A/N: Our favorite bad boy finally shows up - in the flesh!
This part definitely has a soundtrack and it is AC/DC's "Highway to Hell." Also I know not everybody loves it when movie fics include references to the cartoon, but I try to work it in so that it makes sense for everybody.
2: No Stop Signs or Speed Limit
Benjamin Joos drove down the winding country lane in his baby, a vintage VW Bug convertible. He'd never been able to find out what year the Dragster of Doom had been made, as it was a unique custom build in lime green with a checkered past. His car's history was almost as interesting as his own. The really interesting part, though, was that Joos could still get Doomie to run.
He fiddled with the radio to settle his nerves, not yet used to flaunting his car so openly. It was too distinctive, so he couldn't really take Doomie on jobs, even when it wasn't being temperamental and rejecting this or that refurbished engine part. But this wasn't a job. He could drive around with impunity and it wouldn't matter if the whole town knew it was him flipping them off in the car with rocket tail fins.
After coaxing the old jalopy up to the top of the hill, he sat there for a moment. Lounging in his seat (as much as it was possible to lounge in a car that didn't let you lean the chair back) he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. His face moved through a variety of aborted expressions before settling on a little frown, his lips pursed and one sharply angled eyebrow raised.
"Well, well. Ain't it...homey," he muttered to himself.
If you liked farmhouse revival, it was certainly a nice house. A big old updated Victorian. The white paint had to go. Not that he was going to paint the place. It would fall off eventually on its own, after all.
His eyes trailing over the facade caught on a second story window, where a black-clad figure had its elbows planted on the sill and a pale smudge of a face propped up on small fists. He squinted, trying to make out any detail. Whoever it was stood up and faded back into the recesses of the house.
So. That was the ghost. What a spookster. Oooo, stare creepily out the window at him some more. Yeah, he was real scared. Size said teenager. It was probably just the local kids fooling around with an empty house and playing at séances and shit.
But it was his house now. They would learn to stay away pretty quick, or it would be the last lesson they ever had. Not that he was going to kill some damn kids, he amended his thoughts quickly. Jesus, it was harder being retired than he thought.
Working quickly, he unloaded his luggage. It was just a duffle bag and some supplies, like security cameras and tripwires. On the one hand there was walking away from the business a rich and happy man, and then on the other hand there was getting really dead.
When he shut the trunk, Doomie rolled back alarmingly on the slight incline where it was parked. With a chuckle, Joos bent down to put wooden blocks under the wheels. He slapped the rear end of the car as he straightened up, and exclaimed, "I know you want to get rollin' now, but we'll go out cruisin' again before you know it, buddy."
Straightening his trucker hat, he hefted a box and started hauling everything inside.
If he had looked up a little higher, he would have seen the Maitlands watching him through the attic window. He'd Googled the previous owners, and found nothing much except for some property records and a barely functional site for their hardware store. However, among the spinning text GIFs and primary colors there had been a nauseatingly adorable picture of the happy couple. So he might have had second thoughts about moving into a place haunted by an extra pair of quaint Hicksville ghosts, what with the checkered shirt and floral print.
But probably not.