Fastback Beach by Shirlee Matheson Read Free Book Online Page B

around, all turned the same way watching something. We follow their gaze to a red ’37 Ford coupe squirreling at top speed over the dunes, cutting hairpin turns. Sand spews sky-high. The powerful engine screams and gears thrash as the four-speed is jammed through its paces.
    We race past the bonfire, past the group of kids who stare at us open-mouthed.I recognize Megan and Greg and some others before they blur into background.
    The coupe is flying straight towards us. The car flies over the dune above us. He doesn’t see us! I hit the brakes and swerve so suddenly that Kenny nearly pitches through the windshield. She’s out of the car almost before it stops, racing towards the coupe.
    I cut the ignition and jump out. “Kenny! Watch out!”
    I lunge towards her, making the best football tackle of my life. We both roll in the sand as the coupe whizzes past. The engine screams, then we hear a sickening thud.
    Everything goes quiet. I hear a seagull’s cry and pounding feet of the kids racing from the bonfire towards us. Kenny is lying face-down in the sand. I gently turn her over and brush hair back from her face. “You okay?”
    â€œYeah, I think so.”
    I hold her in my arms as we sit, sand-covered and shaking.
    â€œYou guys hurt?” Megan and Gregstoop to check us out and offer their hands to help us to our feet.
    Larry and Spider jump out of the coupe and come running over. Suddenly the air is filled with yells and accusations. Larry gives me a push on the shoulder that sends me reeling. “You idiot! If she’s hurt it’s your fault!”
    My fist lands squarely on his nose. A shadow hurls itself at me and I go down under the full impact of Spider’s two-hundred-pound frame. We hit the ground.
    â€œYou ratted us out!” Spider yells.
    Spider outweighs me by fifty pounds — but I’m a hundred pounds madder than him.
    Arms pull us apart. Megan is dabbing at a bruise on Kenny’s forehead with a wet cloth — actually her bikini top.
    Larry wipes at his bloody nose and shoots me an evil look. “You didn’t need to get so torqued,” he says. “We were just seeing what that engine could do. Not hurtin’ anything.”
    â€œWhy’d you do it, Larry?”
    â€œI just told Spider you were workin’ on an old car, that’s all. He wanted to see it.”
    I look down. Larry is wearing a Mercedes belt buckle. “The Mercedes, too,” I say.
    â€œForget it. That thing’s toast. Gone, big box.” He snorts, coughs.
    Spider’s sprawled on his stomach on the sand. Greg Summers is sitting on him, holding back his arms in a half nelson. Maybe he’s not destined to be an accountant after all.
    â€œTurn him over,” I say. “He’s likely packing a blade.”
    Two other guys search him and take away a small knife hidden in a leather sheath under his belt. Talk about somebody being a slow learner.
    Spider starts to say something when we hear the car horn. Police!
    But it’s not a police car. It’s Mom, driving Mr. and Mrs. Barnier in their Olds.
    Ned gets out of the Olds and stridesover to the coupe. He circles his beloved hot rod, touching it gently here and there like a doctor. I can see scratches and scrapes along the body, and the right front fender and bumper have a few small dents. Ned gets down on the ground to take a look underneath the car. “Muffler torn off,” he grunts. “Header pipe’s bent. Likely the oil pan’s dented up but it’s not leaking.”
    He gets up and wipes the sand from his hands. I help him open the hood. The motor appears to have survived. He reaches inside the car and starts the engine. “Gauges all right.” Ned leans over the fender to watch and listen to the engine run.
    I give Ned a hand as he gets into the car to drive it ahead so the right front wheel is up on a sand ridge. Then he slides underneath to check things over.