keep the solenoid from getting cooked by the headers.
Sam knew he was asking more than casually. Her future was a complete mystery; she had no idea where she would go after North Carolina, but she was fairly certain she wouldn't be coming back here. "Not sure," she admitted. "We're gonna go see Aunt Julie and drop off most of my stuff, and then it's off to North Carolina."
"And what about after that," Morton asked, not one to be put off. "What happens when your vacation is over and reality kicks back in with full force? What are you gonna do then?"
"I don't know."
"Yes you do, you dummy. Now what are you gonna do?"
"I'm gonna call you and say, 'Morton, I need your help?'"
"Damn straight. Now give me a hug, and go easy on that old girl; she's had a rough life."
"Yeah. I know. I haven't been easy on her," Sam said, rubbing the warm fender with fondness.
"Neither was the fool who had her before you," Morton said, and he slammed the hood shut.
"Thanks, Morton," Sam said, a tear threatening to come to her eye.
"Go on, now. Have a good time on your vacation. You deserve it."
It felt strange starting the car with the key, and the Camaro sounded odd to her ear without the ping of the exhaust leak. It felt good when she hit the accelerator though, even if she did keep it under 25mph in the terraces. Once out of town and headed toward Woodstown, though, she opened the Camaro up, and Shells rooted her on from the passenger seat.
"Five-O," she said, and Sam saw the State Trooper at the same time. Looking down at the speedometer, she saw that she was still doing 75mph. Slowing quickly, her front tires still vibrated, and Sam knew she needed to do more work on the car, but there was only so much money. A speeding ticket wouldn't help.
The trooper rushed by in a woosh, and Sam guessed that he was doing over 80mph. At least he was already engaged and not turning around, she thought.
"Turn right up here and go by the old Rathbone farm. That way we can hit the WaWa on the way in. I need to grab some cash and I'm thirsty."
It was out of the way and took her back to the scene of the crime, since the WaWa was directly across from The Corner Bar. Sam supposed it didn't matter since they were going to Cowtown to find her aunt, and that was directly across from the NJ State Police Barracks, Troop A. There was no getting around it.
As she turned, she looked up the hill to where fenced pastures led to solid looking barns surrounding a stately white house with green shutters. There were no horses in the fields, and no signs of the hive of activity it once was. Sam remembered baling hay and riding horses and motorcycles, and time spent in the hay maw. Sam even blushed a little thinking about it.
Rolling to the WaWa entrance, Sam dropped the Camaro into neutral and poked the throttle, waiting for the pops and backfires, but it remained quiet. After parking, she shut it down, and it immediately went silent.
"No way," Shells said. "Morton finally got the timing right on this thing? Bitchen."
Inside the convenience store was as busy as ever. Clean, well lit, and seemingly busy 24-hours a day, the staff always looked like well-wrung mops.
At the deli, touch-screen ordering stations allowed customers to order without ever talking to an associate, but Sam refused to use them. For her money, she wanted someone to say hello to her. In this case, she saw redneck Brian behind the counter looking almost clean cut, his long hair pulled back by a rubber band. The look on his face made Sam wonder if she really wanted him to make her a sandwich.
In line in front of her stood a large woman in a tube top and spandex shorts that looked like they were about to explode. Sam estimated they must be at least 100 psi. The look on redneck Brian's face as the woman approached the deli said it all.
"Can I help you?" redneck Brian asked, not even feigned enthusiasm in his voice.
"I want a dolla's werf of cheese."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Cheese comes by the pound.
Sam knew he was asking more than casually. Her future was a complete mystery; she had no idea where she would go after North Carolina, but she was fairly certain she wouldn't be coming back here. "Not sure," she admitted. "We're gonna go see Aunt Julie and drop off most of my stuff, and then it's off to North Carolina."
"And what about after that," Morton asked, not one to be put off. "What happens when your vacation is over and reality kicks back in with full force? What are you gonna do then?"
"I don't know."
"Yes you do, you dummy. Now what are you gonna do?"
"I'm gonna call you and say, 'Morton, I need your help?'"
"Damn straight. Now give me a hug, and go easy on that old girl; she's had a rough life."
"Yeah. I know. I haven't been easy on her," Sam said, rubbing the warm fender with fondness.
"Neither was the fool who had her before you," Morton said, and he slammed the hood shut.
"Thanks, Morton," Sam said, a tear threatening to come to her eye.
"Go on, now. Have a good time on your vacation. You deserve it."
It felt strange starting the car with the key, and the Camaro sounded odd to her ear without the ping of the exhaust leak. It felt good when she hit the accelerator though, even if she did keep it under 25mph in the terraces. Once out of town and headed toward Woodstown, though, she opened the Camaro up, and Shells rooted her on from the passenger seat.
"Five-O," she said, and Sam saw the State Trooper at the same time. Looking down at the speedometer, she saw that she was still doing 75mph. Slowing quickly, her front tires still vibrated, and Sam knew she needed to do more work on the car, but there was only so much money. A speeding ticket wouldn't help.
The trooper rushed by in a woosh, and Sam guessed that he was doing over 80mph. At least he was already engaged and not turning around, she thought.
"Turn right up here and go by the old Rathbone farm. That way we can hit the WaWa on the way in. I need to grab some cash and I'm thirsty."
It was out of the way and took her back to the scene of the crime, since the WaWa was directly across from The Corner Bar. Sam supposed it didn't matter since they were going to Cowtown to find her aunt, and that was directly across from the NJ State Police Barracks, Troop A. There was no getting around it.
As she turned, she looked up the hill to where fenced pastures led to solid looking barns surrounding a stately white house with green shutters. There were no horses in the fields, and no signs of the hive of activity it once was. Sam remembered baling hay and riding horses and motorcycles, and time spent in the hay maw. Sam even blushed a little thinking about it.
Rolling to the WaWa entrance, Sam dropped the Camaro into neutral and poked the throttle, waiting for the pops and backfires, but it remained quiet. After parking, she shut it down, and it immediately went silent.
"No way," Shells said. "Morton finally got the timing right on this thing? Bitchen."
Inside the convenience store was as busy as ever. Clean, well lit, and seemingly busy 24-hours a day, the staff always looked like well-wrung mops.
At the deli, touch-screen ordering stations allowed customers to order without ever talking to an associate, but Sam refused to use them. For her money, she wanted someone to say hello to her. In this case, she saw redneck Brian behind the counter looking almost clean cut, his long hair pulled back by a rubber band. The look on his face made Sam wonder if she really wanted him to make her a sandwich.
In line in front of her stood a large woman in a tube top and spandex shorts that looked like they were about to explode. Sam estimated they must be at least 100 psi. The look on redneck Brian's face as the woman approached the deli said it all.
"Can I help you?" redneck Brian asked, not even feigned enthusiasm in his voice.
"I want a dolla's werf of cheese."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Cheese comes by the pound.
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