THE CAR by BOOMERCAT RATED FRPT

Scott gets a new car.

A story from before the founding of International Rescue.

Twenty-seven year old Scott Tracy looked down at the outstretched hand of his younger brother Gordon. He thought he had to have heard wrong. He looked up bewildered at the faces around the breakfast table.

For the first time in far too long, the whole family was together. John, on leave from his first year of training in the new revitalized NASA, pretended to read the sports page, but his eyes were wide at the audacity of the request. Virgil, taking a short break from the top secret design facility their father had erected last year, had an astonished look that Scott thought surely was a reflection of his own face. Alan, waiting to leave for his first year of college wasn't even trying not to snigger. Jeff Tracy, his father, was just shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.

Gordon had just completed a year's stint on the World Navy's experimental undersea dome and had just been transferred to WASP. Now he sat patiently, hand outstretched. Scott stuck his little finger in his ear in an attempt to clean out the wax. "What was that?"

Gordon replied slowly with exaggerated patience. "I said, can I borrow your car? I want to take a few friends out to the lake."

Scott had recently been promoted to Captain in the USAF. To reward himself, he had bought a brand new, jet black Corvette Performance 3000. The fastest street legal car in the world, it had been love at first sight for Scott. He had taken delivery just in time for his trip home to Kansas, and it had been a rush. Scott hadn't even let Gordon sit in the car yet, only Virgil had had that privilege.

Scott sat back and stared for a moment before responding. "Not in this lifetime, junior."

Gordon sat back looking hurt. "Doncha trust me, Scotty?"

Scott looked at his brother as if he were crazy. "About as far as I can throw you."

Gordon blinked rapidly, a trick Scott knew from old. Sure enough, Gordon managed to squeeze out a few alligator tears as he said theatrically, "Oh, that hurts! That really truly hurts Scott. You don't trust your own brother."

Shaking his head sadly, Gordon reached into his back pocket and pulled out a large handkerchief which he noisily blew his nose into. Scott had decided to ignore him, but John's laugh brought his head up from his plate of eggs and sausage. Both John and Alan were laughing raucously. With a frown, Scott glanced at Virgil who was staring in disbelief at Gordon. It took Scott just a moment to catch on. The ‘handkerchief' that Gordon was using to wipe his nose was a replica of the US Air Force flag.

Scott stared, his mouth hanging open in shock. From across the table, Virgil said in wonder, "Oh, you are so dead."

Scott could see that Gordon was tensed for a run. The trick was to catch him before he got a good head start. Like two gunfighters, the brothers eyed each other, Gordon smirking, Scott with the narrowed eyes of a true killer. Virgil, John and Alan all sat back, waiting for the chase to begin. Jeff got up as if to leave the room, but coming up behind Gordon, suddenly swooped down and captured his son in a headlock.

In a soft deadly voice, Jeff asked, "Did you forget I was in the Air Force too, son?"

Gordon's eep of surprise turned into a stuttering apology which no one in the room took notice of. Lifting him to his feet, Jeff turned to Scott. "What shall we do with him?"

Scott grinned evilly, "Severe torture." He got up and approached his struggling brother. He reached over and pulled the abused flag out of his brother's pocket, shaking it out and inspecting it. With a look of disgust he said, "I oughta make you lick this clean. But I think instead..."

Scott slowly pulled up his brother's tee shirt. Knowing what was coming, Gordon seriously started to struggle, but Jeff was a strong man, and with his arms firmly around Gordon's shoulders and his hands locked behind Gordon's neck, the young man was going nowhere. Scott started tickling his brother's ribs unmercifully. "Ack! No! Scott stop! Oh, geez, I'm sorry! Cut it out!"

Scott paused. "Okay, repeat after me. The United States Air Force..."

Breathing hard, Gordon remained silent until Scott reached for his ribs again. "Okay, okay! The United States Air Force."

"Is the only service that a real man can join..."

"Dad, ease up, you're hurting me!"

"Just say it, son."

"Oh come on, you guys! It was just a joke! No! Scott! Don't.... auuugghh! Okay, okay, I give! The United States Air Force is the only service that a real man can join! Okay! Lemme go!!"

Scott nodded to his father who released his prisoner. Gordon stood panting, rotating his shoulders. After a moment he snatched the flag from Scott's fingers and danced away, calling, "It's the only service a real man can join if they aren't good enough for WASP!"

Gordon sailed out the back screen door of the old farmhouse with Scott in hot pursuit.

The first sign of trouble was an odd clunking noise...

Scott waved his hand as he pulled away. It had been good to be home. He loved his family and he knew he would miss them all until Christmas when they would be together again. He settled deeply into the soft leather of his new car's seat, enjoying the smooth rumble under the hood.

Scott was meticulous about maintaining the speed limit as he passed one last time through his hometown. He knew just how far the county sheriff would patrol. Sheriff Ricks was a good guy, but he liked his comforts, and never left the immediate area without reason.

As Scott continued east down the rural Kansas road, he passed the outer limits of the good sheriff's territory and with a glance at his rearview, he opened up the throttle of his sleek black beauty. The car responded smoothly building up speed until Scott felt as if he were flying. It was a good feeling and Scott couldn't help the whoop of joy that escaped his throat.

He had the whimsical thought that at this rate he would be in Florida by dinner time. The car was every bit as responsive at the fighter jets he flew for the Air Force. Scott relaxed into his driving, becoming a part of the machine as he flew down the road.

And then the clunking noise began. At the first sound, Scott suddenly sat straight up. He eased off the accelerator, but the clunking only grew worse. Scott immediately pulled over to the side of the road. As soon as the car had stopped rolling, the clunking noise stopped. Scott frowned deeply. The car had less than a thousand miles on it. The only way there could be a serious problem would be if there were defective parts. The dealer who had sold Scott the car had taken great pride in telling him each car was handmade and every nut and bolt individually inspected.

It was hard to determine where the problem was. He knew it was something with the front axle, but the sound was unlike anything he had heard before. He got down on his knees and peered under the car, but nothing seemed amiss. He wasn't equipped to do any real diagnostic.

Scott peered up and down the road, but there was no one in sight. He realized to his chagrin that the deserted back roads of the Midwest were a double-edged sword. He had chosen this route because the lack of traffic meant he could set his own speed without risking an accident. He hadn't considered the possibility of a breakdown

Scott pulled out his cell phone. Help was only a phone call away, after all. As he turned the compact unit on, he considered his family's reaction to the idea of his brand new car being ignominiously towed. He looked at the phone, lit up and waiting for his input. Shaking his head, he turned the unit off and climbed back into the car.

Scott sat for a moment then started the engine. It responded with a throaty purr. Scott swallowed the small moan that wanted to escape him. In less than a week's time he had come to love this car. It had seemed so perfect, almost magical, but now that magic was tarnished.

He pulled out onto the highway into a beautiful sunset that he couldn't enjoy. Knowing he was at least twenty miles from the next town, he kept the car to a sedate pace, his ears pricked to every tiny sound. There was no repeat of the clunking, and after several minutes, Scott began to relax.

He'd begun to think that maybe he had picked up a piece of road debris, maybe a branch or something that had gotten caught up in the undercarriage. The fact that nothing had been visible when he stopped just meant that the branch had fallen away. Breathing easier, he let the car out a notch.

Scott was reaching for the radio dial when the noise came again. With a sinking heart, Scott throttled the car back. Even at twenty-five miles an hour, the noise continued. With both windows open, Scott tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. All he could be sure of was it was coming from the front end.

The sound got louder and louder, and finally, Scott once again pulled over. With the engine running, he got out and went to the front of the car. It was more than a little scary that the sound had disappeared as soon as he stopped.

Lifting the hood, Scott looked for anything out of place. The powerful engine sat in its compartment purring like a well-fed cat. Scott felt his heart wrench. Like everything else about this car, the engine was a work of art. It pained him to think of anything damaging it.

Close inspection found nothing visibly wrong. It more or less confirmed Scott's belief that the problem had something to do with the axle and the drive train. Once more on his knees, he looked as best he could at the undercarriage, but there was nothing obvious.

Unwilling to take any further chances, Scott pulled out his cell phone. He considered calling home. It was only a hundred miles or so back the way he'd come. Virgil could get to him in less than two hours. With a shake of his head, he instead scrolled through the phone's memory until he found the number for insurance carrier's roadside service.

Ninety minutes later, Scott sat on a hard bench seat in a tow truck that had seen better days. The muscled, tattooed driver drove with a sullen silence that Scott associated with aggrieved envy. His attempts to draw the man into conversation had been met with a stony stare.

Sighing, he wondered why he hadn't just called his brother. Virgil would have kept it quiet if he'd asked him. He would have driven out, helped Scott get the car running with nobody the wiser. Instead he was cruising the backroads with Bubba the Wonder Gorilla.

He perked up as they pulled into a gas station/ repair shop. The building was at least fifty years old with that worn, half-derelict look to it so common in rural America. Scott felt his heart sink. The chances of a back country mechanic being able to handle his baby seemed slim indeed.

As he got down out of the tow truck, an older man in coveralls came out from the service bay, wiping his hands on a rag. "Hi. Nice car you got there."

Despite his reservations, Scott had been raised to be well mannered, so he never hesitated to shake the outstretched hand. "Yeah. I only got her last week. I think there's something wrong with the front axle. I'm getting a clunking sound, but only when I get up to speed."

The two men watched as the tow truck driver lowered the raised front end of the ‘Vette to the ground and started unhooking it. "Wow, that's a hot car."

Scott glanced around as a teenaged boy also dressed in coveralls came up to join them. The older man put a hand on the kid's shoulder. "This is my boy, Josh. I'm Paul, by the way. Paul McAfee."

Scott smiled shaking the kid's hand. "My name is Scott Tracy."

"Tracy? Any relation to the astronaut?"

Tracy wasn't that uncommon a last name, but in the state of Kansas, it wasn't an odd question, and Scott nodded, "Yeah, that's my father."

Paul nodded, but Josh's eyes grew wide. "Your Gordon Tracy's brother?"

Scott sighed inwardly. Ever since Gordon had shattered the Olympic 400 meter Butterfly record, the rest of the Tracy brothers had had to put up with occasional episodes with Gordon's adoring fans. "Well, I prefer to think of it as Gordon is Scott Tracy's brother, but yes, I am."

"Wow. Is he gonna swim in the next Olympics? Do you think you could get me his autograph?"

"Josh, enough. Sorry, Mr. Tracy. We don't get many celebrities around here. Now, why don' t you give me your keys, and I'll drive your car over to the lift?"

Scott felt a strong reluctance to let anyone else drive his car, but he ruthlessly pushed it down and with barely a quaver, handed the keys over. With a knowing look, Paul gestured to the building. "We've got a waiting room right over there. Why don't you go have a seat. Josh will come and get you when I have anything."

Resolutely, Scott headed for the indicated door, and barely winced as he heard his car start up behind him. He entered the room and looked around at the hard plastic seats, the table with out of date magazines strewn haphazardly across its surface and the elderly television with its static-laced picture. Sighing he walked to the coffeemaker in the corner and felt the pot. It was hot, and at least the coffee was fresh.

Pouring himself a cup, Scott sat down, and stared morosely at the table full of magazines. Not having the slightest desire to read, he pulled out his phone and speed dialed his brother.

"Scott?"

"Yeah. Just thought I'd call."

"Yeah? Where are you?"

Scott sighed. "I'm sitting in a gas station in Eaton."

"Eaton? As in Eaton, Kansas?"

"Yes. The back elbow of nowhere."

"Uh, I thought Kalvesta was the back elbow of nowhere."

"Yeah, well, Eaton is the other back elbow of nowhere."

Virgil chuckled, and with barely contained amusement asked, "So, what's there? Did you find a girl or something?"

"No. You're not going to believe this, Virg, but my car broke down."

"Broke down? How could it break down? It's a brand new car!"

"I know!" Scott's voice came out as an anguished wail. "It's brand new, and Virg, I love this car! It's killing me!"

"Do you want me to come? I can be there in twenty minutes."

Scott couldn't help but smile at that. He couldn't have a better, more true friend than his brother Virgil. "No. Not yet. Let me find out what's wrong with it, and if it can be fixed." Scott sighed and said quietly, "Thanks, Virg."

"For what?"

"For listening. For letting me cry on your shoulder."

"That was crying on my shoulder? Hell, I didn't even get wet."

"Yeah, well, thanks anyway."

"Anytime. How long before you know?"

"I'm not sure, the mechanic's looking at it right now."

"You know, I really will come. I can keep you company if nothing else."

Scott looked around to make sure he wasn't overheard. "Actually, I may have to take you up on that. The mechanic here probably isn't up to a high performance car like mine, and I'll probably need a ride back to Wichita to catch a flight down to Eglin."

"Screw it, I'm on my way." Virgil said with finality. Scott hated the idea of his brother making the trip for nothing, but was comforted by his willingness all the same.

"Virg..." Scott looked up at the door opened. Josh grinned and gestured for Scott to follow him. "Don't leave yet. The mechanic has something. I'll call you back in a minute."

"Okay, Scott."

Scott shut off his phone and looked at the madly grinning teenager. "Did your dad figure out what's wrong with my car?"

Laughing, the boy replied, "Oh yeah, he sure did. Come and see!"

Frowning, Scott followed the teenager to the service bay. To his surprise, Paul was already backing the ‘Vette out of the garage. The older man got out of the car, and with a rag, dusted off the seat. Scott walked over, still frowning. "Are you done already?"

"I sure am. You got friends who like to play tricks on you?"

Surprised by the question, Scott shook his head. "No, not really... But a certain brother comes to mind. Why?"

Paul walked over to a bench and picked up an old tin can. He gestured for Scott to have a look at the contents. Scott peered in, and saw several greasy bolts. "What's that?"

"That, my friend, is a prank. Haven't seen anyone pull this one in years. It's the new style in hubcaps, y'see?"

Confused, Scott looked over at his car's tires. The hubcaps were very stylish, covering the entire wheel, harkening back to a style that hadn't been seen in fifty years. "I don't get it."

"See, what you do is, you take a handful of bolts, and you dip ‘em in grease, see? Then you put them inside the front hubcap. The grease makes ‘em stick to the hubcap until you get going at a pretty good speed. Then the heat makes the grease loosen, and they start flyin' around. Sounds like all hell is breaking loose, but they don't do any harm. Of course, when you pull over, the grease hardens up again and it starts all over." Paul chuckled. "Used to be, dishonest repairmen would pull this trick then sell you a bunch of crap you don't need. I'd say your brother got you good, Scott."

Scott blinked, staring at the bolts. Slowly a grin started, "So there's nothing wrong with my car?"

"Not a damn thing," Paul assured him.

Scott felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "What do I owe you, Mr. McAfee?"

"Not a thing, son. It was enough just to be reminded of the old days. Here, you take my card, and if you ever need anything hereabouts, you just call."

Scott smiled and shook the man's hand. "I will, thank you, sir."

"It was my pleasure."

Scott took the car keys Paul held out to him, and went and climbed into his car. He sat with his hands on the steering wheel, breathing the new car smell. It was as if the shine had been restored. He started her up and looked over at the McAfees, father and son, waving to him.

Waving back, he pulled out onto the highway. Pulling out his cell phone, he speed dialed a number. A brash voice answered, "Hey, bro, how's it hanging?"

"Fine, just fine. Gordy, I want you to do me a favor."

Scott listened for any sound of trepidation, but Gordon was nothing if not cocky. "Sure, what's up?"

"I've run into a fan of yours. A kid named Josh McAfee. Can you send him an autogragh? That picture with the medal?"

"Absolutely. Want it to say anything special?"

Scott considered, then said, "Yeah, say something like thanks for helping my brother out, okay?"

"Okay. What did he do?"

"Ah, nothing much, but I know he'll get a kick out of it. Let me give you the address." Scott rattled off the address of the gas station. "Can you get that into the mail today?"

"Sure, Scott. Anything else?"

"No, that's all. You're headed back to base tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, well, drive carefully."

"Uh-huh. Yeah, okay, mother."

With a roll of his eyes, Scott disconnected then speed dialed a second time. "Virg?"

"Yeah. What's the bad news?"

"Actually, there's good news and bad news. The good news is there never was anything wrong with the car. Somebody was just playing a prank. They put greasy bolts in the hubcap. When the grease got warm the bolts were rolling around making a racket. The bad news is I need somebody to beat the crap out of a little insect I know."

"Insect? You mean like a wasp or something?"

"Or something, yeah."

"And that would be bad news because?"

Scott chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. There is only good news."

"Glad to here it, bro."

"Oh, one thing... I asked him to send an autograph to the mechanic's son, so don't break his hands, okay?"

"You're no fun, Scott."

"Oh, okay, you can break them. Just make sure he's signed the autograph first, all right?"

"Okay, Scott. Hey, have a good trip."

"Yeah, thanks, Virg. Thanks for everything."

"You're welcome. Oh, I hear someone coming up the stairs. I gotta go."

"Okay, Virg. I'll talk to you tonight when I get to the base."

"Okay." Scott disconnected and put the phone away. Relaxing back into the comfort of his new car, he smiled, and stepped on the gas.