Faster than hell.
Amy and I grew up in one of those little towns in Georgia that doesn't even show up on a map. It was dying when I was growing up, and it's mostly empty now, except for the folks who just won't leave.
Amy's momma died when she was just three, so she pretty much grew up in her daddy's back pocket. And since he was the only mechanic in town, that meant she learned more about socket wrenches than baking cakes. By the time she was twelve, she was as good as he was, and tall enough that he taught her to drive, just to make sure she wouldn't pick up any bad habits.
She bought a used Plymouth from a neighbor when she was fifteen, and spent all her spare time fixin' it up. By the time she had a license, that car was not only in better condition than it'd been in years, it was also faster than half the guys' cars. After that, she split her time between making that car faster, and racing the local boys.
Now me, I wasn't a racer or a mechanic, but my older brother was, so I was there when she started racing. And I saw right away that she was a better driver than most of 'em, and she had a better car than most, too. So when she was a month away from eighteen, I wasn't surprised she was winning over half the races.
It was just after my eighteenth birthday that a new car pulled up. It was the twin of Amy's, except it was cherry-red where hers was primer-gray, and it was clear to me that whoever was drivin' would be hard to beat. What I didn't see comin' was Satan himself gettin' out of the driver's side.
"I hear you boys like to race," he said. "Well, I'll make all of you a deal. I'll be back in one week, and any guy who wants to race me can. If one of you boys beats me - even one - I'll reward anybody that makes it across the finish line. Best prize to the man in first place. But if I beat all of you (and I think I can), I'll own every racer's soul when they die."
Now, that's some challenge. But some of the boys were up to it, and they were all sayin' yes when Amy spoke up. "Is this for boys only, or can anybody join in?"
The Devil looked Amy up and down, and said, "Little girl, this is a man's race. Now why don't you go home and bake some cookies?"
Now, I've heard some dumb things in my life, but that one's going to be the prize-winner for a long time. Amy got a look on her face I'd seen only a couple times before, and said, "I'll be here next week. If you're man enough to race me, you can show up too."
Outside of school, she wasn't anywhere to be seen for the next week. But I heard her working on that Plymouth of hers, and I knew she was going to race. And that got me thinking about something else. So the night of the race, I walked up to the Devil, and I said, "I've got a side bet for you. If you can beat Amy, you get my soul when I die. But if she beats you, I get a prize equal to hers."
The Devil looked at me like I was crazy. "That little girl? I'll leave her in the dust before the first turn. I'll take your bet, and your soul in the bargain."
The race started off, ten drivers going for the prize. Two of the local boys took an early lead, but one of them couldn't make the first turn, and he was out of the race. That made most of the folks a little more careful, so by the time they made it halfway, there was a pack of seven trailing two: Amy and the Devil, jockeying for the lead.
Now, I don't know what the Devil looked like at that point, but I figure he was sweatin' a little. Sure, he had the lead, but Amy was pushing him all the time, trying to take first place. And around the last turn, he took it a tiny bit too fast, and slipped to the outside of the curve...and Amy went by on the inside.
She floored it as the road straightened out, aiming for the finish line, while Satan tried to get his car to stop fishtailing. But Amy's engine was sounding bad, and partway to the finish, her engine threw a rod. The Devil took that chance to try and pass her, but by the time his front bumper of his Plymouth could kiss the rear bumper on hers, she was crossing the finish line, coasting with a dead engine.
They both braked, and he pulled a neat bootlegger reverse that stopped him right next to where she ended up. I don't know what deal she made that day, driver's side windows rolled down, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with her going to college.
Me? I picked up $25,000 and a Les Paul original guitar. And the Devil talked me up from what I asked for, because he'd promised to match Amy's prize. As I was walking away, he asked me, "Tell me something, son. How'd you know the lady was going to win?"
I looked at him funny. "You're joking, right? It's as plain as the car you drive." I pointed at his car, adding, "Everybody knows that Hell hath no Fury like a woman scorned."
Amy's momma died when she was just three, so she pretty much grew up in her daddy's back pocket. And since he was the only mechanic in town, that meant she learned more about socket wrenches than baking cakes. By the time she was twelve, she was as good as he was, and tall enough that he taught her to drive, just to make sure she wouldn't pick up any bad habits.
She bought a used Plymouth from a neighbor when she was fifteen, and spent all her spare time fixin' it up. By the time she had a license, that car was not only in better condition than it'd been in years, it was also faster than half the guys' cars. After that, she split her time between making that car faster, and racing the local boys.
Now me, I wasn't a racer or a mechanic, but my older brother was, so I was there when she started racing. And I saw right away that she was a better driver than most of 'em, and she had a better car than most, too. So when she was a month away from eighteen, I wasn't surprised she was winning over half the races.
It was just after my eighteenth birthday that a new car pulled up. It was the twin of Amy's, except it was cherry-red where hers was primer-gray, and it was clear to me that whoever was drivin' would be hard to beat. What I didn't see comin' was Satan himself gettin' out of the driver's side.
"I hear you boys like to race," he said. "Well, I'll make all of you a deal. I'll be back in one week, and any guy who wants to race me can. If one of you boys beats me - even one - I'll reward anybody that makes it across the finish line. Best prize to the man in first place. But if I beat all of you (and I think I can), I'll own every racer's soul when they die."
Now, that's some challenge. But some of the boys were up to it, and they were all sayin' yes when Amy spoke up. "Is this for boys only, or can anybody join in?"
The Devil looked Amy up and down, and said, "Little girl, this is a man's race. Now why don't you go home and bake some cookies?"
Now, I've heard some dumb things in my life, but that one's going to be the prize-winner for a long time. Amy got a look on her face I'd seen only a couple times before, and said, "I'll be here next week. If you're man enough to race me, you can show up too."
Outside of school, she wasn't anywhere to be seen for the next week. But I heard her working on that Plymouth of hers, and I knew she was going to race. And that got me thinking about something else. So the night of the race, I walked up to the Devil, and I said, "I've got a side bet for you. If you can beat Amy, you get my soul when I die. But if she beats you, I get a prize equal to hers."
The Devil looked at me like I was crazy. "That little girl? I'll leave her in the dust before the first turn. I'll take your bet, and your soul in the bargain."
The race started off, ten drivers going for the prize. Two of the local boys took an early lead, but one of them couldn't make the first turn, and he was out of the race. That made most of the folks a little more careful, so by the time they made it halfway, there was a pack of seven trailing two: Amy and the Devil, jockeying for the lead.
Now, I don't know what the Devil looked like at that point, but I figure he was sweatin' a little. Sure, he had the lead, but Amy was pushing him all the time, trying to take first place. And around the last turn, he took it a tiny bit too fast, and slipped to the outside of the curve...and Amy went by on the inside.
She floored it as the road straightened out, aiming for the finish line, while Satan tried to get his car to stop fishtailing. But Amy's engine was sounding bad, and partway to the finish, her engine threw a rod. The Devil took that chance to try and pass her, but by the time his front bumper of his Plymouth could kiss the rear bumper on hers, she was crossing the finish line, coasting with a dead engine.
They both braked, and he pulled a neat bootlegger reverse that stopped him right next to where she ended up. I don't know what deal she made that day, driver's side windows rolled down, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with her going to college.
Me? I picked up $25,000 and a Les Paul original guitar. And the Devil talked me up from what I asked for, because he'd promised to match Amy's prize. As I was walking away, he asked me, "Tell me something, son. How'd you know the lady was going to win?"
I looked at him funny. "You're joking, right? It's as plain as the car you drive." I pointed at his car, adding, "Everybody knows that Hell hath no Fury like a woman scorned."