Dad called this morning; said he needed me at the house for dinner. He didn't tell me what it was about, I didn't ask. I knew by his tone, he wouldn't tell me over the phone.

An hour later, Uncle Doug called, told me to cancel whatever I had going on, and be home for dinner. I had only heard him this serious once before, when Aunt Amanda died.

"Uncle Doug, you're scaring me. Dad just called and said the same thing."

"Shelby, we can't do this on the phone. Get home tonight, and don't bring anyone with you. I mean it. No boyfriends, no girlfrends, and no besties. Just, you."

With that, he hung up. I didn't wait until the afternoon to make the hour and a half trip home. Mom met me at the door. The look on her face, a somber one. Grandma, and Grandpa sat on the couch, grandma's resting bitch face putting everyone on edge.

Uncle Doug, and his daughter, Sophia, came in the house, and dad gestured to the kitchen table. Even Grandma said nothing as she sat at the table.

"Anyone going to tell me what this is about?" I asked as the oddly quiet and tense meal was coming to a close. This family was never this quiet.

Grandma looked like she was going to say something, but Grandpa cut her off.

"We're giving you The car." He said, he emphasized 'The', like I should know what he was talking about. When it was obvious I was clueless, Uncle Doug, and Grandpa, both jerked their heads to Dad. "You never told her?" Grandpa accused.

"Never saw a need to. Last time it was driven was the night she was conceived." Dad confessed. Mom's eyes flashed in surprise.

"You told me you wrecked that car, and salvaged it."

"Well, now you know that was a lie. I just didn't want you to find out about the vault."

"Vault?" I asked, making sure Mom's fuse wouldn't get any shorter.

"I used to run Shine," grandpa confessed, first time I had heard of this. I ran a '53 Dodge. It got too slow to do its job, about the time your uncle started driving. We built a '68 Chevy C10, and he ran for me until he went into the service. Your Dad drove for me until he did the same, but the car he built became a bit of a local legend around her, because I drove it while he was in. When he got hurt, he came home, bought this property, and built the vault. When the 'Buzzing Demon', as the newspapers called her, got a bit too much heat, we'd put her in the vault for a couple of weeks, to a couple of months."

Dad opened a drawer on the China hutch behind him, and pulled out a picture of him and mom leaning against a maroon car I had never seen before.

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"This is the only picture we ever took with Betty. This is the day she was driven for the last time." Dad faces the picture back to himself for a moment, a rare smile appeared on his face, it's the look he still gives mom, when she isn't looking. "Betty ran perfectly fine, but, the heat on her was a bit much, and by the time things died down, we knew you were on the way."

"So I went back to doing deliveries." Uncle Doug chimed in; he smiled, "Think Betty will start?" He similes in a way I hadn't seen since Aunt Amanda died.

"You never told her about any of this?" Grandma finally snapped at Dad.

"Mom, I didn't want that life for her, just as Doug didn't want it for Sophie. Dad agreed, and that's the whole reason we stopped." He stood up. "Besides, I think you need to explain Jill to Dad before he sees her in the vault." Grandpa raised an eyebrow at his wife, I could tell he knew what was going on. Before he could ask grandma about anything, Dad stood up. "I think we need a change of venue. Shelby, it's high time we introduce you to Betty." Dad nodded, and stood, then we all filed out of the house. Dad grabbed three sets of Keyes off of the hangars, and then closed the door.

The sun was touching the horizon as we arrived at a massive concrete door, Dad pushed a garage door button, and the segmented door began stacking themselves against the sides of the opening.

A canary yellow '79 Cadillac, with a white vinal top sat there. Dad threw a set of keys to Grandma, "Get Jill out." She started the car, and revved the engine, then moved the car, a brown '68 Chevy C10 revealed by the caddie exiting.

"Sophie, Catch." He tossed a set of keys to her. "That truck's name is Lacy. She is now yours." Dad smiles, "your Dad still takes her out once in a while. Get her out of the hole."

My 17 year old cousin walks down the shallow ramp, sits in the truck, and gently shut the door. When the truck fires up, the engine idles with a slight buzz in the exhaust note.

"She started it easier than I was expecting." Uncle Doug says as the truck comes out of the hole. Once it's out of the way, I see the maroon car that was in the picture. Mom started crying.

"I doubt she'll start, so give her hell." Dad says to me, holding out the key.

I take it, getting a better look at the square bodied sedan.

On the side of the fenders were the words, in a block formatting, Six-Six-Three. A red number six mounted directly above the words. Large metal flaps sat on the sides of the fenders, right behind the front tires. The interior was the same red color as the body. Both bumpers were hard angled metal, making this car look very cop-like.

A vinal decal spanned the top of the windshield, bearing the phrase 'TriPower'. I opened the light door, and sat behind the wheel. This car didn't have tilt steering, so it was in my lap.

The key went smoothly into the ignition. I pushed the pedal to the floor, once, an released it. Turning it over. It spit. It sputtered, and then roared to life

The same engine buzz was present with Lacy, but not the whistle. I revved the engine, and scared myself with how much the car moved with it in Neutral, and the parking brake set.

I gently put it into first, and dumped the clutch. The tires began to melt and that stench was everywhere.

Once out of the vault, I turned off the key, but the engine kept running, after a few seconds it stopped, the heartbeat becoming silent.

"So?" Dad asks with a grin.

I pop the hood, and mom begins laughing, as I raise it up, still not having answered dad.

"Six cylinders, Six speed, triple throttlebodies, mechanically fuel injected, and turbocharged. I'm glad I've kept up the maintenance."

"Shelby. Your Dad and Grandpa both wanted you to have this." Mom kissed my cheek. "Happy early birthday." Mom giggled.

My birthday is nine months away. Today.

Damnit! Sometimes I hate my familiy's sense of humor.