9. All Downhill From Here

The sky is pink with dawning light, throwing the trees into silhouette like they were cut from black paper and pasted to a fanciful pastel background. Glancing at my watch, I discover it's not even 6 a.m. yet. I've had less than four hours of sleep, and right now, I'd waste half the population of Brazil for a pot of strong black coffee.

Sands being polite lasts all of thirty seconds, until he realizes he's getting into the Batmobile. "This is my car!" he exclaims. "RC was storing it for me, I didn't give anybody permission -"

"Sands, get in the car," interrupts George. I follow the direction he's looking in - the jacked-up blue 4x4 rolling down the street does not look friendly. There are two men in the cab, and a posse in the back, which has a crude frame of steel pipes sticking up from it. Of course - they can pack more people in there if they can stand, and that gives them something to hang onto.

"I'll drive, you shoot," I say to him, sliding into the driver's seat and cranking the engine. Sands is grumbling in the back seat. George is riding shotgun with a sawed-off, and I peel out of the driveway.

"Head south," Sands barks as we rocket through the sleeping town. "North of town is full of cartel sympatheizers."

Obligingly, I swing the big car onto the road heading south, the blue truck following behind us and gaining slowly. We're approaching a fork in the road, and I swerve to the left - the other choice looks like it's heading into hill country-and stomp a little harder on the gas. No GPS here -god help us all if I've taken the wrong turn. George is leaning out the window and there's a hellacious bang as he takes a shot at our pursuers. They start shooting at us, then - maybe they'd wanted Sands alive, for whatever reason - I make a note to ask him about that when we get a chance - then I swing wide around the next bend and clean forget everything else.

"Sands," I whoop"I hope you've got good brakes on this thing!"

"Why?" he asks at the same time George steals a glance at the sudden descent of the road ahead of us. It's all downhill from here.

"Jesú Christo!" the guitar-fighter exclaims, and I hear a litany of prayers as the truck wallows around the curve behind us and he gets off another shot. It's a two-lane road, barely paved, a steep downhill grade with twists and switchbacks - we're doing fifty, and for a minute, I take my foot off the gas and just steer while I get a feel for how the old car handles at speed. My adrenaline's through the roof, in a good way. Let George take care of those fools with guns - this is my element, and I'm loving it. The only thing spoiling it is a hole in the dash where the radio should be.

Driving was definitely a good idea. I'm wide-awake, happy, piloting the Batmobile down the trecherous road with a grin on my face, and because it seems so right, I start singing. "Have you heard the story of the Hot Rod Race when Fords and Lincolns was settin' the pace? That story is true, I'm here to say - I was drivin' that Model A."

The big black and red Studebaker handles like silk - well, allowing for the rotten road. Since I can drive darn near anything anywhere, I'm satisfied enough to goose it up to sixty - which doesn't take much, since it's been accelerating with downward momentum.

"It's Lincoln motor and it's really souped up, that Model A body makes it look like a pup.
It's got eight cylinders; uses them all, got overdrive, just won't stall.
With a 4-barrel carb and a dual exhaust, with 4:11 gears you can really get lost.
It's got safety tubes, but I ain't scared-the brakes are good, the tires fair."

We slide going into a sharp curve - there's no shoulder and it's a long way down on both sides-this stretch runs along a spur of mountain. The back window of the Batmobile explodes. Sands drops below seat level - whether he's been hit or just decided it's safer that way, I don't know, but George leans over the back of the front seat and starts shooting out throughthe convenient new opening.

"Pulled out of San Pedro late one night...the moon and the stars was shinin' bright.
We was drivin' up Grapevine Hill passing cars like they were standing still.
All of a sudden in a wink of an eye a Cadillac sedan passed us by.
I said, 'Gals, that's a mark for me!' By then the taillight was all you could see."

"Shut the fuck up, you crazy broad!" screams Sands. Well, obviously, if he was hit, it wasn't in the lungs. I'm pissing him off, and I'm in control. Life is good.

"Now the gals all ribbed me for bein' behind, so I thought I'd make the Lincoln unwind.
Took my foot off the gas and man alive, I shoved it on down into overdrive.
Wound it up to a hundred-and-ten, my speedometer said that I hit top end.
My foot was glued, like lead to the floor - that's all there is and there ain't no more.
The gals all thought I'd lost my sense - them telephone poles looked like a picket fence.
They said, 'Slow down! I see spots! The lines on the road just look like dots.'

I yeehaw going into the next serpentine series of curves. We spin out going around a hairpin - do a complete 360, what a fucking rush! George is praying and shooting, Sands is - by the sound of it - wedged in behind the front and back seats, swearing - and I'm cheerfully belting out the next verse.

"Took a corner; sideswiped a truck, crossed my fingers just for luck.
My fenders was clickin' the guardrail posts. The chick beside me was white as a ghost.
Smoke was comin' from out of the back when I started to gain on that Cadillac.
Knew I could catch him, thought I could pass - don't you know by then we'd be low on gas?
We had flames comin' from out of the side. Feel the tension. Man! What a ride!
I said, 'Look out, ladies, I got a license to fly!' And that Caddy pulled over and let us by."

"Hey, Sands!" I call over my shoulder. "Is a crazy broad better or worse than a techno twink?" I hear a yelp that sounds like "fuckmook", though it might've been "fuck me". I just laugh. Either way, this is even more fun than flirting with George, although by the time I stop the car, I'm probably going to be ready to nail him on the spot. George has changed to a different gun - something really big and noisy, and my ears are ringing, but I think it put a round into their engine block, because suddenly there's a billowing cloud of smoke in the rearview mirror and I catch a glimpse of something blue tumbling down into the gorge beside us.

"Now all of a sudden she started to knockin', down in the dip she started to rockin'.
I looked in my mirror; a red light was blinkin' - the cops was after my Hot Rod Lincoln!
They arrested me and they put me in jail. They called my momma to throw my bail.
And she said, 'Girl, you're gonna' drive me to drinkin'
if you don't stop drivin' that Hot... Rod... Lincoln!' "

I ease the Batmobile down to a more sedate pace. George slides back into the passenger seat, stops praying, and starts chewing me out in Spanish. It's rapidfire and highly idiomatic, but I count the word 'loco' thirty-four times before we pull into the parking lot of a seaside hotel in El Dorado, two towns away. I find a spot at the far corner of the lot, and back the Studie in, hoping to made the lack of a rear window less conspicuous.

A/N: Kate was singing "Hot Rod Lincoln", originally by Commander Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen, with the narrative sex changed. I have an alternate chapter with a different song available upon request. And may I highly recommend "lyricsondemand-dot-com" as a great alternative to having to type up lyrics from liner notes?