1971….

This is the intro to that Tiresmoke idea I had, I actually really like this- it does need a bit more editing, I must agree, but this was as far as I got. It’s a little too descriptive- looking back I realize that while I care about the details I added, no one else will, so I should probably just delete them, lol. 😛

It was labeled “1971….” and mi idea was each book happened ten years later, in the trilogy, so I ended up with an intro like that in each book, each beginning with the year (1981…. and 1991….) I still like that idea, so… we’ll see. Might work for a different idea of mine someday…. anyway.

Again- I wrote this when I was about 11 or 12, and on paper, before I had my laptop- bear with anything that sounds really stupid, lol.

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1971…
 
 

Water dripped from the rusted pipes in the upper level of the parking garage. The elevator shuddered to a stop. Its old, somewhat creaking doors slid open, with much protest, to reveal a twenty-three year old girl with russet brown hair and nearly matching eyes. She stepped from the car, which, with more groans, creaks, and complaints, rattled downward to see if others were waiting elsewhere. The girl walked slowly down the right isle of cars, her hard-soled, flat-bottomed shoes echoing curiously throughout the all-concrete and metal structure. Parking garages have a row of cars on the left wall, right wall, and down the middle. She now walked between the right wall and the middle. Finally, she came to a stop in front of a shiny, new-looking car. It was a light blue, ’64 Ford Fairlane Thunderbolt, one of only 100 stock drag-race only cars made. It was street modified, fast, light, and possessed a “high rise” 427 engine with dual holly four-barrel carburetors- and it was all hers.

She unlocked the door, climbed in, started the motor, shut the door, turned on the headlights, put it in gear, and finally drove out of the parking space and to the right. There was a large metal support post on the end of the middle row, and, turning left, she idled between the wall and the post, down a ramp, left again, down another row, another ramp– and this time right. This floor had hardly any cars on it, and again she idled– or perhaps “rumbled” would be more correct, a fact made clear by the noise made by the glass packs– on between wall and post, down another ramp, an again left, onto a floor packed full of cars.

There was a police car rumbling slowly down the other side of the row, going the opposite direction, playing his small but powerful searchlight up and down along the middle row of cars. When the light hit the Thunderbolt, there was one, horrid instant of silence. Then, the policeman floored his accelerator and came roaring around the end of the row to be on the same side as the Thunderbolt, sirens blaring, and lights flashing. The young wheelman, or woman, as you prefer, did not simply floor it and begin shifting the four speed like mad. Instead, she slowly but steadily pushed it down until it was down all the way, and the plucky little Thunderbolt shot obediently ahead. When she came to the end of the row, she “hard steered” (turned suddenly as far as the wheel would go,) to the left, using the handbrake to kick the Thunderbolt’s back end around in line with the front, and she raced down the ramp, used the previously mentioned trick to go right, and on they raced in like manner, the wheelman going around corners without losing speed, the policeman trying to imitate her cool, easy, getaway driver like qualities and failing entirely, hence his car was looking increasingly more beat up as they raced on, down through the levels of the tall parking garage. On the last floor, the girl behind the Thunderbolt’s wheel met another car coming down the one lane path between rows. She swerved in between two parked cars, and the other car swerved and rear-ended a parked car. She shot in and out of the parked cars, while the police car wasted precious time to slow down considerably, and go around the wrecked vehicle.

There were two ramps on that floor: one that went up, to ground level, for their current floor was in the basement position, and one to go down to the final floor. She went up, the Thunderbolt sailing through the air and landing with a jolt, the police car swerving wildly after her. There was a large cardboard sign telling one to stop and pay in the middle of the way out. She did not stop to go around it. She blew right through it, went squealing left onto the street, and left again at the intersection. There was a crash, and the police car, its front end smashed flat, rolled as though dormant into view of the road which the girl had taken, it siren dieing off. And Remembrance Raymond shifted gears and roared onwards, leaving the wrecked police car behind in the fading cloud of her

Image

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Okay, re-reading that I’d like to point out a couple things:

  • I never have been able to figure out how to include the car talk into the writing. I want the reader to know that the ’64 Thunderbolt is an amazing and RARE car, and that is has a high-rise 427 in it. How can one go about that? No idea. The best I could do was dump the information on you in the intro, and that’s pretty clunky. While ideally I’d love to be able to weave that information into the story, 99% of readers of that genre aren’t like me and won’t care, so theoretically I should take that out- which I hate to do, which is another reason why this trilogy idea hasn’t worked out.
  • Yes, that’s really how it ended- “leaving him in the cloud of her tiresmoke” was the sentence, and the word “tiresmoke” was made up of the logo for the book itself. Meaning that it read through to the title page, which I thought was a cool idea and still do- my little challange was that every one of these things had to end with the title of the book- I was thinking of it going, “Getaway” as #2 and Longshot for #3, so I’d have to find a way for those sentences to fit in. In fact I wrote an “example” intro for the second one (1981…) which…. is pretty crappy, I have to admit.
  • I’m NOT ADVOCATING RUNNING FROM THE LAW! The thing here is Remembrance is an undercover NYPD officer, but even the Miami cops cannot know that, so they THINK she’s a criminal and in order to continue with her assignments she must run from the law. Please don’t think I’m promoting criminalism. Yeah, I just made that word up.
  • In all, I really like the scene’s bones but it is pretty clunky. Very clunky. I’m just not sure what to do with the thing.
  • The series was going to be called the Undercover series. I though each title would be one word, and the series’ theme would be that bright teal-ish color, orange, and purple and black. An odd color scheme appropriate for the 60s-70s theme of it all. As a result, the word undercover rarely appears in any text because I didn’t want to seem redundant. Not really sure if that’s good or bad yet.
  • That whole “she is the wheelman” thing baffles me. By definition, she IS the wheelman, yet “SHE is the wheelMAN” is an oxymoron. Wheelwoman, however, sounds very… wrong, somehow, and “she is the driver” could both get me in trouble with the game called Driver and movie called The Driver, and doesn’t nearly hold the same conviction and purpose that “wheelman” does. So, I never knew what to do about that. Another hole in my series idea circle.

I guess thanks for reading/liking/whatever this long mess!

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