The Walnuts

  Gus reached over and started to close the door. “Try not to get too many tickets,” he said just before the door came down and closed with a thunk.

  Danielle put the car in first gear and carefully let the clutch out. The clutch grabbed and the car lurched and stalled.

  “Damn! No kidding, touchy clutch,” she said.

  Danielle put the clutch back in and hit the red button again. The engine roared back to life immediately. This time she gave it more gas, but again the clutch caught her unaware. This time the car lurched forward with a chirp of the tires before stalling again.

  “Screw this!” she yelled, starting the engine again. This time she gave the throttle a good rap and let the clutch fly. The car launched with a howl—tires burning, smoke pouring out—and accelerated much faster than the plane had. Danielle shifted it into second, and they were on their way.

  John looked back at Gus, who was standing with his fist raised high in triumph.

  It took Danielle a couple more times to figure out the touchy clutch. There was one more tire-burning start and then another stall, but by the time they had left the airport, she had it down.

  There was a constant barrage of honking horns and waving people as Danielle made her way. Men who realized the car of their dreams was being driven by a beautiful woman responded with unmatched enthusiasm. Danielle had many offers to pull over, and by the time they got to the highway, she was driving the car like she owned it.

  John was amazed by the machine’s raw power. When they left the city, Danielle put the pedal to the metal, and he got his first real taste of a race car. Danielle dropped it down four gears and opened it up from forty miles an hour. John was slammed back against his seat, and within seconds—going back up through three gears—the car was traveling at 160.

  “Yah hoo!” Danielle shouted above the roar of the engine and the air rushing past. “What’cha think?”

  Everything along the highway was a blur. Cars traveling at the normal pace were gobbled up like they were standing still and passed in seconds.

  “Can we get in trouble for this?” he yelled back.

  “Hell yes, big trouble!” she shouted. “But don’t you think it’s worth it?”

  “This is something different, all right.”

  Danielle stayed on the throttle for about a quarter mile, reaching 175, and then backed off. The speed rapidly fell until they were doing eighty.

  “Boy, it sure seems slow now, doesn’t it?” said John.

  “Yeah, it’s going to be a long trip piddling along like this,” she agreed. “Hey, you still see Gus back there?”

  “No, he seems to have been left behind. This car is extremely fast.”

  “Hell, that was nothing,” said Danielle. “I only got to fifth gear and five thousand rpm’s. This thing has another gear, and according to the tach, two thousand more rpm’s. I figure at least over two hundred with no trouble.”

  “We aren’t going to try that, are we?” John sounded worried.

  Danielle smiled at him. “God you are such a chicken,” she said, squirming in the seat to get more comfortable.

  *

  Fifteen minutes later Danielle said, “Uh oh!” looking in the rearview mirror. “We got us some fuzz coming up fast.”

  John looked in his mirror. Red and blue lights flashed on top of a police car that was gaining on them rapidly.

  “I guess we didn’t go unnoticed,” Danielle said, keeping her speed at just under eighty.

  The police came right up behind them and indicated for them to pull over. “Let me do the talking. I know how to handle the cops,” Danielle suggested.

  “Uh, oh yeah, of course.”

  The officer got out of his car and stood tall. First, he put on his Smoky Bear hat and adjusted it. Then he adjusted his gun, his sunglasses, and finally his shirt and tie.

  “Oh, goody,” Danielle snickered, “we got us a prima donna. Look at him preening himself. It’s a good thing you’re not driving.”

  Finally, the officer took his clipboard out of the car and strutted toward them.

  “Because he could never in his wildest dreams have a car like this, he’s going to make us pay for his own inadequacies,” Danielle said, unlatching the side window and swinging it up. The officer walked up and stood beside the open window, his thighs being the only thing visible from the low-slung car.

  “Step out of the car, sir,” he commanded.

  Danielle popped the door latch and the door swung up and out. She moved her rear out with the door, pulling her body up with her hands.

  “Oh, excuse me, ma’am,” the officer stammered, realizing the driver wasn’t a man but a beautiful woman wearing a short, low-cut dress that didn’t hide much from his view. Danielle struggled a bit, getting only halfway out, and the dumbstruck officer immediately reached out to help.

  “Why thank you, officer,” she said in her silkiest voice. “This damn car wasn’t made for creature comforts.”

  “Ah—” he started.

  Danielle stood up and smoothed her dress, which caused the material on the top to go tight.

  The officer gulped. “We got a report from some truckers that a car matching this description was traveling at an extremely high and dangerous speed.”

  “No kidding?” she responded. “People do tend to drive too fast nowadays.”

  The officer looked at her perplexed. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think it might have been you.”

  “Me? Are you kidding? I’m scared of this car. I don’t even go over eighty.” She turned back to the car and bent over to ask John. “John, how fast were we going?”

  “I’m not sure, but just fast enough to stay ahead of that truck—the one with the disgusting men,” he replied.

  “What truck would that be?” asked the officer, bending over to look at John.

  “The one that was trying to get her to pull over,” replied John. “We just stayed ahead of that one because they were making crude gestures.”

  “I see,” said the officer. He seemed to be contemplating something.

  “Would you like to see my license, officer?” Danielle asked. She reached into the car, bending and stretching.

  John, in turn, leaned forward enough to catch the officer studying Danielle’s long legs and behind. John shot him a curious look. The officer’s face turned red as his eyes went elsewhere.

  “Ah, that won’t be necessary, ma’am.” The officer gulped. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. You both have a nice day now.” He turned quickly, almost fleeing to his car.

  Danielle backed out of the car and stood watching him.

  Seeming to be in a sudden hurry, the officer floored his car, swung it out and around Danielle and John, and roared down the highway.

  Danielle stretched her back. “That was too easy.” She bent down to look at John with a smile. “Brilliant thinking, John. Those nasty truckers made me do it. We make quite a team!”

  *

  “How the heck are we supposed to put gas in this thing?” Danielle was exasperated. She stood next to the car with her hands on her hips. They had pulled up to a gas pump at a busy, full-service truck stop. “I can’t find the gas cap, and we aren’t going much farther without more fuel. That damn Gus, he could have stayed with us,” she complained.

  “Can his car go one-seventy?”

  Danielle gave John a snotty look. “Probably not, but we’ve been driving under eighty for quite a while. He should have caught up.”

  “I think he gave you a map because he didn’t intend to be here to guide you.”

  “Oh, you think?”

  The sight of Danielle and the fast car had drawn a small crowd.

  “Hey, little lady, looks like you’re in need of a real man’s assistance,” a confident trucker crowed, strutting up to her. He ran his hand over the top of the car. “Nice set of wheels.” The trucker grinned, looking at Danielle’s legs. “And I’m not talking metal here.”

  “Not interested, Jim Bob,” Da
nielle responded.

  The trucker pushed his cowboy hat back from his forehead. “Hey, now that’s no way to talk to the man that’s going to solve all your problems.”

  “Look, Joe Bob, I’m not interested in your type,” she snarled. “Couldn’t get the smell off you, no matter how hard I scrubbed.”

  “Now, darlin, I may not be perfumey scented like your pussy friend there,”—he flipped a thumb in John’s direction—“but I can do some amazing things with my hands.” The trucker beamed with satisfaction from his own comment.

  “Picking one’s nose doesn’t do it for me, Billy Bob, now buzz off.”

  She turned away from the trucker. There was some laughter from the crowd that had formed.

  “Look, honey, a man comes and offers his help, and a smart woman accepts.” The trucker sounded angry. “I don’t know how they run it wherever your pretty little ass is from, but out here in a man’s world, it is the way things are done.”

  “Look, Ray Bob.” Danielle was not in a good mood. Using a dumb, country accent, she said, “I’m driving this here car to L.A. for a friend, and I can’t find the gas filler thingy. You look like the type that’s good at locating orifices. Maybe you can help after all.”

  “Now, that’s more like it. Of course Big Stan can help.” Thrusting his hips out slightly, the trucker looked pleased with himself. “Now, you just let Big Stan find that nasty, old filler cap, and then we’ll move on to more important things.”

  Big Stan strutted to the back of the car with confidence while his eyes scanned the surface of the car for anything that might look promising. He got to the back and bent down, looking over at Danielle with a confident grin. He grabbed the rear license plate and gave it a tug. It didn’t budge, so he pulled harder, bending the frame. Big Stan looked quickly at Danielle, who now had an angry look on her face.

  “Well, Big Stan!” she yelled, thrusting her hips out. “Good job! Now get the hell away from my car!”

  “Dumb-ass foreign shit,” Big Stan said, straightening up, “doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It was designed and built in L.A., you moron,” snarled Danielle.

  “Yeah, well, it’s still a little hard to figure.” Stan was scratching his head when a little girl walked up and tugged at his sleeve.

  “Sir, maybe I can help,” she offered.

  “Beat it, kid.”

  Stan pulled his shirt sleeve out of her grasp without even looking at her.

  “If you’d just give me the chance, I—,” the little girl told Big Stan, but his attention was on Danielle, who was kneeling down to inspect the bent license plate frame.

  The little girl tried again. “But I know how.”

  “I said scram!” he shouted.

  “That wasn’t nice,” said a woman that had been observing.

  “Look, you people leave the lady and me alone, and let Big Stan figure this out!” He approached Danielle again but didn’t thrust his hips as much this time.

  “But, mister!” shouted the little girl. “My brother got one of these for Christmas.” She pointed to the car.

  “Oh, sure,” scoffed Big Stan. “You expect anyone to believe that he has a car like this?”

  “No, silly,” she said with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot. “He’s only twelve, so he certainly can’t drive yet. It’s a model.”

  “A model?” Big Stan laughed at the girl. “I told you to beat it!”

  The girl turned to John and said, “It’s one of those really expensive ones that have everything, including the gas filler.”

  “Ah, Danielle,” said John, walking over to her, “I think this young lady here has the answer.”

  “Look, I said beat it!” Big Stan yelled. “That kid don’t know shit!”

  “It’s right here,”—the little girl pointed—“just in front of this tire.”

  Everyone looked to where she was pointing.

  Big Stan was losing his cool. “There ain’t a damn thing there. Now, for the last time, get lost!”

  “No, in the engine compartment,” the girl said, reaching into the driver’s side of the car. She grabbed at something and there was a click. The top of the entire rear section of the automobile popped up six inches. The little girl grabbed the bottom edge of the body section and pushed up. The entire top of the rear body, from just behind the passenger compartment, swung open. It was hinged at the back of the car and exposed the engine, transmission, and a lot of other mechanics.

  “There,” she pointed, “is the gas tank filler.”

  “Well, I’ll be!” exclaimed Big Stan.

  The little girl walked up to him. “See, I told you!”

  “Look, squirt, I’d thank you for the help, but I’ve got business to attend to.” He turned his attention back to Danielle. “Hey, pretty lady, now that that’s taken care of, how about you and I getting down to some serious business?”

  The little girl shifted around to face Big Stan again. “She would never be interested in you. You’re too dumb.”

  “Why you—”

  Big Stan reached to grab the little girl, but John grabbed his hand in a flash, twisted it sharply, and drove him to his knees. John had a hold of one of Stan’s fingers and his thumb. He twisted the man’s arm behind his back, and Big Stan shrieked in pain. John bent down and put his mouth next to the man’s ear and whispered something.

  Big Stan nodded vigorously.

  John straightened up and released him, but Big Stan remained on his knees, massaging his hand.

  *

  Danielle checked her cell phone while the gas was pumping in. “I wonder who this is?”

  John was watching Big Stan heading off toward his big rig.

  “Somebody has called like fifteen times from this same number,” she continued. “I don’t recognize it.”

  “It’s probably the pool guy,” John surmised. “Doesn’t he call that many times a day?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not his number.”

  “Well, call them back.”

  “What for?”

  John shrugged. “That way you’ll know who it is.”

  “No shit, Sherlock! But way the hell out here, it gets expensive. And it’s probably something I don’t want to deal with anyway.”

  “Then don’t call,” he said, shrugging again.

  “Then how am I going to find out who it is?” Danielle said, giving John a serious look. She put the phone to her ear.

  “Hello, who is this? . . . Hello, who am I speaking to?”

  She looked at John. “Some Spanish guy.”

  She spoke back into the phone, “I can’t understand you. I don’t speak Spanish. . . . Señorita Godiva? What the hell are you talking about? ‘English,’ is there anyone there that speaks English?”

  Danielle turned to John. “I think I scared him away.” Danielle took the phone from her ear and was about to cut the call before a faint voice on the phone caught her attention. She put it back to her ear.

  “Hello, who am I talking to?” . . .

  “Mother? What the heck are you doing?” . . .

  “You’re where?” . . .

  “Who was the old Spanish guy?” . . .

  “Right, you’re in Blythe.” . . .

  “You’re in Blythe? What the heck are you doing there?” . . .

  “Put Dad on.” . . .

  “What do you mean he’s not there?” . . .

  “Mother, you haven’t driven a car in fifteen years!”

  Danielle held the phone away from her ear for a moment and rolled her eyes at John.

  “I’m with John, and we’re bringing Gus’s car back for him. You should see this thing. Man, what a car!” . . .

  “I know you don’t care about cars.” . . .

  “You and Dad had a fight and you’re headed to Percy?” . . .

  “No, Mother, just go home.” . . .

  “What do you mean you can’t?” . . .

  “Well, what do you expect me to do? I’ve got to
go to L.A. Gus will be waiting.” . . .

  “I’m on the highway between Phoenix and L.A.” . . .

  “Yes, it goes through Blythe, but I don’t know how I can help you.” . . .

  “You took off without any money? Well, use the plastic; you’ve got enough of that.” . . .

  “You can’t get out of the truck? Mother, you’re not making any sense.” . . .

  “Okay, okay, this is your lucky day. I think John and I are like an hour from you. We’ll get back on the highway and come get you.”

  Danielle climbed back into the car and turned to John. “Mother has got herself in some sort of pickle. She and Dad must have had a doozy.”

  *

  “Okay, Mother, I’m coming into Blythe. Give me instructions.” . . .

  “I know you don’t know your way around Blythe.” . . .

  “Mother, let’s make this as painless as possible.” . . .

  “I don’t know, do you see any signs?” . . .

  “Yes, signs, the things that stick way up in the air and are used to advertise.” . . .

  “Hey, I can get smart if I want to! Like, who’s getting rescued? And by whom?” . . .

  Okay, McDonald’s, yep, there’s a big old McDonald’s sign coming up on my right. Boy are you lucky.”

  Danielle slowed down and drove onto the off-ramp.

  *

  “Okay, I’m coming into the McDonald’s parking lot.” . . .

  “What do you mean you’re not there? You said McDonald’s!” . . .

  “Oh, you can see the sign.” . . .

  “Mother, I swear, you give me any more crap and I’m back on the highway, and.” . . .

  “That’s better.” . . .

  “You’ve got to be close. Ah, see any more signs?” . . .

  “Let me look.”

  Danielle leaned slightly John’s way. “John, look for a country store, a little market or something. It’s got to be close by. She says there’s a bunch of big trees.”

  “The only big trees I see are back over there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder.

  Danielle slowed and looked for a spot to turn around.

  “She’s always pulling some stunt like this, and she gives us kids crap for being irresponsible.” Danielle was laughing while explaining.

  “Okay, there’s the big trees coming up, there’s a country store . . . and there’s Dad’s pickup,” she said, pulling off the road and driving through a gravel parking lot toward the pickup, which was parked in the shade right next to a pay phone.