Chapter 92

Sunday is a poor time to buy a car ... we ... Raul and I went anyway.

“You can’t bring a cat on the bus,” she said. After I’d paid. I paid for Raul ... under 18’s ride free.

“Why not ... I see purse dogs on here all the time.”

“He’s huge ... they’re small and cute. Off.”

“Refund my money.”

“No.”

“Then I guess he rides.”

She got on the radio. We were the ONLY passengers. She wasn’t moving. I wasn’t either.

About 20 minutes later the supervisor pulled up in a company truck.

As he was coming in the door, he said, “Cats are not ... holy shit.”

Raul stood on hind legs and washed the super’s face ... the cat had to bend down to do it.

“Awk!”

“I’ve seen dogs on the bus ... you can’t discriminate.”

“Service animals.”

“Purse pups are not service animals.” “We’re only going as far as Tillery. It’s Sunday ... first riders. We’ll get off at Tillery. I’m buying a car. We won’t be riding back.”

“One way only ... never again.”

“You got it.”

“That settles that. Genie ... one way to Tillery. I’ll follow along.” He turned to the cat. “Last ride ... enjoy.”

<Tell him I ride the bus all the time ... on the roof.>

“He used to ride on the roof all the time.” You’re not doing it again.

We rode to Tillery, thanked the driver, got off and loped across the MLK. The super watched as we turned off at 17th. The lights were on in the garage and the door was open.

The little old lady came out of the garage ... she was filthy.

“Just in time ... hey ... nice cat. Come help me with the install.”

“Install?”

“Yup ... I have the LT Chevy engine and transmission out. I’m replacing it with the French V8 engine and Ford four speed ... putting it back in. The metallurgy of the French engines is superior to the Ford. You wanted sedate ... I don’t have the original flathead V8 ... so you’re stuck with my street motor. It’s sedate ... compared to the LT. Well ... come on ... nice you wore old clothes.”

“They aren’t old ... they’re ‘distressed.’” I said, “I paid good money to get ‘em like this.”

“A little honest labor and they’ll look like that in a week.” She said, “I have extra onesies ... coveralls.”

Thus began my lesson in non aero engine mechanics. Mrs. Metcalfe was a longtime street racer. Had done it in the heyday of hot-rodding ... was still doing it. The proverbial little old lady who only drove her car on Sunday.

I learned a lot. Mostly I learned that Metaco Oil rivaled Flintkote International in diversity and laxity of Trustees.

Alice said, “Where have you been all day?”

“Out.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that ... you’ve been car shopping.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Mrs. Metcalfe’s ‘34 Ford two door.”

“You will not believe my day.”

“You have a streak of grease on your nose. And your hair is a rats nest. You look like you’ve been sleeping in antifreeze and kitty litter. You’ve been playing mechanic.”

“Putting a Ford flathead in the ‘34.”

“Why was it out?”

“Mrs. Metcalfe replaced it when she started getting beat street racing.”

“Why were you putting it back? What was wrong with the old engine?”

“755 horsepower ... I want sedate. You know ... easy to drive ... passes gas stations without stopping to fill the tank ... doesn’t catch cops eyes. Quiet.”

“Why did she sell it?”

“She wants to autocross her Fiat.”

“What...”

“When she could tell I had no idea, Mrs. Metcalfe said, ‘Autocross is a timed competition in which drivers navigate one at a time through a defined course on either a sealed or an unsealed surface. It is a form of motorsports that emphasizes safe competition and active participation.’”

“A Fiat? Fix It Again, Tony?” Alice quipped.

“Looks like a Miata with muscles,” I said.

“Oooo ... I like the Miata,” said Surprise.

“Why don’t you buy one?”

“I like the car I’m driving ... it gets looks.”