Janus: Bullet Holes, Sally, and the Love of My Life (July 2001, Washington DC)
Let’s make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane
Please don’t say we’ll never find a way
And tell me all my love’s in vain
-Eric Clapton, Layla
I truly hate my car getting messed up. I like my car. But I can honestly say that this particular instance of vehicular damage was worth what I discovered as a result….the love of my life.
I call my car Sally. Sally is a Black ’68 Black Mustang that I got as part of a major seizure, just like those police auctions you see advertised on TV. So yeah…Mustang Sally.
Needless to say I was “working” with some of my less than reputable “associates” in the DC area when Sally attracted a number of bullets that she wouldn’t have otherwise…
I’m driving past the Beltway after serving a simple summons for a Federal Warrant and when I got “the call,” the caller ID said “Smoke.”
Fuck.
If Vince is calling me, this doesn’t bode well. Other than him being a total asshole, he’s my friend. If my friend is calling me in the AM, it means he’s proper screwed.
“Janus, I need a ride.”
OK… if “Don Juan Killer” needs a ride even if he’s in trouble, I have to fuck with him. It’s the principle of the thing.
“I’m not a screwed wop criminal taxi service Smoke. And I’m busy.”
“I’m not fucking kidding Janus. I have to get THE FUCK out of here. Yesterday.”
“First off where is ‘here?’ And why the hurry?”
“Well…”
Following this, I get a story that I would label as bullshit if I didn’t know how Vince lived or operated. Needless to say, he was working in DC looking after someone for Gabe, and was doing a little “side-action.” His “side-action” involved some deal with a DC gun-running ring, where Vince had managed to do his part in removing the competition, and he was without vehicular transportation as it seems Mr. 12-Gauge and Smoke’s car had a heated conversation. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but Vince still had people that would soon be shooting at him in the area, the cops were coming, and I’ve read novels shorter than his rap sheet.
To make a long story short, and a little co-location on a side road to get there quick, I was picking up my buddy Smoke at this unsafe locale. By the end of the day (and a lot of Vince bitching about my driving) my car had some holes in it, my seat was covered in 9mm shell casings, and I was enduring a half mad Italian screaming in my ear…
“Did you see those fucking prags when I unloaded on them man? It was fan-fucking-tastic man!”
“Smoke… this is my working car. As in cop work”
“And?”
“I’m smart enough to have changed the plates, but I think the local PD will be looking for this make and model with motherfucking BULLET HOLES in it! Do you know how hard it is to get bodywork done on a 68’ Mustang?”
"So? Dump this bitch.”
“I like this car. I like how it handles. I like it not having holes in it. Do you see where I’m going with this one you brain-dead moolie?”
“Chill bacon…
I hate when he calls me bacon. You’d think I have a complex. He digs a card out of his jacket and hands it to me.
“…call this guy to set things up and then go to this address. The shop is under the radar. They’re Awakened and awesome. If you have the money, they can make this bitch fly.”
As soon as he mentioned money, I give him the stare. He gives me his “Asshole” glance, and then I have a wad of Benjamin Franklin and am dropping him off at a nice house in the better part of DC. As he got out he did give the nod that I equate to a “Thanks” from him. We give each other our obligatory smile and "Fuck Peru" quip, and I'm off.
After putting my normal plates on, I call the card and get an appointment set up for later in the day at the shop. Expecting some ancient grease monkey in the shop after I drive Sally in, I see this dark haired young thing with an odd colored eye set in beautiful face. She looked hot in a jumpsuit, with curves in the right places, and under the grease I could swear she blushed a little when a grinned at her.
I watched her run her hand along Sally’s hood, and felt a connection grow between her and the car, visible to me through what some would call “arcane means.” I feel the air pulse and I know she’s working with the same forces, just in a different focus.
I asked her,
"Think it will take long to fix?"
She seemed a little surprised, taken out of her reverie with my car, and answered,
"I…Uh, I'm sure I can fix her up in a couple of hours. They don't call me the best for nothing.”
Her voice wavered between excitement and confidence. Then she turned and smiled at me. I’ve been shot, and felt less than I felt at that moment. She had this smile and way about her that just hit me. And it hit me hard.
“Well forgive me for being forward, but if it’s going to be fixed in a couple of hours and seeing as how I don’t like eating alone in a new town, I’d love the company if you’d like to get dinner.”
That’s when she looked like I had walked in and done something rather unexpected…and I could tell she liked that I asked.
“It’s not really my policy to go out with strange men who drive into my shop with bullet holes in their car. To top it off, I don’t even know your name.”
“Janus…you can call me Dennis though. Calling someone a Roman God’s name while getting a bite to eat is a little noticeable, either that or some redneck will think I have a girl’s name. I think I have my class ring here and I’m also looking for a prom date….”
She laughed at this. Laughter is a good sign from experience.
“I’m Sunny…and I guess a bite to eat isn’t too bad. I get off at six. And she’ll be done by then for sure. You should treat her better you know?”
“I did bring her to the best didn’t I?”
She fired that smile at me again. We were mutually doomed even if she didn’t know it.
“You flatter all the girls like this Dennis?”
I grinned in return as I was getting into my cab.
“Only the one’s I like Sunny. Only the one’s I like.”