To Roy's surprise, Dwight picks up a case himself. As they cross the lot, Roy glances sideways. "So, where are these going?"
"Small start-up nearby. Personal service goes a long way, I find."
Roy nods. "Good point."
When they reach Dwight's car, he squats the case and opens the back. Roy sets his case inside, then steps back, appreciative. "Sweet ride."
"Thanks. It's a '78, two-and-two model. Got it years ago. Put a lot of work into it."
"I can see that." Roy raises his eyebrows. "Whatcha got under the hood?"
Dwight hits the release and raises it. "Got a four-speed tranny, short-throw shifter with brass bushings. Quick-disconnect injector clips, cold air intake."
"Engine looks nice."
"It's the original short block - straight six. It's basically the same as the L24: same bore, but with-"
"-a bigger stroke, yeah!" Roy smiles. He looks at Dwight. Huh.
"I rebuilt it myself. Didn't even have to do an align bore on the lower end. It was pristine. She's a real work horse."
Roy looks in the passenger window. "Wow. Is that red velvet?"
Dwight lowers the hood carefully but firmly. "Yes. Had them custom-made." He opens the driver's door and flicks the lock. "Go ahead. Try ‘em out."
"Yeah? Okay." Roy climbs in. The passenger seat is soft and firm - as though broken in without ever having been used. He runs his fingertips over the fabric. "Nice."
Dwight glances over with a sly smile. "Wanna see what she can do?"
Roy looks up, then over toward the warehouse door. No one watching. "Where?"
"I know a street."
Roy nods shortly.
"Alright. Buckle up."
Dwight turns the key and the sounds of gravel and twang come from the speakers.
...I keep my eyes wide open all the time...
Roy grins at Dwight. "You a fan?"
Dwight tips his head without taking his eyes off the road. "Man In Black."
Roy chuckles. "No shit."
Dwight sings along as he drives. The way his voice dips on because you're mine makes Roy's gut clench a little. It reminds him of his uncle Frank, who used to sing it as he worked in his shop. Roy would watch, fascinated, as Frank used a brass brush to remove rust from some seized motor, lubricated the pistons and housing, polished the whole thing with a shop cloth. His big, meaty hands always had metal shavings under the fingernails. Cash and grease and the smooth clicking of moving parts. Roy can almost smell the machine oil.
"Ready?"
Roy jerks back to the present. They sit at the end of a deserted street. He looks around. They're in an industrial area, but he can't place it. "Yeah. Let's do it."
Dwight has one hand on the wheel. The other rests on the stick, his thumb caressing the top. "Alright, baby, show us what you got."
Roy watches as the speedometer climbs smoothly to 70 and beyond. He knows it was fast because his body is pressing back into the seat and the warehouses outside are a blur. Near the middle of the street, they reach 115, and Roy lets out a whoop. He's drowned out by the roar. Beside him, Dwight is focused but smiling.
Roy realizes then that there was no shift shock in the acceleration, and that that had very little to do with the rebuild or the intake or the clips or even the short-throw shifter. That kind of finesse is a goddamn art. He stares at Dwight. Who fucking knew?
Dwight decelerates smoothly and turns the corner at the end of the street as if he does this every day. He makes a few more turns and pulls into a strip mall. Roy helps him carry the cases of paper inside, then returns to the car to wait. He glides his hand over the curve of the back end and makes a note to ask Dwight whether he shaved it himself.
They pull back into the parking lot - still no one on the loading dock - and Roy sighs a little before he gets out of the car. As they walk, Roy looks back at the 280.
"Thanks, man. She's a beaut."
"You're very welcome. And yes, she is."
Roy chuckles. "Alright. See you later." He slaps Dwight on the ass before turning to the warehouse.
Dwight's gait stutters a moment, then resumes at an almost-swagger.
For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide
Because you're mine, I walk the line
