot into the gas. The car worked its way up to twenty-five miles an hour. He backed off as they approached the access road.

  “Treat it like a stop sign,” Lester said.

  A small jolt and the car came to a stop.

  “Good,” Lester said. “Look both ways and get on the road when it’s clear.”

  “But it’s always clear.”

  “Let’s say there’s a big Mack truck coming this way.” He motioned toward the left lane. “And a Corvette coming up from the right. You got just enough time to cross in front of the truck and get in past the Vette.”

  Alex inched the car forward and turned onto the lane.

  “Pow!” Lester yelled. “We just got crunched between the car and truck. We’re dead.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Listen, kid; when you commit to a course of action, don’t hesitate. Don’t limp-dick yourself into a hole. Don’t drive that way, and don’t live that way. Now bring her back around.”

  The second time went a lot smoother. Instead of being sandwiched, according to Lester, they were only honked at and given the finger by both drivers.

  “Do it again,” Lester said.

  Alex circled back to the intersection. “There’s the truck, there’s the car,” he said. “I’m going.” He pressed the gas pedal and turned onto the lane knowing this time how the engine would respond.

  “Good job, kid. Now go to the pole.”

  It took him three tries to get the car squarely into the parking spot. On his second attempt, he tapped the pole with the front bumper, prompting a loud “Jesus Christ!” from Lester. But the third try was smooth.

  “Good,” Lester said. “Now back her into the same spot. And don’t rely on your mirrors.”

  A white Ford Escape pulled up and parked along Lester’s side of the Cadillac. A man in a security uniform stepped out and walked around to Alex’s side. Lester shot Alex a serious look and said, “Open your window but let me do the talking.”

  The security guard placed a pudgy hand on Alex’s side-view mirror. “Mind telling me what you’re doing here?” The man was muscularly built, but his voice had a high, effeminate quality.

  Lester said, “Just a little driving lesson. When the mall opens, we’ll be gone.”

  The guard squatted low enough to look directly at Lester. “Problem is, your boy here smacked that pole pretty good. I’ll have to fill out an incident report.”

  Lester said, “That’s a load of crap. He barely touched it.”

  “You can step out of the car, sir. See for yourself.”

  “Kill the engine,” Lester said to Alex. “I’ll have myself a look.” He held onto the doorframe and pulled himself out of the car.

  The security guard met him at the pole. “See right here?” he said, pointing to a dark line on concrete.

  “That’s nothing,” Lester said. “These things get tapped fifty times a day.” He looked back at Alex and gave a thumbs-up, as if everything was perfectly fine. To the guard he said, “That’s why the goddamn things are made of reinforced concrete!”

  “Sir, I don’t appreciate that. I’m just trying to do my job by the book.”

  “Screw the book,” Lester said. “There’s no damage here. Let us be.”

  The guard looked down at the Cadillac’s front license plate and said, “Is that how they teach you to talk in New York?”

  “Yes they do. It’s called Common Sense 101. You ought to enroll yourself.” Using the front fender for support, Lester walked over to Alex and said, “Lesson’s over, let’s go.”

  The guard remained still, arms crossed over his inflated chest. “Other thing is,” he said. “The mall’s not insured for driving lessons. I’m inclined to have you arrested for unlawful use of public property.”

  And I’m inclined to get you fired,” Lester said as he readjusted the mirrors and started the engine, “for sexual harassment.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t exactly like the way you grabbed my ass when I got out of the car.”

  “You’re a crazy old man.”

  “Maybe so, but your supervisor may think otherwise.”

  “Just get out of here.” The guard pointed to an exit lane. “Go back to New York.”

  Lester put the car in drive, tapped the pole, backed up and then sped out of the parking lot.

  Alex broke into a spasm of nervous laughter.

  “What the hell’s so funny?” Lester said.

  “You are. That was insane.”

  And then Lester began laughing. “Yeah, that was kind of stupid,” he said. “I should’ve just said, ‘I’m real sorry, sir,’ and be done with it.”

  “You don’t think he’ll come after us?”

  “Hell no.”

  Alex smiled. “So I didn’t do too badly, my first lesson?”

  “No, kid, you did fine. And I didn’t forget about our deal. Once I’m gone, the car’s yours.” He put his hand toward Alex.

  “I hope that’s not for a long time,” Alex said, shaking Lester’s hand.

  “I’d like a little more time too.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Alex was starting to think Virginia would go on forever. Not being allowed to drive didn’t help. He needed another lesson under his belt, Lester had said, before he was ready to contend with the interstate. So he sat there feeling bored, alternating between map-reading, snacking, listening to his iPod and sketching th
e never-ending ridge running parallel to the road. But bored was better than scared. And there was a lot to be afraid of. Number One on the list was the old man dying on the road. Number Two was that his mother would press charges, leading to a nationwide manhunt for him and Lester. Number Three was old and familiar. It was that, after all his efforts, his father would still reject him. Fear Number Three would loom larger and larger the closer they got to Fort Lauderdale.

  They stopped for gas and snacks in Roanoke. Back in the car, Lester said, “You look a little down, kid. What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing really, it’s a long state.”

  “You wait till we hit Florida. Son of a bitch is like its own country.”

  “The scenery any better?”

  “Nope, it’s worse. Flatter than plywood. If something looks like a hill, it’s either a landfill or some crazy amusement park. And all there is to see are ridiculous billboards. Least that’s how I remember it.”

  “You think it’s changed much?”

  “Nothing stays the same.” Lester bit off a piece of mozzarella stick and chewed it slowly. Then he went on a rant about global warming—how a good percentage of Florida would be underwater in fifty years, how anyone with brains would avoid purchasing coastal property, how those same smart people would do well to take scuba lessons, and how the paid-off politicians in Washington would never rise to meet the challenges ahead. And then, for no good reason, the old man started talking about death.

  Alex kept saying, “Uh-huh” when it seemed to fit, but his mind barely registered. He was focusing on the road sign for Blacksburg and Virginia Tech—five miles ahead. A South Korean student named Seung-Hui Cho had gone on a shooting rampage, killing thirty-two people before taking his own pathetic life. Alex pointed and said, “Speaking of death.”

  “Goddamn crazed psychopath son of a bitch,” Lester said. “Worst peacetime massacre in the history of this country.” He went on talking about the toxic mess some people had become and how they’d ruin civilization for everyone else. But all Alex could think about was Dr. Kruger and his accusation. Angry, male, loner. The sting was still there. But as he thought about the idea of actually carrying a lethal weapon to school, he realized he could no more go on a killing spree than he could defy the law of gravity or give birth to a child. Although he wouldn’t mind smashing his fist into Dr. Kruger’s face.

  ONE THING you did not mess with was Lester’s afternoon ritual. Naptime. The old man parked the car under the partial shade of a birch tree in Statesville, North Carolina. To save gas, he turned off the engine, apparently unfazed by the sticky heat and unconcerned about Alex’s comfort level.

  Lester had been napping on the backseat for nearly an hour while Alex sat in the front passenger seat bored and a little agitated. A bundle of clouds like gargantuan plums approached from the west, and a fresh breeze was gathering. The first raindrops were cool and pleasant. But then, almost immediately, it was a monsoon.

  Alex cranked the engine and raised all the windows, hoping Lester would finally wake up. But the old man kept snoring. It took an act of God to finally get his attention. A bolt of lightening. Then a rib-splitting crack of thunder.

  Lester worked his way up to a seated position. He twisted himself in both directions. Then he clicked on his seatbelt.

  “What are you doing?” Alex asked.

  “I’m buckling up. This is your second driving lesson.”

  “But it’s raining hard.”

  “So?” Lester said. “You can’t drive in the rain?”

  “No, I mean, yeah. I can drive. But I thought you said I wasn’t ready for the interstate.”

  “You’re not. You’re going to drive up and down the streets of this Podunk town till I say you are.”

  “Don’t you want to sit up front?”

  “I can see fine back here. Let’s get her moving.”

  Alex fumbled around the dash and steering column for the wiper switch. He found it and turned it to its highest setting. Then he switched on the lights but still couldn’t see more than twenty feet in front of the hood. Nonetheless, he shifted the car into drive but kept his foot on the brake. It was an avalanche of rain outside. He let the car idle its way to the nearest intersection. “What now?” he asked, chest pounding.

  “Pick a direction and go with it. No hesitation. But the roads are wet, so go easy on the brake and easy on the gas.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, don’t hit anything.”

  Alex could barely make out the sign, but guessed it said Green Street. He watched for a gap in oncoming traffic, made the decision and steered left. There were cars parked intermittently along the right side of the road. It would be easy, incredibly easy, to slam into any of them. He veered out to the center of the street. Headlights approached from the oncoming side.

  “Careful, kid, give him room.”

  It turned out to be a van, and it sprayed a gusher of additional water onto the windshield. He hit the brake, causing the car to fishtail. “Oh shit,” he said.

  “Let go of the brake!” Lester yelled. “Don’t over-steer.”

  Alex pulled his foot away from the brake, but the car kept sliding.

  “Slow her down gently.”

  He eased back into the pedal. The car regained a straight line—straight toward the back of a low-rider pickup truck. The Cadillac stopped a few inches shy of the bumper. “God, that was close.” His chest was seismic.

  “If that truck’s tailgate was down,” Lester said, “we’d have a nice chunk taken out of the radiator.”

  Alex was shaking. He put the transmission in park. “You wanna take over?”

  “Hell no, I’m not getting outside in that crap. You’re doing all right.”

  “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Shake it off. Remember what I said. When it’s wet, go easy on the brake and easy on the gas. And always be aware of the other guy.”

  “I almost hit a parked car.”

  “Almost doesn’t count,” Lester said.

  Alex backed away from the pickup and eased into the lane. He decided he didn’t like Green Street anymore, so he took a right onto Sharpe, which also had a fair number of parked cars. Easy on the brake, easy on the gas, he replayed in his mind along with, don’t over-steer.

  After a few blocks, his withered confidence seemed to renew itself. The rain had lessened to an annoying drizzle. He switched the wipers to low. He was officially a driver. “How am I doing?” he asked.

  “Fine, kid, take a right up here. We’ll work our way out to the interstate.”

  The word interstate was all it took to throw him back into a bundle of nerves. He passed through the center of town, which was probably charming, but all he could focus on was the road and the signs leading to I-77.

  “Think you’re ready?” Lester asked.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Well, there it is.” He pointed right. “Southbound ramp. Hop on and speed her up. Don’t wimp your way onto the highway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got to match the speed of the other drivers and merge your way in. Nothing’s worse than timid drivers slowing their way into traffic.”

  Alex pumped the accelerator, felt the rush of eight cylinders and the compression of leather seat against his back. “How fast?” he asked.

  “Get her up past sixty. If it’s clear, get in. If not, adjust your speed up or down and find an opening. Use your signal.”

  He was so riddled with fear that all he heard was sixty and signal. He flicked the blinker, checked his speed and merged in behind a white Volvo. His nerves started to ease. “Now what?”

  “When it’s clear, like right now, get her up to seventy-two. That’s what I drive. It’s always been fast enough for me.”

  Traffic picked up, and the road converted to four lanes as they made their way into pre-rush-hour Charlotte. Alex bit the inside skin under his lip. Skyscrapers cut into his left periphery, but he didn’t
risk taking his eyes off the congested road, which funneled down to three lanes, multiple mergers and a spaghetti of overpasses. A beat-up Winnebago kept their speed down to fifty. “Should I change lanes?”

  “If you want,” Lester said. “Watch your blind spot. Make sure you got plenty of room.”

  Alex pressed the blinker, checked the left lane, waited for two cars to pass then eased his way over. Pretty smooth, he thought. It was his first successful lane change in heavy traffic—a monumental achievement. He could hold his own among all these other drivers. Hell, if Lester let him, he could take the wheel all the way down to Florida.

  “Turn off your damn blinker,” Lester said.

  ALEX HAD driven them past Columbia, South Carolina, when Lester abruptly called it a day. “We stop here,” he said, “this exit.” There was a strange urgency to his voice, and it didn’t take long to figure out why. Lester pointed to the first motel off the interstate, which looked far less desirable than the two or three hotels just up the road. Alex parked by the lobby entrance, and Lester immediately got out. There was a circle of wetness on the old man’s pants. Alex looked away, initially feeling repulsed but then incredibly sad.

  Lester made his way around the Cadillac toward the brightly lit lobby as if nothing was wrong. The back of his pants was a lot worse than the front. For cover, Alex followed closely behind. Lester didn’t say a single thing until he got to the front desk and pulled out his wallet, which fortunately appeared to be dry. He signed for the room and took an envelope with two key cards.

  Back outside Lester said, “You park the car. I’ll meet you in the room.” He handed Alex one of the cards. “Bring in my bag.”

  The best thing about the motel was that you could drive right up to the room door. Lester was already in the bathroom taking a shower. He had left a twenty dollar bill under the door, which seemed strange until the old man started barking orders over the noise of the shower. “Take the money. Go next door to that restaurant—the one lit up like Vegas. Get yourself something, and bring me a chicken sandwich, plenty of mayo.”