JCK FLASH
By A.J. Profeta

Betty Clark was setting the dinner table when her husband Jim came home from his job at the lumberyard. Jim kissed his wife hello and asked, "What time are Jack and Linda coming over?"

"I told them any time after six. I do hope we can get through one night without Jack going on and on about drag racing."

"C'mon Bet. Jack is harmless."

"I know, and Linda is always good company. I just cringe every time he tells another G.T.O. story. The guy is 54 years old, Jim, and he's lost in the '70's. He looks like a refugee from Woodstock."

"You're right, Bet, but Jack hasn't had it easy. He's been driving a truck for twenty-five years, trying to put those kids through college. Linda can't be bringing home that much working at Wal-Mart."

"And your point is?"

"Look it's really very simple. When Jack was 21 and single and he bought that new G.T.O., it was a very exciting time for him. He was a good mechanic and a great driver. Anybody that was driving a hot car around Bayside knew him. That black Pontiac with the 'JCK FLASH' license plate was the car to beat. He was something of a local legend."

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, I guess after he married Linda, and had to trade that G.T.O. in on a station wagon, it kinda crushed him. He was no longer a celebrity, just another guy with a wife and two kids. I give him a lot of credit. He did what he had to do. I see him working his tail off every day. Maybe now that the kids are through college and out of the house, things will change."

"Well, I hope so, for Linda's sake. Even if what you say is true, it's no excuse for the way he treats her. It's not her fault, you know. If all those years he spent drag racing were spent in college, he might have had an easier time of it."

"Maybe you're right, but Jack is my friend. I'll admit that sometimes I get tired of hearing how his sidekick 'Frenchie' cheered him on as he power shifted past some guy's '68 'Vette, but Jack has always been there for me. I believe if you are going to call someone your friend, you should be willing to put up with some of his shortcomings."

"Then I guess Linda and I will talk about our kids, and you and Jack will talk about cars, again."

Jim was going to continue to defend his buddy when he was interrupted by a loud rumbling noise. It was coming from their driveway. "What the hell is that?" he said as they started for the door.

Outside they both stood open-mouthed on the lawn. Linda got out of the passenger side of a shiny, jet-black 1970 G.T.O. Her shoulders were slumped, and she was looking at the ground.

When Jack finally cut the motor, Betty went over and put her arm around her friend's shoulder.

"Linda what's wrong?"

"Oh, Betty, I cant believe he spent what was our vacation money, and then took out a loan, for that!" She started sobbing. Betty ushered her friend into the house as Jack got out of the car. He popped the hood open.

"Ain't she a thing of beauty, Jim? Exactly the same car as my original. Frame off restoration."

Jim's mouth still hung open.

"Look at this, Jimbo, Ram-Air set up and headers. She runs like a raped ape! Hop in and I'll take ya for a spin."

Jim looked back at the house. The wives had gone inside, so he figured what the hell. He got in on the passenger side and Jack backed out of the driveway.

Jack revved up the Pontiac and popped the clutch. The car's awesome power threw Jim back in his seat and pinned him there. Jack screeched down Cherry Street, leaving a giant cloud of blue smoke in front of number seven. Jim hoped his neighbors weren't already calling the cops.

Jumpin' Jack Flash rounded the corner onto Arbor Lane and smoked the tires again as he banged second. He was grinning from ear to ear. Jim was becoming very nervous.

Jack slammed third and backed off the throttle. He eased down the brake pedal, and Jim let out a sigh of relief. The deep throaty sound of back pressure from the mufflers comforted him, because he knew they were finally slowing down.

"Aint she sweet, Jim? This is the same car I had when I raced that Chevelle SS 396 through the Queens Midtown Tunnel. Remember I told ya about that?"

Jim saw the tach out on the hood was reading only two thousand rpms. He hoped he could convince Jack to go back to the house before he stomped on it again, and killed them both.

"Uh, maybe we should head back. I'm sure Betty has dinner ready."

Jack threw a rev and kicked it back into second. "You're as bad as Linda. No appreciation for horsepower. All right we'll go back."

Jack pulled a quick one eighty, but not without chirping the tires. As he pulled up to the stop sign, the G.T.O. became enshrouded in a thick rolling fog. "What the hell?" Before he could say anything else, the fog dissipated. His jaw dropped when he saw that just five hundred feet in front of the Pontiac's shiny black hood, stood the entrance to the Queens Midtown Tunnel. He was still in a state of shock when he heard Frenchie's voice spanning more than thirty years. "You gonna run this guy or what?"