The Devil's Death

She sat there…. her aura all to familiar. Maybe someone had tried to recreate her into the legend that so many people knew? Maybe they tried to find a car that suited them? Either way, it didn’t matter now. Her blue paint faded under the harsh Tokyo sun, and peeking through the window, I could make out her tendered soul. The seats were worn, and the rollcage was starting to push down into the unibody. God could only wonder how hard she had been driven. 150? 180? 200 miles per hour? I didn’t know..

The car dealer came outside, brimming about her. He told me she had been a Wangan Terror, and was known from Tomei to Kujaku.. Was I supposed to believe him? His greasy hair, and sweaty hands made it look like she had been a reluctant purchase, and that he just wanted her off his lot. Even through her wind washed fenders, I could see the craftsmanship that had once been. Someone had really put alot of effort into her, and here she sat now, with the dealer throwing numbers at me like she was just another car, and another time. He could see into my young eyes… he could see I wanted her too. I wanted her more then anything, but my wallet couldn’t open wide enough to distribute the Yen needed.

“Do you want to go for a drive?” asked the odoured salesman as I wandered past the Watanabe wheels. “I’d love too… but I can’t make payments” I said in my broken Gaijin Japanese. He pondered what I said for a moment, and turned back to me, after passing by a white Soarer, and thinking about his next move.

“We could work out an installment plan?” he questioned reasonably while my hands slid down the fender mirrors.

“Then let’s drive then..” I said, eager to see if this old girl still had some life in her.

I slid into the drivers seat, and immediately picked up the scent of cigarettes, and sleazy one night stands. My body shivered at the thought of what might have been done to her. She must have witnessed so much, and yet never expected anything more then a wash, and a checkup. Her bravery had stood the test of time, and as the salesman handed me the key, I engaged the clutch, and turned the ignition over. After about 10 seconds of weak coughing, she came alive with a woof, and without even stepping on the throttle I heard the turbo’s scream.

“She’s turbocharged… just like the real one?” I asked the man.

“Ahh, yes, exactly like the real one. L2800 engine as well, but, not so much power. I’d say, maybe, 400 horsepower? Oh… and it’s twin turbocharged, not just single” he said with a wink, as I disengaged the clutch, and pulled away from the lot. His statement was surely exaggerated, as I pumped the gas to get into traffic, only to hear the engine sputter, and the turbo’s heave a heavy cough. Acceleration was off. The age of sitting and decaying in a lot had bypassed all the passion she had once had, and now, it was all she could do to get out of bed. How many kids had come by the lot, asking to test her out? God knows how far they got before they were asked to turn around, and return to the lot. 1 mile? 5? 10? This was the extent of her travel.. not the life that a prime S30Z should be subjected to.

“Go ahead, crank the wheel, and lift the clutch. She stay’s stable through the corners too” said the sweating salesman, as we boarded the Wangan via On Ramp. My feet lifted off the clutch and gas, and I felt her start to grip the corner… but the clutch did not disengage. She gripped all right… gripped right to a stop.

“Oh, it probably needs to be changed! I’ll give you discount!” said this… this fool, in her passenger seat.

“Thank you, but this is about all I can take” I said as I pulled to the side of the off ramp, and slowly backed up back down to the main road.

“Surely there is something we can work out…”
“There is nothing you can do I’m afraid, I will go elsewhere with all due respect” said I as I felt the splinters in her wooden wheel against my fingertips.

As we pulled back into the lot, I parked her in a different spot. The salesman looked at me funny, as if she had always had the first spot reserved for her, but I could feel that she needed a change. I wished I could be that change, but I doubted her will, and it was all I could do to bow to the lazy, slob of a salesman when I exited the car. I walked over to her old spot with my bare feet, and put my sandals back on. He ran up behind me, and with one last desperate attempt, tried to make a deal.

“Maybe, I can give you cashback, and you can take home for a week, and tell me if it is for you? No worries, I’ll pay for gas, you just try for one week, and come back later to buy if interested?” he said with a queezy voice as he frantically tried to grab my attention.

“No…”, I said. “Don’t move her from where she is now. She needs to see the sun rise and set. She doesn’t have long for this world. Ask one of your service men to drive her around from time to time, to drive her out for lunch pickups, or when you need new parts. She needs air in her intercooler. Consider deflating her tires, they are far too cracked from being filled to show her off. And…. and get someone to wax her. Just a small wax… nothing special. She needs to be remembered..”

The man looked back at me, with a saddened face, and I turned around, and got on my bicycle, and started my long ride back to my apartment.