Mark had to shout to be heard over the deep-throated roar of the tricarb 409. The powerful engine was the heart and soul of Benny Coleraine’s latest pride and joy, a completely rebuilt-and very fast-cherry red 1964 Impala SuperSport.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, pal,” Benny yelled and pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor. Both driver and passenger were pushed back against the hand-tooled leather bucket seats as the speedometer needle buried itself past the 120 mark.
Mark Andrews stared transfixed out the window as rural Michigan blew past him in a blur. The hot summer air blasting through the open window made almost as loud a roar as the finely tuned V-8. If he lacked both the cash and the mechanical aptitude to own a car like this, Mark thought wistfully, at least he was fortunate enough to have a friend like Benny who possessed both. The countless hours spent lying on the cold concrete floor of Benny’s garage tightening bolts and the endless runs to chase down parts were all worth it for just one ride like this.
“When can I drive it, Benny?”
Benny shot his friend a sideways glance and smirked. “You’ll get your turn. Don’t worry.” He quickly returned his attention to the road. They were entering a series of curves. Not the sharp, hairpin curves like in the mountains, but gentler, more open. Benny had negotiated these kinds of curves at speed before, so he knew exactly how close to the edge he could push. He kept thinking what a shame it was he hadn’t invited Julie on this ride so she could see just how skilled he really was at handling two tons of steel at twice the legal limit. Guys who could handle fast cars always made out with the babes, or so it seemed to Benny Coleraine.
Mark almost missed the sign as it whizzed by. BURR CREEK 4 MILES, it read in white block letters. “There’s a town up ahead, Ben. Maybe you ought to slow her down a bit.”
“Nah. These two-bit burgs need a little excitement now and then. Gives them something to talk about over Sunday dinner. Besides, even if there is a cop there, I bet he ain’t got a car that can come close to catching us. We’ll just blow on through and take our chances. You game?”
“Do I have a choice? I’m sure as hell not going to jump out.”
“My man. Let’s do it!” Benny kept the pedal on the floor as the pair rocketed toward the little town of Burr Creek.
It was the second sign that really worried Mark. WELCOME TO BURR CREEK, then directly below, in slightly smaller lettering: SPEED RADAR CONTROLLED. He barely had time to read it all as the car sped into town.
“That sign said speed was radar controlled. Do you really think they have radar here?”
“Are you kidding? A place this small? They’re lucky if they have electric lights. Look, we’re almost out of the place already and….”
The Chevy froze in place. A blue vapor suddenly surrounded the car. The roar of the engine ceased, followed immediately by the searing and hissing of sheet metal and steel dissolving into molecules. Benny’s and Mark’s screams were snuffed into silence in the few seconds it took for their bodies to vaporize.
Less than two minutes after the speeding Chevy flew into the little town of Burr Creek, not a trace of the vehicle, nor its occupants, remained. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves in the summer breeze was the barking of a dog in the distance.
“These kids,” Deputy Marshall Frederick Hampstead muttered. “You’d think they’d learn sooner or later that when we say speed is radar controlled…” The Deputy reached across his desk to the console, just below the bank of video monitors, and turned a knob which initiated the recharge of the Laser Destruct Beam. “…radar controlled is exactly what we mean.”