Jack With the '67 Cutlass

Jack sat quietly at the kitchen table, flipping through the ten and twenty dollar bills, wondering how long he could keep this up. He knew that no one had a faster car than him for miles, his 1967 Oldsmobile Cutlass was clean as a whistle and went zero to sixty in just over six seconds, but he figured he'd run out of people to race pretty soon, and the only decent work for a guy his age was about a two hour drive north. Racing had paid the bills for a while but it couldn't last. He had lived in what most would consider squalor for the majority of his life. Every time something good happened it was quickly put down by all the bad surrounding him. He barely finished high school, which is more than could be said for most people in Harlow, but it didn't exactly help him with the job market. People always wanted to buy his car, and he would make enough from the sale to start new, up North in the city somewhere, but he would never sell it. It was all he had left of his dad. It was all he had in the world.

Pulling up the blinds he gazed out the window of his rusty old trailer at the clear summer night sky; he had to think of something. Some of the dark reddish brown spots on his walls were so big he could almost taste the iron. For Harlow county this was an average home, but Jack wanted more, he was better than where he came from, and he would prove it.

He sat awake for most of the night, thinking of ways to make money. Out loud to himself he said, "what would dad have done?". Then it hit him. Not what his dad would have done, but what his uncle would do today. Uncle Willie. Wilburne Lewis. The meth king of Harlow. Just one of his many monikers. The most common being "that methed out, drug dealing, murderous sonuvabitch up there in them hills", of course that was only when Willie wasn't around. Jack hated him and hated the idea of going to him for help, but he didn't much have a choice. The man had his hand in a lot of pots, with varying degrees of legality, but if there was one person who could get Jack some easy money, it was him. Still, everytime Jack saw Willie's face, he would remember the years his dad was sick, when Willie would come around and beat Jack, and steal from his dad while he was dying. He would never forget that.

The next morning, Jack was pulling slowly down the long and rough driveway to his uncles house. His golden cutlass with it's black hardtop looked better than usual with the sun reflecting off of it, he thought. Uncle Willie would make him an offer on it like usual, and Jack would turn it down like usual. Even if the offer was fair Jack would turn it down, but it was always a lowball. Willie had tried to say the car was his after Jacks father died but the courts decided differently. Jack was a nineteen year old kid at the time with no parents, no vehicle, and a little shack to call home. That's the type of man Willie was though; he came first no matter what.

"Would ya sell her to me for two grand Jackie? She aint worth much more 'an that." was usually one of the first things Willie said when they saw each other, and when Jack said no it was usually, "ah you're as useless as your old man was" and, "I should knock your teeth out for ya, ya ungrateful punk", and Jack had to ignore it. Wilburne Lewis was an idiot, but he was a dangerous one.

Uncle Willie's house was an old, run-down, farm house that probably used to be white. It was now a puky green with shades of brown. The yard was full of rusty piles of metal and broken down vehicles. Willie was also a junk man when his other revenue sources weren't providing. He was always driving some beater that was barely running, which probably helped him avoid the law, but also made it impossible for Jack to know if he was home. He walked on to the front porch, stepping around junk, cans, and glass bottles along the way, and knocked on the front door. Nothing. There was a pretty good chance that Willie was passed out inside somewhere. Jack turned the handle just to see, and sure enough it was unlocked. He let himself in.

"Uncle Willie ya in here?" Jack called out, but the only thing he heard was the sound of some kind of animal rummaging through the trash. Probably a rat since it was almost noon, and raccoons and opossums were more likely to be out at night. It was hard to tell around here though. Jack never knew what to expect when he came here. He had seen some crazy things over the years. A lot of them he was too embarrassed to repeat.

Jack stepped carefully as he made his way to his uncles office. He didn't want to step on anything sharp or wake anything up. Hepatitis and rabies were a real threat at Willie's house. Finally, he found himself at the back of the house in front of the office; he knocked on the door and it swung open. He was surprised. Inside was a fairly clean and organized room. Jack walked over to the desk and on top was a shiny metallic box with a combination lock on the front, except the box was unlocked and slighty open. He lifted up the lid and what he saw inside shocked him so much he dropped it. Now it was locked. He didn't know why he was so shocked, he should've expected things like this at this house; but why was it just laying here unlocked? That was the most money he'd ever seen in his life. With only a moment's hesitation, Jack grabbed the box and sped back to his trailer, adrenaline pumping through his entire body.

When he got home he tried two or three combinations before getting out the pry bar. The lid popped right off. Inside was even more money than he had originally guessed. Twenty thousand dollars. Accompanied by a .44 magnum revolver, fully loaded, and a little black book full of names, addresses, and phone numbers. This was it. He was finally getting out of here. Twenty thousand dollars could hold him over for a long time. He'd get a little apartment in the city and look for work, and he was leaving right now.

After gathering up all of the one hundred dollar bills, Jack was surprised by how small of a stack of money it was. He was easily able to stick it all in to his jacket pocket. He then put the loaded .44 in the waist band of his jeans and grabbed his keys off the counter. Just as he was about to open the door he heard the sound of a truck speeding up and skidding to a halt outside of his trailer. It was uncle Willie.

Jack met him outside, halfway across the yard. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he thought outside would be better. He could see the anger in Willie's eyes and knew that somehow, in some way, he had found out Jack was the one who took the box. Willie was almost charging him, his face beet red, and Jack realized if Willie got ahold of him he was going to kill him. Without hesitation Jack pulled the revolver from his waist, cocked it, and pointed it at Willie.

Willie stopped in his tracks but he wasn't scared. He was even more pissed and Jack could tell.

"You gonna shoot me boy?" Willie asked mockingly.

"One of my boys saw you leave the house, that's how I knowed it was you. 'Jack with the '67 Cutlass' they said. There's only one person I know that fits that description and that's my dear nephew. So ya see boy, they all knows who ya are and who to kill if ya think you're man enough to shoot me."

Jack was always known as "Jack with the Cutlass" or "that boy with the car", he was pretty sure they didn't know what he looked like. They just knew his car. He looked up at his Cutlass; he loved it, and it was what kept him alive the last several years, but he knew his dad cared more about him than he did the car, and that was what really mattered. He noticed the truck that Willie pulled up in. It was nicer than usual. Looked like it was even registered. He looked back at his uncle.

"Uncle Willie, if you're still interested in the Cutlass I reckon I'd let her go for about twenty thousand" he said cooly.

Before Willie could open his mouth Jack pulled the trigger. Willie flew off his feet and landed on his back. Jack's hand flew upward and he felt an immediate pain in his wrist. His ears were ringing. Slowly he walked towards his uncle lying on the ground, he couldn't tell if he was breathing. Jack cocked the revolver and put one more in him just to be sure, climbed in to the truck, and headed North.