Author's Note: Whoa, finally exams are over for me. Huzzah. So, um, I know it's been a while since I gave you guys another chapter so I must apologize for my lack of inspiration. BUT I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS STORY, DON'T WORRY. I'm determined to finish this story, I promise.

Now then, my special thanks goes out to all the people who've exchanged kind words with me in the form of reviews, including: Bri105, Maria G. Familia, Kuro-puuAndFaiLuvers, Gibson77, KizuOniKitsune (x2, possibly 3 haha), Adhyaksa, TheBombDiggity, and JesseB954.

Extra special thanks to the person who pleaded for me to update (the anonymous reviewer Imbegginyou) and to Jesse who made me laugh really hard (I had to clean my monitor after that episode, just so you know).

Disclaimer: I only own the plot of this story and the unrecognizable characters. I write to entertain.

Warnings: Rated for excessive swearing and scenes involving violence and sexual stuffs.

Gigs from Hell

Chapter 21 – Superclunk

Even from a distance I can see that Rylie is puckering up for her tour manager. I've been told by Chi that their Mr. Yamada is one hell of a nauseating swine. It seems – judging by the angry shouting I can hear being spewed out of Rylie's cell – their manager is not going to assist us. That or he's extremely reluctant to accept that disaster has struck us once again. I get that impression when Rylie flips her phone closed and throws it down the length of the beach angrily. I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she heads for the van, rips open the door on the passenger side and grabs something from within.

Meanwhile – thanks in part to the waiter that we ran away from when the van started rolling – a crowd has gathered along the cliff. Mostly people are watching the constant stream of water gushing out of our van's tailpipe. Forget Niagara Falls, the water coming out of our van's rear is just as impressive a sight.

But it's when people start coming down the cliff to see the spectacle up close that I start to get irritated. Granted the first person to approach our troupe was that waiter looking for us to pay the tab for our food, but still. People just can't leave us to wallow in our pity peacefully, can they?

One man with a wild mane of frizzy hair ogles Kim in her near shirtless state. I decide that the line between polite inquiry and full out enquiry has been crossed. I march right up to the man and tell him crudely:

"We're not shooting some porno flick so would you please, please sod off."

That sounded incredibly British. Have you been watching those British soaps on T.V. again? Oh wait, I already know the answer to that–

Shut up Ra.

The man pulls a face and gestures to the van, conveniently behind Kim I notice with much embarrassment. It's hard to imagine a man would be staring past a half naked beauty but apparently this guy is either gay or a passionate automotive mechanic. Or he's conveniently both.

"I'm, uh, checking out your van. Not your girl." The man grimaces, reflecting my own expression. So it seems Rylie's protectiveness over her girls has rubbed off on me. Great. It won't be long now until I develop a full blown case of Protective Boyfriend Syndrome (PBS).

"She's not my girlfriend. The one sitting on the ground eating the chocolate bar is."

The man gives a quick glance over to Rylie taking angry snaps at her chocolate before acknowledging me again. "I'd love to ask you what happened here but I think the scene is pretty self-explanatory. Forget to set the parking brake?"

"I didn't forget. But yeah, that's what happened. How'd you know?" I'm too surprised that he managed to guess our issue right off the bat to be cantankerous with this guy. Besides, something in his wrinkles tells me he's seen worse situations. If that's even possible.

It occurs to me that I could look like this man one day if I let the stress get to me. Yikes.

"Eh, you could say similar things happen all the time," the man replies vaguely. "You kids taking a road trip to somewhere or what?"

He's obviously got too many years on me for the kid thing to make me bristle. Instead I tell him truthfully, "We're touring. We're a band."

Wow, leaping down that cliff jarred my brain a bit. Sadly I must sound like a kid to him. All of my English has left me for dead.

A weird little smile creeps across his features. Before I can back away and make a smooth break for it the man with the frizz spins around and calls, "Marty, you're right! This one's a flounder!"

My frazzled brain doesn't even try to make sense of what the man's blabbing about. Before I know it, three other guys are flanking the original. Each one of these men has the scariest hair I've ever seen in my entire life, which is saying something considering the rebels in Japan are usually pretty flamboyant. One of the three looks like he should have been in ZZ Top, what with the long hair and beard. Another has a normal haircut, minus the fact that it's bright pink. The last one, well, he looks like an older Americanized version of Chiba, which is scary enough as it is.

Thanks to the growing hysteria I find myself backed by both my mates and my girls. Thank goodness.

"You kids are in a band?" The pink one eagerly asks, grinning.

"Shut up Marty, no one wants to hear about your sixth sense for sniffing out musicians," the Chiba-impersonator says gruffly. God, he even sounds like Chiba. The only thing that would make this moment more unnerving is if he had a best friend who happened to be a bleach-blonde cargo-pants-wearing dude.

Then again, if I were destined to have an older double present right here and now he'd probably be bald.

My future's bleak.

The ZZ Top wannabe extends his hand towards me. "Greetings mates. We're Superfunk. No doubt you've heard of us."

Quickly I look to Ryusuke. If there's anyone else in the band who knows what looks to be classic rock it would be him. He's as blank as I am. A glance around shows me that everyone is in a similar haze.

These guys look like they could be popular…in an old folk's home.

Finally Chiba breaks the silence. "I like your hair." He nods towards his double.

"Thanks," Chiba's double says stiffly. "I, uh, like yours too kid."

The pink haired guy claps his hands together to ward off the impending awkward silence. "So! I take it you guys aren't from around here." Considering we're a bunch of Japanese kids with noticeable English slurs the statement falls rather flat. We certainly aren't locals; that much even a blind man could see. "What you need is a crane. To haul your van back up."

I can see everyone visibly deflate. Even if we were to somehow get the van up and running where the hell would we find a crane? Not to mention the money needed to rent said gigantic contraption.

Pinkie notices our despair. "Hey, hey, relax. Lucky for you I'm Superfunk by night and Mr. Scrap Metal by day. I have a crane in my junkyard, if you're interested."

Barely able to contain his enthusiasm Ryusuke literally jumps for joy, his arms spread wide. One of them connects with my side and I wince while the other inadvertently copes a feel. Chi howls indignantly, clutching her violated melons.

Saku, being the amazingly passive boy that he is, ignores the escalating madness and asks, "So where is your crane?"

"On the other side of town."

"Oh."

Just then Rylie leans against my shoulder and whispers, "What do you think they're going to charge us?"

I try not to grimace too much. "Dunno. Probably more than the van's worth."

She groans, either from the news of our penniless state or from the large quantity of chocolate she consumed in record-breaking time (at least in my books). Girls never fail to impress me.

"We really appreciate the offer but, well, I don't think our van is worth much to us in this condition," Kim surmises, half turned around to stare at the waterlogged beast. If the engine was shit before, I'd hate to hear what kind of bizarre noises it might make now. If it even runs again.

Pinkie ponders Kim's point for a moment while Ryusuke glares at her. He was perfectly willing to run with a broken down piece of shit. Knowing him he'd somehow get it working too. But, also knowing him, his handiwork would only last for about five miles down the road and we'd be back to square one.

I guess I'm taking Kim's side on this one.

"It might not be worth much to you but to me that's a lot of scrap metal. That thing's a beast," Pinkie says assertively. He punches a fist into his hand. Smack. "I have a plan I think we could all agree with."

The Chiba double grins widely before masking his face with a huge meaty palm.

ZZ Top wannabe pulls a concerned face. "But your plans never work out, dude."

Pinkie glowers at him. "Shut up, dude," he mocks, "or the next time you crash at my place I'll braid your beard to the coffee table leg again."

"You just want me to get rid of my beard."

"It's so 70s, man. Looking at you makes me feel like an old geezer."

"Yeah, well, looking at your supposed neo-pixie pink hair reminds me of what went into the toilet the night we mixed bubblegum ice cream with vodka."

"That's disgusting! I thought we agreed never to speak of that again! Actually, you promised you'd never bring this up! I can't believe I trusted you!"

"Would you two queens stop squabbling already?" The Chiba double shouts. His face is red and I fear that the vein in his forehead might just pop out and cause a serious medical emergency. "These kids have a situation here. What's your fucking plan?" He clamps a hand over his mouth and hurriedly apologizes. "Pardon the language, kids."

We're all too discombobulated to care whether we're being treated like toddlers or not.

"Okay, my idea is genius." Pinkie takes a deep breath of air. In anticipation each of us subconsciously leans forward to Pinkie. "I take your van off your hands for free and in return you guys can take any vehicle in the scrap metal yard. We'll swap!"

"You idiot! They're clearly leasing someone else's van and I'm pretty sure that's illegal or something!" ZZ Top, seemingly the down-to-earth one, has a damn good point.

"Who cares? We're down for that!" Ryusuke pipes up. That man is entirely too eager to get us into trouble. Idiot. At least the rest of us aren't like him.

Or so I thought.

My mouth drops as everyone seems to agree with Ryusuke. Hell, I'm not even sure that us kids know what we're agreeing too. Rylie, who obviously understands everything these guys are talking about, is looking a bit like me; freaked out. But, before we can band together and use our powers of coupledom to sway everyone else out of what is doubtlessly a bad idea the conversation takes a drastic turn.

"Okay then, two people can take Duff's car…thing."

"I vote myself!" Ryusuke calls out, his fist pumping vertically into the air above our heads.

Just for the mere indecency of voting for one's self Koyuki and Saku exchange vexed looks and say in unison, "I vote Taira."

I look to Chiba to get me out of this optional voyage into the unknown and receive a simple-minded shrug. "I don't care." Duff is too busy looking through footage he captured on his video camera to care about my well-being. And so, I am the chosen one.

"I vote Rylie!" Kim screeches. The rest of the Flux agrees with Kim, much to Rylie's mounting horror. I don't think she wants anything to do with these old geezers.

"Taira and Rylie it is," Pinkie declares, not even sure who the hell's names he's calling. Ryusuke visibly deflates and Koyuki gives his big fat ego a pat on the back. I don't know why Koyuki's still stroking Ryusuke's ego considering that thing is so large we can't even fit it into a Boeing 747, much less our spifflicated van.

Yes, I did just insult our band leader. I just can't help myself. It's starting to become a favourite hobby of mine.

Let's fast forward to the present, shall we?

Rylie and I are trying to will the SmartCar that Duff got on sale to move faster in order to catch up with Pinkie's little motorcycle. The guy's without a helmet and to tell the utmost truth I'm glad he's risking his head considering his pink hair is the only thing that's stopping me from losing him in the throng of cars.

I should also mention that this little piece of plastic we're ridding in is truly the devil's work. I don't know why Ryusuke and Duff couldn't just get a normal car with an actual backseat. Oh no, according to Ryusuke Sublime picked out the car for them.

It's black with white paw prints running up and down the sides in a haphazard pattern. Figures, right? The vehicle Duff spent good money on looks like an epileptic dog stepped in white paint and covered every square inch of SmartCar. It's a horrid paint job, really.

Sublime was apparently quite smitten with it. Dumb mutt.

"Oh, hey. I think we're getting close to this place. Check out the scenery. It kind of looks like we're on the outskirts of a hick town."

Under Rylie's guidance I obediently observe the roadside and sure enough the little shanties and fields of livestock make me think we've entered a whole other side of Chicago that I didn't even think existed. Is Pinkie's scrap yard seriously out here in the boonies?

Sure enough, we start picking out signs that poke out of the thick wads of brush. Most of them are signs indicating where to find God but some of them state where to find our junk yard. But we still have Pinkie in our sights, so I reckon we shouldn't need those signs yet. But I look at them in hopes of later having some kind of recollection of our route so we can find our way back to Cosy's.

Pinkie stretches his hand out to the left in a signal for us to turn and we find ourselves bouncing down a dirt road. We don't have to go far before huge heaps of scrap metal and tires signify that we've reached our destination. It's all basically sandy dirt with a run-down fence surrounding the scrap yard so I simply park the SmartCar behind Pinkie's motorcycle seeing as there's no real designated parking spaces.

Rylie and I pile out into the sun and I sneeze upon entering the dust cloud the petite paw print SmartCar had managed to kick up. Pinkie materializes out of the dust just as I'm attempting to surreptitiously wipe the snot from my nose.

"This is it! Feast your eyes on my pride and joy!" He states all too gleefully. I would do as he instructed but I can't see anything at the moment and my eyes are watering uncontrollably. I swear I'm not getting all emotional or having a nervous breakdown!

Rylie takes the initiative to answer, "It's…wonderful?"

"Damn right it is. Now follow me and let's find a good van. I know there's a few collecting dust over there…" he trails off as he starts walking in the direction of one of the largest scrap metal heaps I've ever seen. I worked as a construction guy and I've seen some pretty messy heaps of debris in my time but this guy's backyard takes my breath away. So much so that Rylie is hauling me along while I gape in awe.

"Your lungs are going to get covered in a layer of dust if you keep holding your mouth open like that." At Rylie's words I snap my mouth firmly shut. No need to possibly take extra years off of my life.

Pinkie brings us up to a van that looks perfectly good apart from the fact that it's missing its entire front end. I inform him we need something a bit more road-safe. The second one we happen upon is missing all of its tires and a front axle so we keep searching. There are a lot of cars and trucks and unidentifiable objects mixed in with the rest of this scrap metal soup. It becomes apparent to both myself and Rylie that Pinkie has no visible way of organizing his wares.

We finally encounter a van that passes all of its outer appearance tests only to have Pinkie open up the side door and dash our hopes. It's been gutted. No seats, no stereo system, no nothing. Not even the steering wheel remains.

"Huh," he mutters, thoroughly stumped at our find. "Must have had some of those unruly teenagers come in here and make off with stuff. Out from under my nose again…damn brats." He coughs as the wind blows some dust up into his nose. "Guess I gotta get a vicious dog or somethin'."

We leave the scene of the petty crime and head deeper into the scrap yard. I'm starting to realize there's a lot more stuff here than what I could see from the road. We're beginning to weave carefully around the junk and various vehicle parts for fear of knocking things over. The junk is stacked high enough to give the impression that it's reaching towards the heavens. Our current state of affairs reminds me of scientists placing mice in maze boxes and watching them scramble to find a piece of cheese.

"Hmm, there has to be something around her somewhere…" Pinkie mumbles. I don't hear what else he says under his breath as the wind picks up and starts blowing dust and sand around. I shield my eyes and press on, following Pinkie's hair lest I get lost.

Our search isn't helped by the swirling dust. I can barely see anything in front of me. Thank goodness Mr. Scrap Metal has fluorescent preteen girl locks or I would be climbing a trash heap right about now. Even though I haven't turned around to check on Rylie in a few minutes I refuse to stop in fear of getting left behind in this maze. She's a big girl; she can take care of herself, right?

The wind pauses its relentless onslaught for a moment and the dust settles around our feet. I drag a hand through my hair and ruffle some dirt from the top of my head. I badly crave a shower right now.

"Hey, where'd the girl go?" Pinkie wonders, taking a quick look around.

"Oh my God, we lost my girlfriend!"

"Whoa, whoa buddy. Don't panic. Gwah!" I shove him aside as I start galloping backwards they way we'd come. "H-hey! Don't run! Wait!"

Either Pinkie's beer belly slows him down or the dust cloud I kick up blinds him. Whatever it is, when I stop my headfirst barrelling through the rubble of a thousand dinky vehicles Pinkie is nowhere to be seen.

Or, much more importantly, Rylie.

It's official; I must have Protective Boyfriend Syndrome (PBS).

See now this would have been a good time to hold her hand. You had an excuse and everything. Now she's lost and it's all your fault.

Me?

Naw, I'm just kidding. Seriously though, if you want your balls intact by the end of this day you better find her. I have a vague idea of what Ritsu and the rest of those ladies will do to us when we return empty handed.

I gulp as a scene from a rated R movie flashes through my mind, with me as the victim and Ritsu as my torturer. Stupid Saku, making me watch horror movies with him. I always have vivid nightmares for weeks afterwards. I've watched one too many of those damn movies that I have a mounting collection of horrific scenes engraved into my memory. And if I go to sleep tonight I know exactly who's going to star in these imagined video clips.

"Rylie!" I scream at the top of my lungs, hoping she'll answer. "It's me, Tai–"

God!

"No, it's Taira!" Stop messing me up, Ra, you ass.

I'm just a figment of your inner conscience. Haven't you ever heard of Sigmund Freud's theory of the mind? I'm the id, no doubt.

Yeah, I took that class, remember! And I didn't do so hot, remember? Because you kept telling me that the id was a part of the conscious mind.

…huh. Then maybe I'm the ego.

I seriously doubt that. Now if you're not going to come up with a brilliant idea for how to find Rylie then get the hell out of my conscious mind.

Fine. Umm…how about you climb to the top of that junk heap?

I may be lovesick but I'm not suicidal.

Fine, don't listen to any of my ideas! Good bye!

As my mind quiets down I realize that I can't hear anything but the howling of the wind as it picks up again, blowing dust straight into my eyes. My curses are rather obscene, something that signifies how Chiba has rubbed off on me. The only reason I stop short of screaming my curses out is because Rylie's probably hiding on the opposite side of the trash heap in front of me.

After all, that would be my luck working, wouldn't it?

"Rylie!" I cry out again. I can taste a thin film of dust in my mouth. Every pore in my body not covered with clothing is filling up with the stuff. I can practically feel my skin drying up. I can now relate to a fish left out of the water and in the sun.

Okay, my screaming isn't really working, I'll acknowledge that.

I find myself subconsciously staring at the heap of trash in front of me. Well, it's not that tall. I doubt I'd die if I fell off the top of it or something. In fact I probably wouldn't even break any bones. The view would be much better from up there…

Just face it; your sense of direction is pathetic. Without Saku here to point out north and south you don't have much of a chance of finding her. Besides, where's your sense of adventure?

With the little voice in my head spurring me on I start testing my footing on the junk heap. Nothing is breaking or slipping out of place so I proceed tentatively forward, hands out to steady myself in case something goes horribly, horribly wrong. But, at the moment, my bad luck seems to be holding off. For now.

It takes me less time that I expected to scale the tower of junk. When I get to the top, which is rather angular in shape, I place one foot firmly on the opposite side on the down slope and keep my other foot and the majority of my weight on the other side that I've already tested to be safe.

Well, I could yell from up here. But I think looking around has less adverse effects. After all, Pinkie – who I see is on the other side of the junkyard – could hear me and freak out since I'm doing dangerous shit over here. His pink hair bobs up and down and I can tell that he's jogging. I can see Duff's paw print SmartCar from here as well. Still…there's no sign of the one person I absolutely must find.

I watch Pinkie as he exits the vehicle graveyard and doubles around the side of it. There seems to be multiple entrances to the yard and it makes me snigger. No wonder he has teenagers stealing his stuff all the time. He practically leaves it out for the taking.

"Taira, what are you doing up there?"

I'm startled into nearly falling forwards down the slope I haven't tested for safety yet. As I regain a normal breathing pattern and heartbeat I glance over my shoulder to see that Rylie has somehow snuck up behind me.

I bet if I had just kept walking in the direction I was going in I would've run into her. Figures.

"Looking for you!" I yell down at her. "You got lost in the dust!"

Rylie looks up at me quizzically. "Actually, I found a good van and I was trying to call you guys to stop for a second and come see it but somehow both of you suddenly became deaf. I figured it was because of a build-up of dust in your ears but hey, at least I found you now."

She found me. Right. There's no 'Taira saved the day'. There's only 'Rylie found Taira on top of a pile of scrap looking suspiciously like he wanted to commit suicide.' Yep. Trying to regain one's pride is harder than it looks.

"Are you coming down?" she shouts, squinting up at me. For some odd, odd reason I suddenly wonder what colour underwear I put on this morning. Since she's looking straight up at me and all. I know she can't see up my shorts but there's still that awkward feeling.

Now not only can I relate to a dried up fish but I can also put myself in the place of a short girl who's having problems with guys staring down at her chest and wondering what kind of a bra she's wearing.

As I'm thinking all of this Rylie's starting to get impatient, leaning back on her heels and shoving her hands deep into the pockets of the shorts she's wearing. "So, uh, are you going to come down?" Then she gets a troubled look on her face as if she's just thought of something terrible. "Don't tell me you just realized you have a fear of heights!"

"No, no, I'm fine," I assure her. "Just…thinking." I decide to try and save my pride, bruised and beaten as it is. "I'm not scared or anything, don't worry. I'll be down in a second."

As I start to step down the safe side of the junk stack I get a bit overconfident in my ability to regain my lost composure and speed up my pace. I can't help myself; Rylie's practically waiting for me with open arms. Of course I would hurry my ass up. But what is also fast going is my luck. Not as fast as my pride, mind you, but pretty damn close.

I step on a loose piece of sheet metal and the sandal I'm wearing doesn't grip anything, a trait almost every sandal has. I slide down the length of the sheet and stub every single one of my toes on my right foot as I frantically move my other one to safer footing. But, alas, gravity kicks in and I slip further towards Earth. I come unceremoniously toppling down the heap of junk, too terrified for my life to let out even a little whimper of fear. I don't land on my face, rather the palms of my hands but my ass sticks up into the air, shooting the breeze. As I look up frantically and scramble to my feet I notice Rylie has turned her back to my modest accident.

I can't help but groan and realize what she's attempting to do. "You're trying to pretend you didn't see that just now, aren't you?"

"Am I really that obvious?" she asks, peeking over her shoulder with a hand over her mouth. Probably trying to stifle a giggling fit.

Those giggles, they come out full force once I start limping towards her, my right foot maimed beyond all recognition.

Okay, my foot doesn't look that bad but it sure feels like I've been stepped on by a horse. A Clydesdales like King to be exact. Yes, I still haven't gotten over my newfound fear of large beasts yet.

"I won't bother asking if you're in pain, since it's written clearly all over your face." She walks up to meet me half-way and says, "I'm not about to kiss your boo-boos all better but…" She leans up to give me a soft kiss, which at this point I milk for all it's worth. What transpires during the next minute and a half is basically my assault on her lips. There's a bit of wandering hands mixed in too but before I can get too intimate she slaps my hands away and states, "I found a van that could be 'the one'."

Mood killer.

I whine a little and place my head dejectedly upon her shoulder. "Can it wait? We haven't been alone since…forever." I think my overemphasis makes her crack because before I know it she's forcibly silencing me with her lips. See, whining in moderation does work.

A man never truly realizes how hungry he is for some lovin' until he's got the remedy in his arms aiming to please him. Or that's the way it is for me anyway.

When Rylie grabs the back of my head in an obvious attempt at pulling us closer together I take the initiative to step forward and see if I can get a French kiss out of this whole ordeal. She gasps as I step closer and I seize the moment to deftly delve my tongue into her mouth. Her lips come down over my tongue and there's a slight hint of suction that goes straight to my groin. Her fingers in my hair loosen and her lips move against mine almost as if she's telling me some secret message.

Since I forgot to breath and am now getting a euphoric high from a combination of Rylie and a lack of air I pull back from the kiss. As soon as I let go Rylie desperately grabs the front of my shirt almost as if she's about to flop over. I of course see this gesture as 'oh my God she wants more' and immediately dive in for another kiss.

This time though she turns her face to the side and I attach myself to her cheek like one of those sucker fish against a fish tank. …I'm really thinking fish today for some reason.

I can feel her lips move against my ear as she breathlessly confesses, "I can't feel my toes."

I detach from her cheek and tell her earnestly, "I know right? Kissing you feels amazing."

The hand in my hair clenches as she rebuttals. "No, I mean I really can't feel them because you're standing on them!"

"Shit." I practically leap off of her feet and stare transfixed at the red sandal marks on her toes. "Sorry. Guess we both have feet issues now.

"You're so funny," she says dryly before grabbing my shoulders and turning me around. I limply allow myself to be turned, imagining that she's beyond pissed off at me. She pushes me forward by my shoulders in the direction of her choosing. "Now let's go look at the van."

Her tone leaves no room for argument and I gulp before mumbling a much better apology that the one I offered before. "I'. HonestIdidn'tmeanit. Pleasedon'tbemad."

For a second I think my gushing apology falls on deaf ears but she soon replies, "Huh? What?" I stupidly repeat myself word for word and she snorts. "Oh, I've already forgiven you silly. Now hurry up! I want you to see what I managed to find!" She pushes harder against my back until I really start to get going. Then she lets go and rushes past me with a grin on her face. But not before giving my butt a playful squeeze.

I won't lie and say my butt isn't tingling with both pain and pleasure after that little stunt. But now's not the time to feel like a masochist or stare dumbfounded off into the distance; my girl's getting away and leaving me quite literally in the dust.

"H-hey! Wait up!"

Sure enough, Rylie leads us to the supposed 'one'. This van is a faded red with a few spots of unintelligible graffiti and looks like it's seen it's fair share of asphalt and open blue sky. It hasn't rusted nearly as bad as the van that we lost to Lake Michigan but it is still a sorry sight.

I'm not about to laugh at Rylie's supposedly 'great' find. I don't need to give her a reason to tell the guys about my attempts at ballet as I almost fell to my death down a pile of scrap metal.

"It's not the best looking," she freely acknowledges when she sees my dubious expression. "But I checked out the engine and all that and it looks like it had its innards replaced not that long ago. So I'm guessing it runs." Wow, I had all but forgotten she'd taken some kind of automotive class back in high school.

"Sweet Mother Mary I thought I was going to have to call the police and get the hounds out to find you two!"

Both of us jump at the sound of Pinkie's voice. Automatically we turn to each other with similar expressions of guilt. I also worry that we're not supposed to be standing where we are. Rylie did, after all, lead us out of the main junk yard.

"Did you two get lost?" he inquires, even though it's kind of redundant to ask such a thing. I say yes but at the same time Rylie replies no. We're both telling the truth. Confused, Pinkie shakes his head and seems to see what we were busy looking at for the first time.

"Oh sweet Mother Mary again. You two just have a magnetic force for trouble."

Rylie, at that point, steps away from the van as if it may spontaneously blow up. I do the same, though my limping doesn't allow me to make as smooth a getaway.

"What do you mean?" Rylie asks.

Pinkie just strokes the beginnings of a beard on his face. "That van you too seemed so interested in was actually just retired. And you want to know who just retired it? Us; Superfunk. There are a lot of memories attached to that thing. That's why it's not in the junk yard with the rest of 'em."

"Oh man, well, in that case I guess we better go find a different one," I conclude.

Before I can turn to head back into hell Pinkie holds up his hands. "Hey, whoa, hold on a sec, kid. Not so fast. Tell me your destination. Where's your tour ending?"

"In Seattle. That's the last city we're going to visit before we go back home," Rylie informs him.

Slowly Pinkie nods. The sight faintly reminds me of a Buddhist giving a sagely incline of their head after receiving spiritual enlightenment. When he raises his eyes to ours once more he says solemnly, "Then it is settled. You kids need this van. Never in its years of enlistment into our humble band has it ever failed to get us to our final destination."

As he pulls out an enormous ring of keys from his pocket I can't help but feel like one of the contestants on The Amazing Race where the guy pulls out a ballot with the instructions to the next part of their life on the road. Only instead of simply handing over a ballot this guy scrunches up his face at the forty odd keys jingling in his hand, taking each one and examining it carefully. I hadn't considered that finding a van was only half the battle.

It takes Pinkie about ten minutes of fumbling to find the right key and to take it off the key ring. Then it takes him a mere ten seconds of sentimental staring before he tosses it over to me. Much to my own surprise I manage to catch his throw.

"That's the one and only key to the van. You going to drive it back, kid?"

Before I can answer Rylie pipes up, "Yes, yes he's going to drive it. I'll take the car."

I sputter as she takes off at a brisk walk away from us guys, leaving me no time for an argument. Pinkie just shrugs and proclaims, "There should be gas in the Superclunk."

"The what?"

"I said there should already be gas in the Superclunk, kid. What, do you have dust in your ears or somethin'?"

"Apparently," I mutter under my breath, opening up the driver's door and sliding inside. No wonder Pinkie has teenagers ripping him off all the time; he doesn't lock any of his vehicles.

I turn the key in the ignition to see that Pinkie's right about the van having gas in the tank still. Briefly I wonder how long the van's been sitting in the junkyard. I don't know all that much about vehicles but I'm thinking that if it's been idle for a long time I might have the pleasure of finding out there's more problems with the van than first anticipated.

"Hey, how long has…oh."

Yeah, I'm alone. No one here beside me. Using my side mirror I can just make out the obnoxious pink hair of the guy whose real name I can't remember heading off into the distance. Rylie's long gone by now and I fear she's already on the road back to Cosy's. Oh well, best get a move on then.

I place my foot on the brake before shifting out of park. The gear shift makes a loud crunching noise and a smidgeon of panic hits my gut. Did I break something? Hmm.

As I nervously let off on the brake the van dolefully rolls forward. Okay, so I'm guessing that everything in this vehicle hasn't been oiled and properly maintained since 1969. I shall have to proceed with caution from here on out. Especially since everyone has left me for the buzzards to pick at my bones.

Soon enough I manage to get the van to the entrance of the junkyard only to find that the SmartCar and the motorcycle have already left me far behind. I head out onto the highway and start to notice that the van is behaving oddly. As I'm trying to drive the van straight (the steering wheel is pulling strongly to the right) I begin to hear a soft noise coming from a location I can't seem to pinpoint. At first I think something is loose and brushing up against a hollow bit of metal somewhere. But, as I continue to press on through the dust, I realize that either my ears are clearing out or the sound I'm hearing is getting louder.

That or my senses are just heightened because I'm a paranoid son of a bitch.

"No, I am definitely hearing some strange shit," I reassure myself aloud. It's oddly comforting to hear my own voice above the noise emanating from the crevices of the vehicle. Even if my voice is wavering and sounding incredibly high-pitched.

"Look Taira, there's a sign for Cosy's. You're going to get there in one piece. Whatever's going on with this vehicle, there's no way it'll quit on you before you even get twenty minutes of road time. Besides, remember what Pinkie said: 'Never in its years of enlistment into our humble band has it ever failed to get us to our final destination.' Wait, me, myself and I don't exactly count as a band."

All of a sudden, as if to enunciate my newfound iota of alarm, a huge pop like a miniature bomb scares me into loosening my grip on the wheel. The van lurches to the right thanks to the steering wheel's misalignment and I quickly come to my senses before I skid off the road into the ditch.

Clunk. Clunk.

Okay, something is clunking and I really hope that whatever is going on with this van it will have no adverse affects on my health. Apprehensively I realize that the sound from before was actually a quieter version of the sound I'm now hearing.

Clunk, clunk.

Now I know how Pinkie so aptly named this van.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

I figure that if I don't make it back to Cosy's, that clunking noise is going to be the last sound I hear before I die.

A.N.: I don't know if you guys know this already but the easiest parts of this story for me to write are the ones where: a) Taira is getting injured, b) Taira is getting his pride bruised and c) Taira is falling off something and then getting injured.

As always, read and review is the motto. Every little comment is greatly appreciated.

~Reiki