Bullit's Chase

Bullit’s Chase

  Lelanthran Krishna Manickum

  © 2015

  SmashWords Edition

  “She’s a beaut,” Tay said. He was talking to the person in the passenger seat of the car he was driving.

  “Yeah!” came the enthusiastic reply from the passenger, a young African-American currently known in the hood as ‘Bullit’, much to the dismay of his parents who had christened him Clayvon some two decades earlier.

  The subject of the conversation was the brand-new sportscar that Tay was driving, a menacing black and yellow-striped Ford Mustang GT500. The car glided to a stop at an intersection. The traffic lights were red. The Mustang idled at the lights, steam lazily curling from the twin dual-exhausts at the rear.

  The only sound in the car now was the muted V8 burble as Tay tried to find a way to broach a sensitive subject without starting an argument. The lights changed and Tay depressed the clutch and slipped the car into first gear. The car moved off with hardly a change in engine pitch.

  “Say...” Tay started, “Your folks see this thing yet?”

  “Aw man,” cried Bullit, “Why’d you have to go and bring them up now while we’re just only started enjoying my ride, hey? You gotta problem man?”

  “Same problem as them, I guess,” Tay replied softly. Being Bullit’s cousin while still roughly being in the same generation as Bullit’s parents, gave Tay some leeway when talking to Bullit. The car sedately glided to a halt in response to the next set of traffic lights turning amber.

  “Yeah, you and the world, man. Tyrone, he gives me a job when no one else will. Whatcha have me do? Starve?” Bullit blustered a little. In spite of his response he knew full well that standing outside schools with baggies full of nose candy was… well… not quite the career that parents aspired for their kids.

  “Okay, okay, I give in, let’s talk about the car.” Tay smiled placatingly at Bullit. Tay planned on bringing up the financing of this car another time, a time when he could more easily appeal to his young cousin’s sense of self-preservation. He’d get the young man out of the hood, one way or another. He glanced into the rearview mirror and activated the left turn signal. A hundred feet later he turned left into a side road. He briefly adjusted the rearview mirror.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” said Bullit sullenly before going silent. He took a sip from the bottle of beer nestled in his lap.

  “So tell me,” said Tay trying to start the conversation again, “What does something like this cost?”

  “Enough!” shouted Bullit, “You think I don’t know what that means? How I get my money?”

  “Hey man, I’m just trying to look out for you,” replied Tay, “You know what that shit does, right? Just yesterday a kid at the George Washington Oh-Deed right in the fuckin’ cafeteria man. Sooner or later someone’s gonna come knockin, and you better hope it’s the fuckin’ cops.”

  “I can take care of myself,” shouted Bullit back. He took another swig of beer as the left turn signal came on again before Tay slowly steered the car left at the intersection. Tay glanced at the rearview mirror after he had the car up to the legal speed limit again.

  “Yeah, well,” Bullit said quietly, “That fuckin’ kid thought he could handle it. He was new here, just moved in. Shoulda’ got his ass put in place on the first day before stepping out that school.”

  Tay slowed the car down only slightly to take the next left turn, this time without signalling. He frowned into the rearview mirror. Bullit didn’t even notice; he had finished the rest of his beer in a single gulp and had carefully placed the bottle next to three empties at his feet. He twisted his body to grab another one from the six-pack on the back seat.

  “You know someone who drives a ‘69 Mustang?” Tay asked Bullit.

  “Why would I know someone with a ’69 Mustang?” Bullit replied morosely. The beer was not lifting his spirits any.

  “Because there’s one been following us for the last three left turns.” replied Tay. Bullit twisted again in his seat, this time to see through the rear window. He saw a cherry red Mustang a few cars back.

  “Man, that’s a sweet ride.” Bullit said. He squinted a little in the late afternoon sun, “Looks like a fully customised beast. That air scoop wasn’t standard on those cars in ‘69. Guy must’ve had it put in.”

  Tay changed smoothly into fourth gear before taking a longer look into the rearview mirror.

  “Looks like an intercooler, innit?” he asked Bullit who was still trying to see out the rear window.

  “Could be,” Bullit conceded. His flagging spirits had raised a little at the prospect of discussing his new car. “Of course, this baby you’re driving has a turbo too.”

  “No?” said Tay disbelievingly.

  “Sure, I tricked her out in all the ways, man. She’s got the turbo, second stage cams, plated pistons, the works.” Bullit replied. The car slowed down again as Tay steered the car onto a slipway, joining a state highway heading out of town. Tay worked the car smoothly through the gears until he had reached a mild cruising speed. The speedometer needle stood rock steady slightly under 50mph. He looked into the rearview mirror again.

  “She’s still with us, man,” Tay said to Bullit, “You sure you don’t know this guy?”

  Bullit stopped listing his car’s performance figures and turned around in his seat again.

  “Leave him behind,” he said simply, “We’ve got 600 horses under the hood. Just press the pedal and leave him behind.”

  Tay down-changed into fifth gear and the GT500 gave a slight roar as the revs picked up. The speedometer needle crept up to 65mph. Tay changed back up to sixth gear and held the speed steady, the engine rumbling along at a steady growl. The red Mustang had maintained its distance on the increasingly empty road.

  “This guy’s definitely following us,” Tay said, “Maybe a rival to Tyrone?”

  “He don’t know who he’s fuckin’ wit’,” said Bullit, “Leave the fucker behind.”

  “Not on a highway,” replied Tay, “You want we should get pulled over? I dunno what’s in your trunk but I’m guessing it aint your grocery shopping”. Bullit got the point.

  “Take the next exit,” He told Tay, “And then we’ll lose him. Aint no way some fuckin’ car older than you is gonna keep up with this baby.”

  Still travelling at 65mph Tay moved over to the slow lane in anticipation of the next exit. By now they were more than a few miles out of town with next to no evidence of civilization other than the road. The next exit came up; a slow winding ribbon of road in the middle of nowhere, going nowhere. The GT500’s nose, decorated with a galloping pony across the blackened steel-mesh grill, dipped slightly as Tay braked hard for the rapidly approaching exit. The tyres squealed down the gentle curve of the exit with the GT500 displaying only the slightest roll.

  Tay straightened the GT500 and looked again in the rearview mirror; the Mustang was closer now and he could see that the air scoop was indeed housing an intercooler for a turbo. Through the Mustang’s grill Tay saw the engine fan spinning almost idly.

  “What the fuck!” he exclaimed to Bullit.

  “What? What?” asked Bullit in a voice that seemed to Tay to be just a tad higher-pitched than usual.

  “Fucker’s engine’s hardly spinning over,” Tay replied gruffly, “He’s got plenty of reserve power on that thing.” Tay down-changed to fifth gear and slowed for the next turn in what was becoming an increasingly lonely and winding road.

  “Aint no toy you’re behind the wheel of,” said Bullit sharply, “Put your fuckin’ foot down, man. Whatcha waiting for? Better days?”

  The setting sun glinted off the GT500’s yellow stripes as they rumbled pass a mile marker, shaking the signboard slightly with the 50mph gust that ac
companied them a moment later. Yet another moment later the mile marker shuddered as a cherry-red blur blasted past. The two cars continued winding down the road which was heading into a little valley, the chasing Mustang gaining a little over each mile of tarmac. In no time at all both the cars were swallowed by the shadows in the valley, both slowing down to accommodate the sharper curves into the valley.

  The cars were no more than a car length apart when the first gunshot sounded and a neat little hole appeared in the rear of the GT500.

  Bullit screamed, “Get us the fuck away Tay! Pedal to the metal! Leave this fuckin’ cocksucker behind...”

  Spurred into action, Tay down-shifted the GT500 into third gear and floored it. Under the hood the massive V8 roared like a beast finally unleashed and rocketed the car forward, pressing both the passengers into the seats. Tay watched the tachometer needle rise all the way to 7500rpm, letting it bounce off the rev-limiter a few times before changing up to fourth and flooring it again. The GT500 howled once more. A quick glance into the rearview was enough to tell him that the pursuer had kept pace with them.

  The rear windscreen of the GT500 turned into a spiderweb of cracks with a hole at the center as another gunshot went off. Bullit screamed again, this time more in fear than in anger. Tay kept his attention on the road, timing his approach to the next curve up ahead. The Mustang inched closer and another gunshot went off, the bullet zinging off the GT500’s