“What’s this?”, I asked.

“It’s a 1968 Dodge Charger. Beautiful is it not.”

I approach her with weak steps, touching her bonnet. The varnish felt smooth almost unnaturally so. As if she was alive.

I turn towards Lucas. “Why didn’t he tell me about her?”

“So, you’ve already decided to call it by a female pronoun. Jesus Christ! It’s like that John Carpenter movie.”

“Just answer the question!”

“Well I don’t bloody know. You see the dashboard. It’s very dark in here so you will likely not see it but there’s a logo on the right side of the radio that says ‘Glype’.”

“Glype?”

“Yes. You see from what I’ve gathered, this car may look like a charger but under the hood it’s something entirely different.”

“What’s under the hood?”

“I don’t know. It’s impossible to open. Sealed shut like an oyster. Your dad bought it from a black-market auction in Dublin the year 2000. From what I caught up with she was sold by someone with the name of ….”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Glype”

“You guessed it. The criminals had nicknamed him other names like The Mad Wizard or Glype – which is an Irish slang for ‘Idiot’. He was considered the criminal world’s best vehicle modifier. From the late 80s till the early 90s he created three dozen cars. The newer ones more spectacular than the last one. This particular one was his last work.”

“Did the old man ever use her?”

“I don’t think so no. The seats look practically brand new.”

He was right. I opened the driver’s door and sat down in front of the steering wheel. It was such a fucking intoxicating feeling. I couldn’t have dreamed to be the owner of such a car like this. Fondling the wheel, I thanked dad for his last and only gift.

“Mind you …”, Lucas interrupted handing me something. “Here’s the keys. And these are the papers that says that you’re the owner. I took the liberty to install it with Swedish number plates so the only thing you have to do is to step on the gas. Now I bid you a farewell because I am going to my house in Hollywood. Retired.” And he left.

“Fucking idiot.”

***

I opened the garage door. It took a while because of how rusty it was. I sat down, closed the door and turned the key. First nothing happened. I tried again. This time she gave out a roar as she awakened. For the first time in a very long time, I smiled. And it was only for her. For you.

I stepped on the gas and we started to move. Out from the garage, through the gates, away from the warehouse. I stopped to pick up my mom’s bike, which I had loaned to get here. Now I wouldn’t need it ever again.

It had taken me one and a half hours on bike to get to the warehouse. Going home with Glype’s Charger took me only 14 minutes.