JCK FLASH
By A.J. Profeta

(continued)

Jack turned to the passenger seat. His green-eyed copilot complete with six-inch high Afro was pointing his thumb out the window.

"The Chevelle Flash. The 396 over here. He wants to race you through the tunnel. You got the guts for this?"

Jack looked past the Afro out the window. The guy in the Chevelle was throwing revs and staring back. Jack couldn't understand how this could be happening. He blinked hard and looked again. The tunnel entrance was still there and so was the Chevy.

"C'mon Flash! What's it gonna be?"

Jack looked hard into Frenchie's pleading eyes. He didn't know why, but he was sure Frenchie was really there, and this was really happening.

"Does Jumpin' Jack Flash have the guts? Count it down, Frenchie!"

Frenchie held his index finger out the window and shouted "one!" His middle finger rose beside it as they rolled toward the tunnel's two lane open mouth. "Two!" The Chevelle pulled even with the G.T.O. as Frenchie screamed, "Three!"

Jack punched it. Both cars were screaming. When they entered the tunnel the only sound in the universe was the adrenaline pumping rush of nearly eight hundred horsepower!

Jack could see out of the corner of his eye that the Chevelle fender was inching ahead. He dared not take his eye off the tach. He was going to need every ounce of power to beat this strong running Chevy. The needle was zooming up to the red line, set at 5200 r.p.m.s. When the needle reached the red line he slammed second, never letting the gas pedal off the floor. They were even. Jack banged third before the Chevelle and -surged ahead. At ninety-five miles per hour Jack threw fourth and blew the Chevy's doors off!

The tunnel exit was coming up fast. He knew once he was out he'd have to make a quick left for Thirty Fourth St., or stop in time for the light at Third Ave. The high pitched whine of the transmission slowing down bounced off the ceramic walls. Jumpin' Jack Flash was in street racer's heaven. Suddenly just beyond the mouth of the tunnel, Jack saw two taxis collide. There wasn't enough room to get by, and there wasn't enough time to stop.

"We're not gonna make it Frenchie," Jack screamed. He forced the car into second at seventy-five miles an hour, in a desperate attempt to slow down. The Pontiac started to fish tail. Jack was breaking hard as the mouth of the tunnel filled with smoke.

The car came to a halt as the smoke cleared. There was no impact. There were no taxis. Jack's heart felt as if he had run the race on foot, instead of driving it. He was soaked with sweat. His eyes stung.

"Whoa, that was really too close, Frenchie!"

"Frenchie?" He heard Jim's voice ask. "Jack, how long do you intend to wait at this stop sign?"

Jack was flabbergasted to see Jim sitting in Frenchie's seat.

"Jim! What the hell is going on here?"

"I don't know Jack. You're the one waiting four minutes at a stop sign."

Jack said nothing. He drove back to Jim's house never shifting higher than second. He rolled into the driveway.

"Jim, I'm sorry. Would you please tell Linda to come out? We really have to go home and talk."

"Well okay, but are you all right? You don't look so good, Jack."

"I'll be okay. I promise I'll call you tomorrow."

"Please do that. Take it easy Jack."

On the following Friday, Jack and Linda pulled into Jim and Betty's driveway. Linda was behind the wheel of a brand new pearl white Cadillac CTS. They just stopped by to say good-bye. Linda was driving the first leg of their vacation trip to South Carolina.