The car bounced down the ill-maintained highway as I struggled to keep the wheel straight. The Mustang, or 'Jamie' as we had nicknamed it, always had a tendency to swerve to the left after the power steering pump started leaking, and we didn't have enough money to buy more fluid, nevertheless to get it fixed.
I looked over and saw Katt. The dribble dripped out of the corner of her mouth and down the window of the car. It had a hand crank, base model, but the engine was a V8 swap from back when Katt had money. I didn't know at the time anything about her old money other than that it related to her odd 'deceased' boyfriend, constantly shrouded in mystery during any conversation.
I had the radio turned on to some random country station. For the first time in 30 minutes, the radio played something other than pathetic, Willie Nelson-wannabees.
"Gospel music", I growled.
"Wake up, Katt." I nudged her awake. "We're in God's Country now."
She cocked her mouth slightly open and did the half-yawn, half-grunt that she always did when she woke up. She wasted no time in cranking the window down two inches and warming up the cigarette lighter beneath the radio.
"You know," I said, "you're the reason the car reeks of Marlboro."
"No one cares, baby," she snaps as she emphasizes the last word.
"You know I don't like it when you call me that, I'm only five years younger than you."
"Too young to drink, too young to smoke, born after 2000."
"IN 2000," I emphasized.
"Oh, so you're five-and-a-half." She threw the now-empty cigarette box out the open window, flinching and raising her eyebrows upon hearing it crunch beneath the wheels. The highway degraded into a gravel road as the speed limit fell from 55 to 40 miles per hour. I kept going 60.
"You know, they sleep with their cousins down here."
"Bull," I said.
"No, it's true. A guy I went to high school with even married his after moving down here," Katt said as she looked out the window. Her eyes got that glazed look that she always got while she was smoking. I always hated that look, and, by default, her habit of smoking. It was given to her by her ex-boyfriend, four years ago, when she was 21.
I was cruising at about 60 when a Honda Civic pulled up right behind me. The hood was painted black, and 'V-TEC' was written across the top of the windshield in the same font as the 'M' on the front of Monster cans.
"Hey, watch me leave this ricer in the dust," I told Katt with a smirk. I pulled the car down into fourth gear and pushed down the throttle. Without warning, the Civic put on its blinker and downshifted, too. The roar of the engine was deafening as it pulled up alongside of us. I floored the accelerator. I don't even know if the other guy had the gas matted, as well, but I do know that he sped ahead, and our car made a loud banging noise. The hood started smoking, and white smoke came out of the tail pipe.
"You degenerate," Katt exclaimed as she took a sharp jab to my shoulder. "I can't believe you blew the head gasket."
We pulled over to the side of the road. My cell phone was dead, so Katt called for a tow truck on hers. She refused to call 911, even though she worked in bail bonds collection. Once again, this was an issue that related to her rich, dead boyfriend from four years ago.
While we were waiting for the tow, Katt somehow managed to smoke half a pack of Marlboro Red 100s. Halfway through the 10th cigarette, she snuffed it out and whispered "get down" in my ear. She pulled me down behind the Mustang, the black metal smashing my face into her chest.
A highway patrol car passed. After about ten seconds of being stunned, I finally asked, "Was... there... a point to that?"
"Yeah, you're from Michigan, you're in Alabama, and you look like you killed a good old boy."
"You know, for someone who works for the Government, you hate the police."
"Shut up. I am the police. I do their job, but better. Plus, I do not work FOR the Government, I just happen to work WITH them."
"Boy, that's one hell of an ego."
Shortly after the tow truck arrived. To my greatest dismay, the driver was also a smoker, only this time of cigars. I gagged down my throat as I stepped into the cabin. Katt immediately started to do the talking for both of us.
"We were on our way to visit cousins, when our car started making funny noises. I know a mechanic in town, I just need to figure out how far away we are from Birmingham."
"Oh, you're just 'bout three 'r so hours 'way from Birmin'am. If you wantin' to backtrack a lil' bit, how'ver, 's just 'bout 42 minutes to Mobile."
"Okay," she said, without consulting me, as usual. "Then I guess we're going to Birmingham."
"Well," I whispered to her. "Nicest ride Jamie's gotten since we left Detroit."
