Flashover

by T. Alan Codder

He smiled as he watched the traffic and signs, but didn’t look at her. The Jag was great fun to drive on the open road, but the car was so low, mixing it up in town with minivans, full size trucks and SUV’s required concentration to avoid being run over.

  “I see it, on the right,” she said as the large converted Victorian mansion appeared.

  He turned into the parking lot across the street and found a place to park.

  “Ah, ah,” he scolded playfully as she started to open her door. “It’s your birthday.”

  He slid out of the car, trotted around to open her door, and then offered her a hand up. He shut the door but didn’t bother to lock it. A semi-sharp knife would be all it took to slice open the canvas top if someone really wanted the car.

  He escorted her inside. “McGhee, reservations for eight.”

  The woman looked at a chart then smiled. “Right this way, please.” She led them to a cozy table by a window. “Angela will be with you shortly,” the hostess said as he held Maggie’s chair.

  “I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here. You didn’t have to do all this,” Maggie said as he took his seat.

  He shrugged. “I thought I’d take you someplace nice. We haven’t gone any place really nice and I thought it was time, especially since it’s your birthday.”

  She reached across the table and he took her hand. “You’re really sweet. You’ve set the bar pretty high for your birthday.”

  “You don’t—” he began then paused as their waitress arrived. They gave her their drink order. “You don’t have to do anything special for my birthday,” he resumed once the waitress left.

  She smiled. “Okay, we’ll see.”

  They placed their order and then enjoyed a relaxed dinner full of good food, good wine, and good conversation. They started with the citrus grilled shrimp as an appetizer, enjoyed a main course of grilled swordfish and smoked duck breast, trading nibbles from their plates, and then finished by sharing a serving of frozen lemon ginger pie.

  Considering the quality of the food, service, and wine, Sean thought the price more than fair when he slipped his credit card into the check presenter.

  “Thank you so much. This was wonderful,” Maggie sighed as she picked up her fork and chased up the last few crumbs from the dessert.

  He watched her a moment, liking the way she was looking at him.

  “I enjoyed it,” he replied before taking another sip of the excellent dessert wine.

  They lingered, the conversation lulling into comfortable silences. He’d known Maggie five months, though he’d been dating her for only two, but he was feeling very comfortable around her, comfortable in ways he hadn’t felt since before his marriage began to come apart. He wasn’t in love with her, but he could feel the first tendrils of attachment forming.

  “You ready?” he asked as they finished their wine.

  “I guess,” she sighed, picking up her clutch. He rose, held her chair, then escorted her outside. “You know, I’m supposed to be depressed that I’ve turned forty, but this is the best birthday I can remember.”

  “Aw, shucks, it twernt nothin’,” he drawled out.

  She giggled. “You’re not fooling anyone with that accent, Jed Clampett.” She pulled him to a stop and smiled at him. “I like you just as you are, even if you do have a funny accent,” she said, laying on the North Carolina drawl, then pulled him in for a noisy kiss.

  They resumed walking. It was much cooler now that the sun had set. It couldn’t be much over eighty. He felt like shaking his head in disbelief that he considered ‘not much over eighty’ much cooler.

  “Can we put the top down?” Maggie asked as they approached the car.

  “Sure, if you want.”

  “I want. Having the top up just doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

  He agreed, but it would have been uncomfortably warm with the hood down earlier. He helped her into the car then quickly stowed and secured the hood before sliding behind the wheel.

  The Jag was cantankerous about starting after being driven in the heat and then allowed to heat soak. He tried several times to start the car, but it would splutter, cough, struggle to run, then stall. He could smell the gasoline and knew he was about to flood the engine.

  He grinned at her. “Did you know ninety-five percent of all English cars are still on the road?” He waited a heartbeat then wound up for the punch line. “The other five percent made it home.”

  As Maggie laughed he tried again. The car spun over and began to shudder as the engine struggled to run. He worked the throttle, trying to coax the engine to life, but it stalled again. He almost had it that time. He tried one more time. The Jag coughed to life as he feathered the throttle, but then the engine began to clear its throat and roared to life. He blipped the throttle a couple of times to make sure the old girl had gathered her skirt and was ready to run. He looked at her and grinned again. Say what you may about English cars, nobody could ever accuse them of not having personality.

  It was almost nine-thirty and the traffic had thinned considerably as they worked their way out from downtown. They raced through the city, Sean letting the Jag sing, Maggie smiling and waving at other cars when they looked down on them.

  “They’re admiring your car,” she said as they waited at a light.

  He launched the car hard and howled away from the stop. “I think they’re admiring the passenger in the car,” he said as he banged the car through the gears. He glanced at her and smiled at her blush as she looked down.

  They returned to Brunswick the way they’d come, enjoying the rapidly cooling night air. He drove the car hard, down shifting and wailing past slower cars just because he could. He was driving faster than he should, but this was the stuff of dreams and he was enjoying himself immensely. A fantastic car on the open road with a beautiful woman dressed in red sitting beside him. He watched her when they passed through an area lit with streetlights, her bright eyes and small smile speaking to him.

  Too soon they arrived back in Brunswick where he had to set a good example. Everyone knew his car, so they growled slowly through town before popping out on the other side. Fifteen minutes later he was pulling to a stop in her drive.

  “Can I ask you for a favor?” he asked after he killed the engine.

  She grinned at him. “Babe, after tonight, you can ask me for anything.”

  He chuckled. “She called me babe,” he said in a stage whisper. “Seriously, would you mind if I left the car here until after the Cars on Main? I’d like to clean it up good tomorrow before the show, especially now. It’s probably covered in bugs. I’ll need you to give me a ride back to the storage building to get my car.”

  “Sure. Hang on and I’ll open the garage.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  She smiled at him. “Why would I mind? You can spend the night tomorrow night and I’ll ride in with you when you go.”

  “Thanks,” he said as he opened his door.

  He walked around the car, opened her door, and once again gave her a hand up. Her lips were begging to be kissed as she stepped in close and played with his tie.

  “When do you want to go get your car?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  “In the morning.”

  “How will I get home?” he asked, his tone playful.

  She smiled at him in that mischievous way she had, the one he liked so much, her eyes crinkling. “The only place you’re going tonight, mister, is to my room.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” she breathed as she stretched up.

  He lowered his lips to hers and took them in a long, slow caress. As their lips parted, he happened to see her leg returning to the ground and chuckled.

  “You like the leg pop?” she asked with a teasing grin. “Tell me you liked the leg pop.”

  He chuckled harder. “I liked the leg pop.”

  She kissed him again, a quick smooch this time, and patted him on the chest as she stepped back. �
��Hang on and I’ll move my car over and you can put yours in there.”

  He smirked as he thought about putting something of his in something of hers, but said nothing.

  After a bit of car shuffling and lawn mower moving, the Jag was secured in the garage. He looked the car over and grimaced. The nose of the car looked like it had a stubble, the carcasses of the dead insects from the drive through the country at night giving it a rough appearance. The windshield was likewise covered in bug splatters. It was going to be hell getting it cleaned up tomorrow before the show.

  It was well after ten when he closed the garage and snapped off the light. He walked through the kitchen, loosening his tie as he went. He’d been thinking about peeling Maggie out of that lovely red dress all evening and he didn’t intend to waste any time. Besides, they were going to have to get up extra early in the morning to give him time to get his car and still get cleaned up before work.

  He stepped into her bedroom and froze. Maggie was lounging on the turned back bed in a black nothingness that was as ethereal as smoke.

  “You like?” she asked with a smile and tone that went straight to his manhood.

  “Jesus, Maggie,” he breathed.

  He’d seen her completely nude many times in the last couple of months, but as beautiful as she was then, she’d never been sexier than she was now.

  She patted the bed beside her, her eyes calling to him. “I decided I wanted to give you something for my birthday.”

  He finished undressing, forcing himself to not hurry, unable to take his eyes off her as she casually and seductively caressed the top of one of her breasts. This was a new side to her, a side he hadn’t seen before, and she was damn good at it. She’d always had a casual sexiness he found appealing, but she was making him ache for her now.

  He slid into the bed beside her. She shifted, snapped off the bedside lamp, and then draped herself over him.

  “Now,” she whispered, her lips so close to his he could feel her breath. “How should I thank you for such a lovely evening?”

  He almost groaned in desire as she kissed him. He pulled her into the kiss, his hand tangling in her hair as their tongues engaged in an intimate dance. She pulled slowly back from the kiss, her smile just visible in the dim light. He held her gaze a moment before pulling her lips to his. They were getting a late start, and he wasn’t going to be worth a shit in the morning, but he didn’t care.

  Nine

  Sean cranked hard on the steering wheel, blipping the throttle on the Jag so he could listen to it snarl as he backed it into the spot indicated by one of the men directing traffic.

  They’d put him in the import section with the Kias, Toyotas, Hondas and Nissans. Along with his Jag, there were a pair of early sixty something Beetles, a seventy-one Karmann Ghia convertible, if the big taillamps and skinny bumpers could be believed, and a late model Triumph TR6. The rest of the cars in the import section were slammed ricers that looked like Skittles next to the five classics, but at least they had clustered the antiques together.

  Maggie was sitting beside him, sporting a red and white scarf over her head to keep her hair from flying everywhere, a yellow top with white pants that had a definite sixties vibe, and tortoiseshell cat-eye sunglasses she’d dug up from somewhere.

  He’d spent a couple of hours yesterday evening scrubbing bugs off his car and wiping it down with liquid wax, leather protectant and tire shine while Maggie ran. After dinner, they’d snuggled on the couch while watching Moana on Netflix, sharing a big bowl of popcorn to complete the experience, before retiring to bed.

  He helped her out of the car, and then as Maggie looked over the sporty little car parked next to his, he spent a couple of minutes using a detailing spray to clean off the bugs killed on the drive that morning. He didn’t care if the Jag won anything, but he did take pride in the car and wanted it to look its best.

  “Sean, what’s this?” she asked as she waggled a thumb at the deep blue convertible parked next to his Jag.

  “It’s a Triumph TR6. A seventy-four or a seventy-five, I think. Why?”

  She chewed on her lip a moment. “I’ve seen this car in a movie, except the one in the movie was yellow. What was the name of it?” she asked, clearly talking to herself while staring into the distance. “It had Elliot Gould in it, I think.”

  He scrubbed at a particularly stubborn bug. “Beats me.”

  She snapped and pointed a finger at him. “Silent Partner. It was about a bank robbery. Late seventies or early eighties I think. It also had Christopher Plummer in it as the bad guy. Good movie.”

  Sean snickered as he wiped. “How do you remember all that stuff?”

  She grinned. “I don’t know, I just do. My head is crammed full of useless movie trivia like that.” She pointed to the Karmann Ghia on the other side of his car. “A car like that one was in Sneakers, with Robert Redford and Ben Kingsley, and So I Married an Axe Murderer with Mike Myers, but they were convertibles. Of course, Beetles have been in so many movies I can’t list them all, but it’s most famous for being Herbie from The Love Bug. 1967 or ’68 if I remember right. It starred Dean Jones, Michelle Lee, Buddy Hackett and David Tomlinson.”

  His smile widened and he shook his head in amazement as he continued wiping, wondering how many movies she’d seen. She was a walking encyclopedia of movie knowledge. From An American in Paris to Zootopia, and from Star Wars to Casablanca, she seemed to be able to pull a piece of movie trivia out of thin air for almost any situation.

  “Now you’re just showing off,” he said as he looked over the car to make sure he had all the splatters cleaned off.

  “Yeah, maybe a little,” she agreed, her smile teasing.

  He gave the nose of the car one more wipe to remove any smears then stored the spray bottle and rag in the boot. The Cars on Main was an all-day affair if you had a car in the show or were working security. He was doing both so he was one of the early arrivals.

  They strolled through the cars, enjoying the cool morning air before the heat of the day began to bear down on them. The show was scheduled from nine until three, so the crowd was thin, with only the car owners and the die-hard early birds who wanted to see the cars arrive milling about.

  By eight-thirty the inflow of cars had dropped to a trickle but more people were arriving, probably trying to beat the heat of the day.

  “Look over there. What’s that?” Maggie asked, dragging him toward a chocolate brown car that looked like a fishbowl on wheels. “A car like that was in Wayne’s World.”

  “Holy cow! That’s a…” Sean paused, snapping his fingers rapidly as they approached, trying to recall the name. “…an AMC Pacer! I haven’t seen one of those since my grandmother had one.” He looked the car over. “You know, I remember it being uglier than this. Here, take a look at this,” he said, pulling her around to the driver’s side. “See where the door ends? Now go look at the passenger side.”

  They walked around to the other side and paused as she studied the door.

  “Is it bigger?” she asked, tilting her head a bit while staring at the door.

  He nodded. “It is. I remember my grandmother being so proud of hers.” He peeked through the windows, his hands at his eyes to cut the glare. “This one looks just like hers. Same shit brown too. I think hers was a seventy-six, maybe a seventy-seven. I guess it was a pretty good car, but Jesus, was it slow.”

  They spent a couple of hours wandering around, looking at cars and people watching. Sean was wearing his service weapon on his right hip instead of under his shirt in the small of his back, where he normally carried it. He also had his Taser on his left hip turned backwards so he could draw it with his right hand, and a radio. He didn’t expect there to be any trouble, but he was ready for it if there was.

  They were meandering down Main Street, staying on the sidewalk to take advantage of the shade provided by the awnings, when he took Maggie’s hand and pulled her to a stop.

  “Wait here.”

  �
�What?”

  “Would you be wearing a long coat like that on a day like today?” he asked, nodding his head in the direction of a man slowly walking down the street.

  The man was in his early- to mid-twenties with messy black hair, cut close on one side to just behind his ear, but long everywhere else. He was sickly pale with a silver stud through his bottom lip and both eyebrows, along with multiple earrings in each ear. He had at least two rings on each finger, black fingernails, and was wearing a long back coat with tattoos visible above the collar.

  Sean brought his radio to his lips as he stepped off the sidewalk and into the street. “Caswell, or Chips, I need a uniform on a guy. He’s wearing a long black coat, heading north in front of Big Belly Deli.”

  “I’m close,” Eric replied.

  There was no law against wearing a coat, even on a hot, bright, summer day, but something wasn’t right about the guy. Keeping his distance Sean followed the man as he ambled down the street, slowly drifting left toward the cars arrayed on that side of the road. Sean saw Caswell approaching and then alter his course to intercept the man. They had no probable cause to stop him, but black coat guy definitely noticed Eric approaching him.

  Eric was unremarkable in every way. Twenty-eight, standing five ten, and weighing about one eighty, with brown hair and eyes, he was an everyman, right down to his frameless glasses. He wore his hair longer than most of the other officers, and like Limbrose, was excellent when working with the public. He was also a chameleon and could do a wickedly accurate impersonation of anyone he met. All his men wore uniforms, but he and Chips were their go-to people for any undercover work.

  Black coat guy continued on his way, fading back to the center of the blocked street, picking up his pace slightly when Chips appeared.

  “There’s something in his sleeve!” Eric bellowed as he charged the man. “Don’t move!”

  The officer was only a dozen steps from black coat guy and was there in an instant as the man froze and raised his hands.

  Chips and Sean broke into a run. Eric was already opening the man’s coat by the time Sean arrived, Chips only a moment behind him. Eric pulled a cylinder out of the man’s sleeve, handing the can of bright yellow spray paint to Sean.