The Driver… and Tiresmoke

My favorite movie in the whole world is called The Driver, starring Ryan O’Neal, Bruce Dern, and Isabelle Adjani, directed by Walter Hill.

For some bizzare reason, everyone disliked it when it came out in 1978 (save a select few, many other movie directors), and it became known as a bad B-rated movie.

I’m not sure why. I guess it’s not for everyone and you really have to get a connection with it to understand what it really is. Most people don’t, including my Dad, who said, “The car chases were pretty cool, but it’s definitely a B-rated move.”

In case you don’t know, it used to be movies were shown in pairs- the feature film went first and if you wanted to stick around, you got to see a second film, which was made cheaper with (sometimes) lesser known actors, and less time working on scripts and stuff. Most people automatically decided this made them bad, and since they were the “B” movie (like the “B side” of a 45 record) they became known as “B-rated” movies, which came to have bad connotations.

By definition it is a B-rated movie- lesser known (at the time) stars, less budget, less script overall, but I (personally) don’t think it’s bad. Honestly, if the movie’d been allowed a real budget, it might have come out more relate-able to a wider audience. They made a 2 1/2 hour movie with lots of famous stars, but for some reason before it was shown it got cut to 91 minutes. So we lost so much character development and car chases. I’d love to see that long version.

The best thing I’ve read about that move is quoted below- it’s from the book When Movies Mattered by Dave Kehr.

The Driver is a writer’s film only in the best sense: it was written as a film. Dialogue is relegated to its proper place, as only one tool among the range of expressive equipment at the director’s disposal. Hill’s camera placement, his cutting, his sense of decor, and his careful sequencing join his abstract dialogue as component parts of a single articulation. A flat phrase like “Go home,” which is used twice in the film, carries two widely different meanings at two different times; not because of the eloquence of the line, nor the actor’s inflection, but because of the different cinematic circumstances that surround it. The Driver stands as a work of cinema, making full and intelligent use of the resources of the medium.

If the subject of The Driver is skill, Hill restates it on a technical level by displaying an extremely impressive skill of his own. The car chases, which must make up nearly a third of the film’s efficient 91-minute time, are virtuoso pieces. The chases could almost stand as independent films – studies in motion through time – and the sequences do take on a plastic beauty quite apart from their function in the narrative. Hill uses an unusually large number of shots, taken from most of the available vantage points: the camera moving in front of, alongside, or behind the car, above or below it, moving back to the curb to capture the sweep of the chase, anticipating it, sometimes glimpsing the action off in the distance. Movement is conveyed primarily by the rhythm of the cutting, while the shots themselves develop a sense of contrasting spaces: the narrow confines of the vehicle, the sudden expansion from street to highway. The sound track montage is no less skillful. The cacophony of screaming tires, blaring horns, and wailing sirens (the latter among the most expressive voices to be heard in the film) is assembled with a musical sense reminiscent of Bernard Herrmann‘s electronic chirps and twitters in The Birds. The nervous energy of the chase sequences carries over into the dialogue scenes. The cutting, of course, is slower, but Hill keeps up his compulsive shot-changing, providing more coverage of a simple two-character dialogue than most directors would give to a house afire. Even when the characters and camera are perfectly still, the relentlessness of Hill’s montage keeps the scene on edge; a jitter creeps into even the most benign contexts.

Hill’s framing exaggerates the strangeness of the urban landscape: we see it only in its most elemental sections, bare walls and dim interiors, the shadows cast by buildings creating an artificial twilight even in the film’s infrequent ventures out into the light of day. The Los Angeles that Hill conjures is spare, empty, anonymous, mysteriously compelling in its lifelessness. The harsh neutrality of the setting immediately evokes the spirit of Robert Bresson, for whom all detail is a sign of cinematic impurity. Hill, wisely, doesn’ go to Bresson’s extremes, but a good deal of Bresson’s method is also apparent in his direction of actors. The players deliver their lines as flatly as possible, maintaining a perfect impassivity of expressions. When it works it works brilliantly: thoughts and feelings must be read by interference, and the viewer discovers them almost as the character does. It may be cruel to say that Ryan O’Neal gives his best performance in The Driver, where he isn’t asked to perform at all, but it’s true.

If you’re interested, the full movie has (unfortunately) been ripped and put onto YouTube, but the trailer (which is a little odd, but remember it was 1978) is below:

My points?

  • No one has a name- they’re referred to as objects or occupations- The Driver, The Detective, The Player, The Connection- My Dad thinks it’s a stupid time saving/money saving thing, but I disagree. I think it was done for a reason. I think if I could’ve seen the full version that had the character development and all (that trailer has scenes that ARE NOT in the real movie I own on DVD or that’s on YouTube-must be from the longer cut) it would make a little more sense, but I do know this much: it was done to convey the no-frills, don’t-talk-if-you-can-walk-away atmosphere of the movie.
  • It isn’t perfect- for example, in one scene we see the Driver shifting gears in his red step-side Ford, and the next time he’s got it on the column, and then it’s on the floor again. However, whilst my dad commented “that’s why it’s B rated,” I have to disagree- Even famous movies have stupid little gaffes like that, although I admit it’s kinda funny.
  • The characters are all a little different except for the Detective’s “pal”, the Sidekick. The Driver never talks unless he has to, the Detective is a half-crazed, grating, over-cocky and rubs-you-the-wrong-way sort of driven nut, the Player is a dedicated woman who wants to pay her rent but avoid the consequences of playing paid-off witness to do so and thus never speaking and having an odd manner of looking around and reacting to one’s words, unique only to her, and the Connection is a cool woman with a little bit too much of a constant smile for the Driver, and who seems just a teeny bit on edge all the time. I think the characters are a little bit off just to make the movie more…. jittery. In a good way.

~*~

This movie, plus several other things, got me thinking, which usually results in something scary. I had an idea for a book trilogy. Unfortunately it’ll never work, but I did write the first scene, which I’d like to add to this post in a moment.

But before I do, I’d like to explain what I meant for this odd idea.

I wanted to recreate that don’t-talk-if-you-can-walk-away mood in text. Why? Because I’m a hobby-writer, not a hobby-script writer. I wanted to have a car chase BOOK. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. There ARE, after all, car chases in books. I created a character and gave her a name that would’ve been popular when she was born, in the early 50s (making her 22 for the book open in 1971), Remembrance. Not a name you hear anymore, but I really like it. And a last name that matches…. how about Raymond? Remembrance Raymond. It sounded good.

Another big inspiration of this was a video game storyline from my soon to be favorite video game, called simply “Driver”. I later found out it was inspired by the move- The Driver- but anyway.

My idea was a three part series. About an undercover female NYPD cop posing as a getaway driver to infiltrate this crime lord’s international gang. She get’s picked up by Butch, a dark-skinned, shades-wearing gangster type with an odd, sort of “off” gang who needs a driver. In visiting a couple cities, following her “boss”, she will work as the driver on many jobs with her undercover partner Adrianna, who is more of a derby getaway driver- while Remembrance prides herself in never having a wreck, Adrianna drives beat up cars and lets them get wrecked.

The idea quickly fell flat even though I am still attracted to it, because you just can’t have a book full of car chases, and that fact that actions scenes aren’t my writing strong point doesn’t help me at all.

Here is that opening part of the first one, which I was gonna call Tiresmoke- remember I was like 12 when I wrote this and I haven’t really had time to edit it. Some parts are probably very stupid.

“Be more natural! You look like you’re obviously about to do something.”
“ It’s not like I’m a…. I don’t know… a secret agent or something.”
Remembrance Raymond shifted her position and glanced around the airport.
“Well, you are for today.” retorted Adrianna.
“Huh.” she subsided into silence and the two girls just sat there for a time.
“Missy?”
“Yes, 99?” answered Remembrance, a trifle dryly.
“Oh, cut it out!” exclaimed Adrianna. “Do you think that’s him over there?”
Remembrance squinted towards the man and said, “Wouldn’t know him if I fell over him.”
Adrianna rolled her eyes. “You’re not supposed to know who he is. You’re supposed to be able to guess.”
“No, I’m s’posed see something familiar about him.” she continued to squint in his direction. “And I don’t see anything that– no; wait a minute, he’s got a thing.”
“Can you be more specific?” Adrianna impatiently asked.
“It’s one of them things like Luther had. You know the one.”
“Oh. Oh! ” Adrianna looked closer now, too. “Yes, he’s the one!”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up.” Remembrance declared, looking away from the man. “Now we just have to wait on him to finish up, and look inconspicuous.”
The two undercover detectives were in the airport, waiting for Luther’s exchange man to put a bag into one of the airport lockers, and the “thing“ was a certain embossed symbol on the bag. Out of the corner of her eye, Remembrance saw him open a door, put a black bag into it, and then close the door and put some coins into the slot. Then he took the key out of the door and locked it, and then turned and wandered toward the milling crowds.
“Here we go!” Remembrance exclaimed, and then they enacted the plan that she, Adrianna and Luther had spent a frightful amount of time carefully planning. Adrianna stood up, and wandered away from the chairs, which were all grouped together in rows, across from the lockers. There was maybe fifteen feet between her and the lockers. She pretended to be sort of aimlessly drifting towards the crowds, towards the exchange man. As she walked past him, he turned, as if to go through the door to the gift shop, and bumped into her. To the average bystander, it looked like two strangers colliding in a busy terminal, but what they couldn’t see was that the exchange man dropped the locker key into her hand.
Adrianna murmured an “excuse me,” and started walking towards the ticket area. Meanwhile, Remembrance stood up and walked in the opposite direction of the crowds, away from the direction Adrianna was currently walking in, carrying her briefcase with her. She strolled around the seating and the lockers, and took the long way around to the ticket area. As she passed Adrianna, the latter took the briefcase from Remembrance’s hand, and then, looking as inconspicuous as possible, she opened a locker, put in a quarter, inserted the briefcase, closed and locked the door, and pocketed the key and walked briskly away. She passed a wiry, sandy-haired young man, wearing a trench coat over a flannel shirt and some jeans, and dropped the key to the second locker as she passed. The wiry man, conveniently enough, chose that moment to allow his hat and his pen from his coat pocket to tumble to the floor as he bent down to take care of an untied shoe lace, and scooping up the two items he snagged the keys as well. Then he returned the hat to his head and marched with purpose to the lockers, and opening the locker, took out the briefcase and turned the key in the lock. Then he turned and walked away, seemingly into the crowd.
Adrianna continued on her way, never stopping to look back, and as she passed the exchange man again, this time entering the gift shop, she discreetly dropped the keys to the first locker on the top of his suitcase as he walked, by the handle. Then she marched towards the doors of the terminal.
Remembrance strayed into the gift shop and looked over various things, until she found the exchange man., conversing with the wiry man. As she passed the two, she snagged the keys that were on top of the exchange man’s suitcase and brushed out of the entrance. The exchange man and the wiry man ended their chat, but as they parted ways each took up the other’s bag.
Adrianna exited the terminal and walked out to her car, a slightly banged up cherry red 1969 Chevrolet Nova. She climbed into the driver’s seat and pretended to be fixing her black hair in the mirror.
Remembrance walked over to the lockers, unlocked the correct one, and opening it, removed the case and leaving the key where it belonged, she went out of the terminal.
And then she got into her car, a shiny, new-looking light blue 1964 Ford Fairlane Thunderbolt, and dropping that first case into the seat beside her, she started the high rise 427 engine and roared away. A moment later, a cherry red ‘69 Nova followed her down the street.
“Did you get it?” asked Luther, as Adrianna parked the Nova beside Remembrance’s Thunderbolt, and stepped out.
For answer, Remembrance held up an embossed black bag and started walking towards the lockup.
“Good!” Luther grinned. “Come on inside, and let’s see what’s there.”
The three walked inside and sat down. Remembrance set the bag on the table. Luther looked it over before opening it, and when he did, an even bigger grin spread itself across his face. “Looks like we’re all set,” he chuckled, “And ready to go. Come on in guys! We’re gonna explain things for step two of The Atalisa Job.”
Several people filed in from the second of the three-room lockup just outside of Miami and they all crowded around the table.
“Driver,” said Luther, with a nod at Remembrance, “This here’s the people we’re working with. This here is Butch Easterly” (pointing to a dark skinned, black haired man) “and his gang. I don’t know their names, I don’t need to know their names. All I can tell you is” (pointing at the correct person as he listed them,) ” That’s the driver, that’s the hitman, and him, I don’t know his name but they call him Mojo. He’s the alibi. And occasionally the informant.”
“And you are….” Butch Easterly looked at Remembrance.
“Driver.”
Remembrance had to be two people. She was Remembrance Raymond either way, but when she was with Luther and his gang, or Granger and his boys, she was the “wheelman” figuratively speaking. She rarely spoke, and if she did it was short, sweet and very to-the-point. She had this way of just looking at you, with this expressionless look that seemed to say anything she thought needed saying for her and often times that was the only answer you got. She didn’t always look at you when you spoke; she had this way of just sitting there perfectly still, with that look about her, eyes averted, perhaps on the floor or the wall or her lap, and all at once she would look at you and it felt like her eyes went right through you. It “creeped” Granger out, as he put it, but it got the job done. She did what had to be done, did it well and said little about it, thus making her popular with the local gangster population.
“And So’m I.” Adrianna introduced herself.
Adrianna was not the same personality as Remembrance; she was just not made to be two people. But her skills far overrode that one small thing.
“Now here’s what we’re about to do,” Luther interrupted. “we’re gonna drive to central Miami and we’re gonna have you all” (pointing to Remembrance, Adrianna and the other “driver,”) “wait on a moment’s notice with him” (pointing to a gangster sitting next to Butch) “ and we others are gonna walk down the street real casual-like, and try not to draw attention to ourselves. Then we’re gonna head to the Atalisa Storage Facility, and we’re gonna bust in and take what we can. We’ll pitch it into the trunks of the cars–” (gesturing to the drivers) “and you all had better open the trunks for us– and then we head out.”
“How do we know if there’s anything worth taking in them bins?” asked Butch.
“Oh, we’ve been working on this for a while.” Luther replied with an evil grin. “We been watching them bins, we know who put what where, and it ain’t hard at all to cut those locks clean off. It’s too easy. No cameras, no alarms, they don’t know what they’ve got coming.”
Almost as soon as he finished the statement, he looked at Butch. “Easterly,” he said, “You are weird. I’ve heard people say it, but I didn’t believe it until I saw it. And now I’ve seen it. You ain’t normal, not at all. You ain’t no gangster. You’re too civilian-ish.” He looked at his watch. “I don’t like workin’ with second raiters.” He looked at Remembrance and Adrianna. “Take that as a warning.” Then he stood up and started towards the door. “Come on everybody. It’s time to get a move on.”
They all walked out of the lock-up. Butch got into the car with his driver, and the two gangsters of his gang. The car they got into was a royal blue 1971 Chevy Chevelle SS with white racing stripes up the hood and down the trunk lid. Adrianna went over to the Nova and opened the driver’s side door. Luther, and the four “attending” members of his gang opened up the other door and piled in– Luther in the passenger’s seat up front, the other bucket seat, and the other three on the bench seat in the back.
Meanwhile, Remembrance got into the Thunderbolt. No one was riding with her; in the earlier stages of planning Luther had made it clear that while he had seen Adrianna in action and was certain of her ability, he had never seen Remembrance do anything and shady getaway drivers didn’t come with recommendations. She would be the only one in her car, which he considered lucky because that made more room for the stolen goods.
Remembrance turned the key and got the engine started. Then she revved it up a couple times. Thunderbolts were built for speed, which meant that unless an item was absolutely, positively, necessary, the item was not included in the car. The radio and heater were never installed, and the only reason it had a heater, a radio, and an A/C, was because Remembrance, bored and in the mood to do something constructive, had installed them one night, deciding that it wouldn’t put too much weight on the car. But that is straying from the point. When she revved the engine up, Luther called something to her from Adrianna’s car, but she didn’t hear a word he said because in an effort to make the car lighter the manufacturers had removed all the sound deadening materials. Which, in simpler terms for those not fluent in the language of automobiles, means that everything that kept the noise from the engine compartment from coming through the firewall and into the car itself was gone. The car’s engine was a racing engine, never intended for use on the street. it was a 427, with an aluminum block and it made an awful lot of noise. It blocked out the sound of his voice and she was turning the wheels toward the way out and had put the car into gear and was rolling forward when he finally got her attention. He got out of the Nova and walked over to the car. “Hey, Driver!”
Remembrance looked over at him, then stopped the Thunderbolt and turned her expressionless expression in his direction. She didn’t say, “Yes?” or “What do you want?”, just stared at him, waiting for him to say something. He called above the rumbling engine, “When we get to the bins and we call for you, you get there first. We can load most all the stuff into there and the other cars will just have the extra stuff we grab on the way out. With you being the only one in there, we got the trunk and the back seat and the other side of the bench seat in the front, not to mention the floorboards in the back and the floorboards on the right side of the shifter.” She showed no sign that she had heard, just looked away and put the car into gear. Luther, with a shrug, walked back to the Nova, and climbed in, shutting the door behind him with some difficulty, as it was slightly dinged up and didn’t seem inclined to latch right.
Remembrance rolled to a stop at the edge of the gravel lot around the lock-up, and before she could pull out onto the road, the other driver, the one who came with Butch Easterly, pulled up beside her in his Chevelle. Remembrance looked out the window, and the driver looked over at her. “I don’t have much hope for you.”
Remembrance just continued to look at him in that almost haunting way of hers.
“You’re a girl. I’ve seen how girls drive.”
She didn’t say a word.
“Without pressure, they can’t signal, parallel park, or back up.”
Still she remained silent.
“With the pressure, they can’t steer, can’t turn, and can’t drive in general.”
There was a long silence.
“Good luck, is all I have to say.”
Remembrance just stared at him for a long moment. Then she said in a quiet tone, very flatly and very to-the-point, “Audrey’s a girl.”
“Yeah, but she’s the decoy. I imagine girls are good at playing ram-raid decoys. But they actually expect you to drive, not wreck. I don’t have much hope for that.”
As usual, she said nothing. Slowly she removed her gaze from his face, and as if in answer to the challenge he had just placed on the table, she pressed the accelerator to the floorboards and smoked the tires, as the car shot out of the lot in response to the sudden command. But she knew of Luther’s command not to attract attention until it was a do or die situation and she throttled it down and glided around the curves and over the hills as easily as any average driver out in her car, with Audrey in the back and the other driver in the middle.
It took them twenty minutes to get to town. When they arrived, the three drivers, one by one, let the gangsters out of the cars and drove back to the big gravel parking lot where they were to wait.
“Well,” Harry, Butch’s driver, said to Remembrance, as he climbed into the car beside her, apparently bored with his own company and wanting a conversation, “We may as well get to know each other a little before you fail miserably. Where did you come from?”
She stared straight ahead for a long moment, before turning slowly towards him and saying a flat tone, “That’s for me know and you to find out.”
“Hmm! Not talking, aye? Quiet type, aren’t you? But you’ll talk soon enough. I guess you already know that I don’t think you’re so hot. But I do think you are going to provide some laughter for the rest of us before you get fired. So tell me. Where did you come from, what are you after, and how is it that you think this tiny little car that nobody’s ever heard of is gonna outrun the whole Miami Police Force?”
Remembrance thought fast under her veiled expression. She couldn’t tell him the truth– New York– just in case he might in some way be able to connect her to her real employer, the NYPD, in some way. So instead she just stared at him a long moment before she said in normal tone, which suggested she had either let down her guard or was starting to accept the annoying Harry, “I came from Miami, I want to drive, and if that’s your opinion of my car then you’ve got a lot to learn about cars. You probably don’t know a Nova from a Chevelle.”
Harry grinned. “That’s better. Seems the only way to get you to talk to me is to make you mad.”
But he was from then on very disappointed, because she refused to talk any longer.
At that moment, the gangster in the front seat of the Nova with Adrianna heard something on his shortwave radio. He leaned out the car window and called, “Okay, let’s go, we’ve had the signal!”
Harry looked over at Remembrance. “You know….” he began, “We aren’t gonna be doing any real driving till we get there, load up and make the getaway… and well, Art can drive, and Adrianna doesn’t need him in her car, and maybe he could drive my car and I could ride with you, and then when we get there I’d take mine back and he could get back in the Nova…”
Remembrance was giving him a flat stare. She inquired, in the tone which any girl would use on a slightly overbearing young man, (And with an elaborate lack of enthusiasm, ) “Do the words, ‘Get Out’ mean anything to you?”
Harry slowly nodded his head up and down once. “Get Out.” he repeated. Then he waved two fingers in her direction and said, “Bye,” and scrambled out of the car and got into his, slamming the door behind him. Remembrance rolled her eyes, shook her head, and put the Thunderbolt into gear and began to lead the procession through town.
They drove as slowly as possible in the hopes that they wouldn’t attract any attention to themselves. They all rolled to a stop at the curb by the main entrance to the Atalisa Storage facility, and at almost the same instant all the gang members came rushing out, arms full. Remembrance slid out of the driver’s seat and hurried around the back of the car. Harry did the same on his Chevelle, and Adrianna did the same with her Nova. The gangsters dumped all their stuff into the trunk of the Thunderbolt, and then went back for more. When they came back Remembrance had shut the trunk and opened the back door. They put their next load in there and that filled the small back seat. Their next one filled the passenger’s side of the front seat, and that left the car holding as much as it could. Then they went back one last time, and what they had in their hands they took with them to their seats– Remembrance in her car, Harry, Butch and his two gangsters in the Chevelle, and the Nova holding Adrianna, Luther, and his four cronies. They drove slowly outside of town and to a previously selected parking lot across from an abandoned strip mall. Here they stopped to re-arrange the goods. Coming out of the job they hadn’t been able to take up any time deciding where to put what. But now they were interested in remodeling the arrangement. Luther and his boys, and Butch and the other occupants of the Nova, and the three drivers, got out and a regular banter started up. When the two trunks of the two cars belonging to Harry and Adrianna were filled, it left the Thunderbolt empty except for the trunk, which was loaded full with as much as it could hold, with the ten-pound battery in the back.
Luther was grinning as he said, “When we get back to the lock-up we can sort through all this–”
His sentence was interrupted by the wailing of a siren, most likely that of a police car. And it was getting closer… and closer…. and closer.
Luther glanced around, then cried, “The cops are coming! Quick, everybody, load up! Whatever you do don’t lead them to the lock-up, and lose them at all costs!” and with that they all dove into their previous places and brought their engines roaring to life.
By now they could see the police cars, all coming down the street. Unfortunately, they were coming down the only paved road out of the parking lot, which left them with one option– go through the grass to get back out onto the street, which took up precious time but allowed them to get on the other side of a barrier which could potentially slow down their pursuers as well.
Remembrance slid behind the wheel of the Thunderbolt and glanced back toward the police cars, which were bearing down on her. Adrianna and Harry had pulled out long ago and were almost out of sight, but she hadn’t even put her car into gear yet.
Luther, looking through the rear view mirror of the Nova, thought she was crazy. But little did he know her plan.
She watched as the police cars came into the dirt parking lot. It hadn’t rained in a long while, and the ground was dusty. Just at the moment when it appeared that they were about to take her in, she threw the Thunderbolt into gear and floored the accelerator, hard-steered to the left, and used a trick that most getaway drivers knew of. She usually drove the Thunderbolt with her left hand steering, her arm braced up against the door panel to assist with what some referred to, in the car’s hay-day, as its “wicked handling”. Then she could rest her right hand on the shifter, because the car shifted fast when it was throttled up all the way. In order to do a 360 from a standstill, you must floor it, wrench the wheel, and pulled the handbrake to cause the back end of the car to slide along with the front. So she rapidly switched hands on the wheel, and then leaned down to pull the handbrake with her left hand, while she looked through the space between the middle of the steering wheel and the top.
The result was that the car spun several “controlled” 360s, kicking up so much dust that it prevented anyone from seeing anything. Remembrance had a hard time seeing to get out of the lot, but once she did, she was able to get out of the parking lot through the paved entrance while the police cars were still trying to get out of the dust storm she had created.

She turned towards the way that Adrianna and Harry had gone, and allowed the Thunderbolt to pick up speed. Her main interest at the moment was to lose the following cars, so that Luther would calm down enough to continue with his plan. If he continued, then she would have the evidence to, eventually, arrest him red-handed.

She went around a curve in the road at a very high speed, perhaps upwards of 70 to 80 miles an hour, which in comparison to what the Thunderbolt could have done wasn’t much, but was fast enough to catch up with the others. Around the next curve, she saw the Nova- Adrianna- and Harry, in his Charger. She sped up a little and came up behind them. As she sailed passed Adrianna, Luther called from the window, “You did good, Driver! Lost ’em so fast I–”

Remembrance didn’t have to listen to the rest of the praise. All at once, as the cars rounded the next curve, they saw a roadblock- 10 police cars, all lined up in a zig-zag across the road, with one or two policemen out of the cars, and standing the road with guns. They were so close to the curve that all three cars were almost upon them the moment they saw them.
All three drivers reacted differently. Adrianna swerved to the right and went through the grass to get safely around them. Remembrance swerved left and went across a cracked old sidewalk to get around them. Harry did something that Remembrance, glancing into her mirror, considered very stupid– He tried to go through them.
The result was that he was slowed down and came out missing the lid on his trunk. How he managed to remove the trunk lid was something that Adrianna and Remembrancem, judging from his general personality, didn’t want to speculate on. But when he came out the other side of the road block, his Dodge Charger looked like it had been run through a ringer washer, there were so many dents in it from hotting the other cars and getting shot at.
What didn’t help matters was that his driving through the road block gave the police time to “catch up” so to speak. Now they were all behind the three cars, and gaining on them every minute.
In the Nova, Adrianna was in the lead.

 

 

That was as far as I got, but there is an intro that I might post later. 🙂

Now I’m off for the night! 😉

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