Page 91 of Devil’s Disciples

38

Andy

The heels of my shoes clanked against something each time I moved them. I leaned forward and looked under the front edge of the seat. A red fire extinguisher was secured beneath it, but within grasp of the passenger.

Upon seeing it, I looked at Baker. “Who put a fire extinguisher under my seat and why?”

His eyes remained fixed on the road. “It came that way.”

I was puzzled. “You bought it that way? With a fire extinguisher?”

He shifted gears with the switch on the steering wheel. The force of the acceleration pinned me to my seat. “They all come with one.”

I checked my seatbelt. “Why?”

He shifted again, and then merged in traffic. “You need one if you’re going to the racetrack.”

“This is a race car?”

“It’s a street-legal race car.”

“How handy is that?” I asked, my tone sarcastic as hell. “You can go get groceries and then go race.”

He grinned. “You sure could.”

I gestured toward the rear of the car with my thumb. “The trunk’s kind of small, though.”

He laughed. “That’s the engine compartment.”

I looked behind me. “Back there?”

“Yep.”

“Where’s the trunk?”

He extended his index finger and pointed toward the hood. “Up there.”

“We should be driving in reverse.” I laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It gives it perfect weight distribution.”

“What if you put a watermelon and a few steaks under the hood?” I asked with a laugh. “Then you’d be top heavy or whatever.”

“When you go to the racetrack, you make sure your watermelons are at home,” he said dryly.

He didn’t see the humor in me making fun of the car. It was cute, but I wasn’t near as fascinated with it as he was. I’d become spoiled by the Saturday night bike rides, and I wasn’t thrilled that we were driving to who knows where at noon on a Saturday in his Porsche.

After four hours, we stopped for gas. He filled the car, and we went into the gas station together to get a drink and snack.

“We’re eating at this mystery place?” I asked.

“We are. One more hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. We can get a snack.”

I grabbed a Bottle of water and a sack of Doritos. Upon seeing them, he stopped and pointed to the rack of chips. “I don’t allow Doritos.”

“In the car?”

“Anywhere,” he said. “I’ll vomit.”